Cocked: A Stepbrother Romance (6 page)

I
leaned up against the old bookshelf, making sure that my elbows didn’t accidentally cause a paper avalanche, and began to read. It was an older book about a huge scoundrel and the lady he wanted, and although I wouldn’t have told my friends about it, I had to admit that I loved a good trashy romance every once in a while. After a long day at work, nothing beat some sexy guy taking what he wanted.

It was a great escape. It hadn’t been the easiest of days at the bookstore, and my conversation with Camden kept running through my mind. I couldn’t really believe his story, that he was involved with a Mexican drug cartel and that they wanted to harm us, but I also couldn’t imagine that he’d make it up.

So why only tell me the truth and not our parents? That part didn’t make sense. Well, the whole thing was absurd, but that part kept sticking with me. He was so frustrating, such a selfish prick, that sometimes I couldn’t stand him. And yet he was the only person I thought about all day long, even if it was about how much I wanted to slap his handsome face.

But reading that romance novel made the world suddenly light. It wasn’t going to solve any of my problems, but it sure was entertaining and absorbing. So absorbing that I didn’t notice him approach until it was too late.

“Lacey.”

I looked up, startled, quickly shutting the book. “Camden?”

“We need to talk.”

“What do you want? I’m at work.”

I frowned at him, but the expression on his face brought me up short. He looked as serious as he did when he first told me about the cartel and the trouble we were all in, and it took my breath away for half a second.

“Something happened.” He paused and looked at the cover of the book I was reading, a smirk covering his face. “Nice book.”

I glanced down at it. “Shut up, okay?” I felt a blush rise to my face.

“I had a feeling you’d be into something like that.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’re much dirtier than you pretend.”

I felt a thrill run through me. “What do you want, Camden? I’m busy.”

He sighed, gathering himself. “You need to come with me.”

“No, thanks. I still have an hour on my shift.”

“Something happened with your parents. They’re outside in the car.”

I paused. “Are they okay?”

“They’re fine. But . . .” He trailed off, shaking his head. “You won’t believe me.”

“Then don’t bother.”

I moved past him, heading toward the back of the store. I heard the floor creak as he followed me.

“You’re not safe here, Lace. We need to go right now.”

“Go where?” I didn’t bother looking back as I idly straightened up the books, heading for the second floor.

“Away from here. The Mexicans caught up to us. I have to pull your parents out.”

“Oh, the Mexicans are here,” I said, rolling my eyes. “How convenient.”

I went to step up onto the staircase when he grabbed my arm, his grip firm and pulling me back. I stumbled and nearly tripped over a stack of unfortunately placed books and slammed directly into his chest. It was like hitting a brick wall, if that brick wall were made of muscle and smelled incredible.

“I’m not fucking around,” he growled, his hand tightening. “We have to run.”

I looked up at him, shocked. He’d never talked to me that way before, let alone grabbed me. I almost didn’t recognize the man that was staring back at me.

“Let me go, asshole,” I mumbled, trying to get away.

He held me tight. “We walk out together or I carry you. I’m not joking around.”

“Don’t be such a dick.” His grip was almost painful, but part of me liked it. I liked how close I was standing and how intense he looked. I knew he was just messing around with me, and was probably going to admit to the joke any second, but I wanted to drink him in while I had the chance.

Because in two seconds I was going to slap the shit out of him.

“Okay,” he said, and suddenly he wrapped his arms around me.

“Camden, what the fuck!” I said as he lifted me up off the floor. I struggled slightly, kicking my feet, but still careful of all the books all over the place.

“Calm down, Lace,” he said as he walked toward the front, my body thrown over his shoulder like it was nothing.

“Put me down, you psycho!”

I punched his back a few times, shocked he’d actually grab me like this. While I was outraged, there was a part of me that was beyond excited. I could feel how wet I was already, which only made me more angry and embarrassed.

“I told you I had to do this.”

“You can’t just pick someone up whenever you want.”

He grunted and adjusted his grip, throwing me farther over his shoulder. I let out a gasp and a small yell and started to punch him in the back even harder.

“Put me down, you fucking asshole.”

“Stop punching me,” he grunted as he moved fast toward the front door.

“Is everything okay?”

I looked up at the owner of the Salty Whale, Mr. Ellsworth. He was an old man, easily in his seventies, maybe his eighties. He wore the same dress slacks and dress shirt every day, and his hair was a shock of white cotton puff dropped on his wrinkly head. His eyes were narrowed at Camden and me as Camden blew past him.

“We’re fine,” I called out at Mr. Ellsworth. “This is my asshole stepbrother.”

Camden just grunted and kept moving, completely ignoring Mr. Ellsworth. He crossed the room in what seemed like three steps while I continued to punch him in the back and yell at him, but he didn’t flinch. He didn’t even seem to feel it as he pushed through the front door one-handed and barreled over toward the car. I felt like I was floating, locked against his hard body. It simultaneously excited and angered the shit out of me.

He dropped me back on the ground. Rage flowed through me, making me see red, all excitement gone. Who the fuck did he think he was, picking me up like a child and throwing me over his shoulder? I reached back my hand and whipped it at his face, but he moved even faster than I thought possible and caught my wrist a few inches from his cheek.

“You’ll thank me later,” he growled at me.

“Let me hit you and I’ll thank you.”

“Get in the car.” He nodded and I followed his gaze.

The look on my dad’s face drew me up short. It was pure fear and worry, and he was looking around the parking lot like someone was going to follow us any second. Meanwhile, Camden’s mom was crying softly to herself and staring down into her lap. Another man, gruff looking like Camden, was sitting in the passenger seat.

“What’s going on?” I said, and Camden let my hand drop.

“Told you. Mexicans caught up to us.” He gave me a gentle push toward the car. “Get in and I’ll explain.”

“Why is Lynn crying?”

“Lacey,” he said, exasperated. “Get in or I swear I’ll shove you in head first.”

I found myself moving toward the car, compelled by some invisible force. Whatever humor or lightness in his voice from earlier in the day was completely gone, replaced by a business-like seriousness that seemed totally out of his character. Or at least it used to be. I realized I didn’t know the new Camden. Although I saw his old self there in everything he did, there was a new aspect to him overshadowing that old self completely.

He pulled open the door for me and I climbed in.

“Lacey,” Dad said, wrapping me in a hug.

“What’s going on?” I asked.

Camden shut the door and walked around the car, climbing into the driver’s seat.

“Took too long,” the man I didn’t recognize said.

“Shut up, Trip.” Camden put the car in gear and pulled out of the spot.

“It was so horrible,” Lynn mumbled.

“Dad?” I asked him.

“We need to go with Camden now, sweetie.”

The fear in his voice sent a jolt of lightning through my core.

Was it really true, everything he told me?

There was no way. It was too wild, too insane. And yet the look on Lynn’s face and the fear in my dad’s voice both suggested that something real and really bad was going on.

Camden pulled out of the parking lot and started to head west toward the border of town. He was driving fast but not dangerously, and his gaze didn’t stray an inch from the road.

“Is someone going to tell me what’s going on?” I snapped.

The man called Trip turned around and looked at me, a sheepish smile on his face.

“Everything’s okay,” he said.

“Who the hell is this?” I asked my dad.

He shook his head. “Friend of Camden’s.”

“I’m Trip.”

“I swear I’m climbing out of this car in one second if someone doesn’t start talking.”

“I already told you,” Camden said loudly. “The cartel is here and we need to get out of town.”

I looked at my dad, and the look on his face all but confirmed it.

“What happened?” I asked him softly.

“We had no clue,” he said slowly. “I answered the door, assuming it was just someone trying to sell something. They came in and tied us up, started to threaten us, said they’d kill us if we didn’t find Camden.”

He paused and looked away. A stone the size of the Rocky Mountains lodged itself into my guts.

“That can’t be real.”

He looked back. “Camden showed up. He killed the guys holding us captive and here we are.”

I looked at Camden. “You killed someone?”

He didn’t look back at me. “Only because I had to.”

Lynn began to cry harder and Dad turned to comfort her, speaking softly into her ear.

“We need to call the police,” I said.

“No cops,” Trip and Camden both said at the same time.

“They can help us,” I said, confused. Why wouldn’t we call the police? Why were we just driving when Camden had killed someone?

“No, they can’t,” Camden said. “Trip, you explain.”

Trip looked back at me, still smiling his sheepish smile. I wanted to smack it off his face but kept myself under control.

“If the cops come, me and Camden are going away. Once in prison, we’ll get shanked in some dirty shower one night, and you all will get murdered in your beds.”

“That can’t be true. The police can protect us.”

“No, they can’t. The cartels have more money, time, and manpower than any police agency. Now that two of theirs are dead, El Tiburon won’t stop until he gets revenge.”

“El Tiburon? Is that a joke?” My brain wracked itself for what I remembered from Spanish class, but it couldn’t find anything.

He shrugged. “Cartel leaders like to have nicknames. His means ‘The Shark.’”

I sat back in my seat, shock washing over me in waves. Lynn continued to cry and Dad continued to comfort her while Camden stared at the road stone-faced and Trip fiddled with the radio.

I stared out the window, practically numb. This couldn’t be happening. Camden just came back, out of nowhere, and suddenly he was bringing down the wrath of some random Mexican drug cartel. Not to mention he was murdering people now, too.

“This doesn’t make sense,” I mumbled.

“I’m sorry, Lace,” Camden said.

I glared at him. “Don’t talk to me. You did this to us.”

His expression didn’t change. “I know. And I’m sorry this is happening.”

“Great, Camden is sorry yet again. How many times do you get to royally fuck our lives up before you just go away for good?”

“Damn,” Trip muttered.

Camden was silent for a minute. “I’m going to fix this,” he said finally.

“Yeah? Are you going to somehow go back in time so Lynn doesn’t have to be totally traumatized? Are you going to make this cartel magically go away?”

“I’m going to fix it,” he repeated, and the car fell into silence.

As we got onto the highway, heading west, driving fast away from town, I realized that all of my plans had changed irrevocably. It seemed almost trite and silly to realize that my summer plans were all out the window, but I had been banking on a certain kind of life.

Now, suddenly and without warning, Camden was back and we were on the run from Mexican gangsters. No matter what happened, nothing was ever going to be the same for us again. My life was changed forever.

All because of him. That bastard, that self-absorbed, cocky asshole. No matter how he made me feel when he was around, he ruined everything. He was an unstoppable hurricane, even years ago. He did whatever he wanted and didn’t care about the consequences.

Suddenly, my whole life was a consequence of his stupid mistakes. We were all getting dragged down.

And yet, for as angry and shocked as I was, part of me believed we’d make it out alive.

If there was anyone in the world that could fix our fucked-up situation, it was him. As much as I hated to admit it, I knew it was him.

I
hated that look on her face.

It was pure loathing and scorn. I knew I deserved it, knew I was bringing more pain and horror into my family’s lives than they deserved, but it still hurt. Of everyone in the world, I cared about what Lacey thought of me, and clearly she thought I was a piece of shit at the moment.

Who could blame her, though? My poor mother was busy going through full-on post-traumatic stress in the backseat as we sped out of town. And as far as Lacey was concerned, I was a murderer.