Pursue (Portland Street Kings Book 3) (8 page)

“Dom, you’re risking too much. Putting me on a pedestal when one day you may realize you have all these regrets, and it was all for nothing.”
 

“I won’t.” Dom shakes his head.

“You might,” I push.

Dom stands from the bed and with resolution in his eyes, he replies, “I won’t. I love you, Dell. I’ll never regret putting you first.”

As if hearing steel doors slam, my walls go up. Dom’s said he loved me before. The first time was after we had sex and right before he left, telling me it was all a mistake.
I’ve heard it all before.
 

I compose myself and clear all emotions from my face. “I’m sorry about your friend,” I state softly. “I wish you wouldn’t blame yourself for his death. You aren’t the one who struck him down. But I know better than anyone, moving past the phase of blame takes time.” Silence stretches between us and I decide it’s time to end this conversation. “I’m going to have a quick shower and then jump into bed, goodnight.”
 

Walking into the bathroom, the mirror reflects a private moment I wasn’t supposed to see: Dom sinking to the floor, his head in his hands and his shoulders shaking silently.
 

I don’t turn around. I don’t ask him if he’s okay. Closing the door, I stare at my reflection. I’m able to push back my tears, but I’m unable to stop the tremble of my chin and hands.
I won’t comfort. I won’t care. That’s not me anymore.
The more I push back, the safer I’ll be.
 

Chapter Nine

Dom

The alarm blares through the room, and I turn onto my back and groan, stretching my arms out. It feels as if my eyes just closed. What a fucking terrible sleep.
 

Della whines beside me and I look over and catch her rolling over, her eyes meeting mine. She's staring at me with such sadness that I wonder if she realizes she hasn't put her walls up yet. I can see her turmoil. Her eyes roam my disheveled hair then to my tired red eyes and onto my bare chest. Her gaze returns to mine, and I see a mixture of desire and remorse. I know Della. Walking away from me last night wasn’t easy for her. She wants me to think that it was, but her tormented stare tells me this morning she’s full of regrets, but she’ll never admit them.
 

As if finally waking up, Della turns away quickly, shame filling her features. She pushes the covers back and jumps out of the bed. I do the same, racing to get up at the same time, to tell her it’s okay, that I understand why she turned away from me last night.
 

We both end up standing at the same time, and she turns around sensing my movement. We stand in silence, staring at each other. The words are on the tip my tongue, but unable to roll out with my voice.
 

Della’s eyes linger for a second before she spins and walks into the bathroom without a word.

For the first time, I’m lost with what to say and how to express myself to her. I’ve told Della all that I can. I’ve repeated my devotion and proved my loyalty. Words are starting to get old and maybe all I’m left with are actions. Stay by her side no matter my pain or rejection.
Give her more time.

After all, I know all of this is my fault. I still have a lot to prove. Getting drunk yesterday and leaving for the day was not the brightest thing to do, but I was angry. Furious at myself for this sickening need to be near her. That need got my best friend killed. That need caused me to miss his funeral. None of it is her fault, yet yesterday, I couldn’t bear to be near her. She reminded me of what I'd done, my selfishness, and also how much I’d fucked everything up. Regrets, those fuckers are unending and agonizing.
 

Growing up with wonderful parents and having three great best friends, who also joined the marines with me, I always thought my life would go one way: marines and become a man my parents could be proud of. Meet a few girls, but nothing serious. Have fun for a few years and then find a girl to settle down with, one who could handle the armed forces lifestyle. Except after four years, I’d had enough. I was mentally exhausted. I wanted a job where I woke each morning with a purpose, but when our missions failed and we lost someone, my reason to fight each day turned to fear and depression. We weren’t allowed to say, "mission failure," that was unprofessional, but when you walked in with five brothers and walked out with four, it ate at you, all day and all night. We were told to move on, and they'd died heroes, and that they would always be remembered. My captain was right. Those men would never be forgotten. I would never forget not saving them either.
 

Deciding to leave the corps after four years was the best decision for me. My best friends Jake, Nick, and Kayne followed.
 

We had a few good years before life showed its true colors. It picked on the weak, tore down the strong and destroyed three people I love, but with darkness comes light. Determination became rebirth and once again life was good. Until we lost Nick.
 

I had been in Portland one day when Jake rang telling me what had happened. Jake was devastated, his thick rough voice stammering to get the words out. I was speechless, my mistake coming to the forefront of my mind. I was honest, told Jake it was my fault. He told me to shut the fuck up and not to be stupid. Kayne said the same. Brothers. They’ll always have my back.
I should have had Nick's back when he needed me most.
Everyone I care about refuses to place the blame on me, and I won’t lie and say a small amount of hope doesn’t light up inside me praying they're right. But I can’t fight the knowledge that if I had stayed, had Nick's back, he’d still be alive today. Nick would be alive and Della would know about her family. All I needed was patience. Staring up at the ceiling, I place my fist over my heart and my eyes glass over.
I’m so sorry, Nicky.
My chest hiccups with a deep inhale.
I promise I’ve learned my lesson.
No more taking chances with those I love.
 

Protection and patience is my new path.
 

***

An hour later after a full breakfast, we’re driving through Iowa City. Della’s in the passenger seat on the phone to her brother. Slater’s angry and anxious voice booms through the speaker of her phone. He’s pissed we haven't reached Hastings yet. Della’s trying to calm him down, saying we stopped at one more place just to be safe and that driving such long hours was dangerous.

Tuning out their conversation, I come to a stop at a set of red lights. Tapping my fingers on the door through the open window, I glance right and then left. Adrenaline shoots through my body as my eyes land on a police cruiser and an officer who's staring at me. I turn away slowly hoping not to appear nervous. Staring straight ahead, I push my eyes left watching the officer as he appears to be examining the Dodge.
Hopefully just for faults.
My anxiety releases as he turns to his cruiser, but my relief is only short lived when he pulls out his radio and talks into it while still staring at us. My gut churns.
 

Staring back up at the light, I bounce my knees.
 
“Come on. Come on.”

Della looks over at me curiously while continuing to speak to Slater. I don’t dare voice my panic with Slater on the other end of that call.
 

The light finally turns green. I put my foot down, driving as fast as I can but within the speed limit so not to give the officer a reason to pull us over. As we put distance between us and the cruiser, I glimpse into the rearview mirror and spot the officer, still staring at us, his eyes focused solely on our number plate.
Fuck!
I don’t know what that means, but my gut is telling me Lucini has broadened his search for Della if Paulie has admitted to losing us. And if I’m right, and he has corrupt cops looking out for us and reporting back to him and Paulie, then there may be no place left for us to hide.
 

***

Thirty minutes later and seeing a sign for the next town, Cedar Rapids, my shoulders begin to relax. It feels as if I've looked into the rearview mirror more than the road in front of me. My hands loosen their grip on the steering wheel. I rub one at a time on my jeans, trying to get rid of my anxious, sweaty remnants.
 

Glancing over at Della, my chest squeezes. She’s tried starting conversations with me, but I could only give her short, clipped answers. Chaos reigned through my mind and what ifs. I was too focused to think or talk about anything except to drive, scan the road behind us and drive as fast as I possibly could without being pulled over. Every minute since leaving Iowa City has felt like an eternity. I’m hesitant to tell Della that Lucini has pulled his weight within the police force, and now there are eyes everywhere, in every city and state. It’s still only a guess. Maybe I’m more paranoid than I should be. I won’t tell her unless I’m certain. I don’t want to worry her any more than she already does. However, with each short answer I gave her, the more she pulled away. A knot forms in my stomach knowing she probably assumes my bad mood is because of last night. Her turning her back on me when I needed someone there for me. But I can’t explain right now. When we’re in Hastings and things have calmed down, I’ll fill her in, make her understand I was going out-of-my-mind crazy at the time. Right now, all that matters is getting Della to Hastings, to safety and with people I know who will go to any lengths to protect someone I love.

“I am so sorry,” Della whispers, her voice cracking.

I’m ripped from my thoughts at her sad tone. I glance away from the road quickly to view Della staring down at her fidgeting hands, her body pushed right up against the door as if she’s thinking hard, working herself up to say more, but needs to think on it a bit longer. My eyes land back on the highway. While the knot in my stomach tightens painfully, I start to reply, but the Cedar Rapids gateway sign catches my attention for only a second. It’s enough time though for Della to speak again.

“I wanted you to know that I’m sorry about last night and I understand your anger today and also the hurt feelings you must have. I woke up this morning with a sick feeling in my stomach and a heavy weight on my chest. In the past, those sensations have guided me to realize I made a mistake and that I hurt someone. I don’t ever want to hurt you, Dom, but it seems in trying to protect myself, people and their feelings have been sacrificed. I’m going to work on that.” She finishes with a nod, trying to convince herself that she can become numb, but at the same time know when others need help. For four years, the marines tried to turn off my emotions so that I could be the best soldier I could be. It’s a fight most lose and few win.
 

“Dell—” Suddenly my body’s jerked forward from a crash at the rear of the car.
 

Della shrieks from the jolt. At the same time, I peer into the rearview mirror as Della swings around in her seat.

My heart jackhammers against my chest as Della covers her mouth with her hand and speaks behind it, “Oh my god. How did they find us?”
 

Quickly, I glance from the silver Mercedes right on our ass to the road in front of me. “Fuck. I knew it. Motherfucker!” I growl and punch the steering wheel twice, hard.

Della begins to ask me what I’m talking about when we’re both jolted forward again, this time harder than before.

“They’re trying to run us off the road!” Della yells.
 

“We need to outrun them,” I state while pushing my foot down on the accelerator, almost all the way to the floor.
 

We pass two cars; however, the Mercedes is still close behind us, building up its own speed to keep up. My eyes are everywhere all at once, the back, the front, the side.
 

“Della, are you strapped in tight?” I demand with a loud voice.

“Y-yes, I am,” she stammers.

Pressure builds in my chest as the Dodge reaches speeds over the legal limit, dangerous for us both if the car were to crash at this momentum.
 

Glancing at the rearview mirror, looking for Paulie and not seeing the Mercedes, waves of panic thunder through my chest as Della shouts, “Dom, they're on your side!”
 

Swinging my head to the right, my eyes land straight on a sadistic, smiling Paulie in the driver seat and then an angry and bruised-faced Greg. Abruptly, Paulie yanks his steering wheel and their car smashes into my side of the car. The Dodge swerves left, heading straight for the cement block separating the highways.
 

Della’s scream pierces the air and her body braces for a hit.
 

With both hands, I turn the steering wheel right and then left, furiously trying to straighten us as we swerve all over the road.

Finally, I rectify our direction and take back control over the Dodge. With one quick glance back at Paulie, I notice the annoyance on his features that he didn’t cause us to crash.
 

“Holy Hell,” Della whispers with bulging eyes and rasping breaths.
 

“We can’t outrun him on the highway,” I declare while stretching my neck, looking for what’s coming up ahead. I see green signs meaning a turnoff is coming up. There are three cars in front of us; they’re coming up to the exit.

“What do we do then?”
 

 
“Hang on to the door handle and the seat, baby. This ride is about to get a whole lot bumpier,” I instruct as a plan formulates in my mind.

“Dom,” Della says firmly.
 

Staying in the left-hand lane, I push the accelerator all the way down to the floor. We easily pass car one out of the three.
 

“What are you going to do?” Della rushes out in a panicked tone as the car speeds up. She grasps a tight hold of the door handle and seat.
That’s my girl. Prepare.

Paulie's Mercedes has no choice but to pull into the left-hand lane behind us to keep up.
 

Peeking down at the NOS button on the steering wheel, I both thank Mickey for lending us his car and also pray it has NOS in it. I never thought to check. I didn’t think it would come down to a race on a highway.