RIP ME: A Dark Romance Page 4

  I could feel myself shaking in the seat.

  Rip grinned and nodded a little, clearly following my train of thought. “That's right,” he told me approvingly. “We don't want things to get messy, do we?”

  It suddenly occurred to me that he knew where I lived. Even if I got away from him and told the cops and got him sent away to jail, he could send someone after me — someone even more ruthless than him. I bit my lower lip.

  “Look,” Rip said, his voice matter-of-fact. “Once we deliver the packages to Cherri, we're out of this. It's not like we're trying to break into the prison to get them to Cat herself or anything like that. As far as you're aware, Cat has nothing to do with this — we're just delivering a few packages to Cherri Velasquez, a friend of mine. As soon as that's done, I'll pay you your share — maybe add in a little something extra — and then you're free to go your own way. I'm not inducting you into the Gemini Riders or anything like that; you don't have to be so worried.”

  “This can't be legal!” I exclaimed, shaking my head. “Even if we're just delivering gun parts to this … Cherri.”

  “No one's ever going to find out anyways,” Rip scoffed. “What do you think I'm going to do, flag down the nearest policeman and alert him to what we're doing?” He grinned wickedly at me. “Anyway, you said it yourself. You're my business partner now. You're as much a part of this deal as I am. Don't you forget it. If you get me stopped by the police, what do you think I'm going to do? I'm going to pull out that nice little contract that you signed for me...”

  “I didn't sign a contract,” I said, momentarily confused.

  Rip raised an eyebrow at me. “Didn't you?” he asked. “Let's see, we have the AirBnB arrangements. And then we have this little thing.” He held up an official-looking sheet of paper that had my office header on it. “This outlines our agreement — that you will travel along with me to help me avoid any suspicion as I deliver a few packages of unspecified contents to another member of the Gemini Riders, here code-named Red Sierra. And look, you were even so kind as to sign down at the bottom.”

  I felt my gut churn unpleasantly. They were pre-signed pages that I used for work correspondence; he must have found one of them as he nosed around in my house and saved one or two of them just in case something like this happened.

  Maybe I'd miscalculated a bit when I'd thought that he was too brash. He'd clearly thought things through a little more than I'd anticipated.

  I swallowed hard, knowing that it'd be difficult to fight against these accusations if he chose to bring that “contract” to the police. I knew everything about the mission, including what was inside the boxes. There was no sign of struggle except for maybe a little bruising to my wrists from struggling against the ties — but there was really every indication that I was part of this, that I had willingly gone along with him. And I knew what would happen to me if I was implicated in this — I'd be going to jail for just as long as Rip was.

  I bit my lip, trying to keep from crying. “Okay,” I said finally, defeat in my voice. “You've got me, all right? I'll go along with the plan. But if I think there are things that need to be changed to make this safer, you have to agree to listen to me, all right? We're partners in this, after all.” My tone was bitter; I still couldn't believe I had gotten myself caught up in something so reckless and stupid. Adventure was one thing, but I'd known that Rip was dangerous and potentially involved in illegal dealings right from the start.

  But it was a little too late for any remorse now. The best thing to do was to go along with him, get this mission done with as soon as possible, and then obliterate any evidence of my involvement in it, even if it meant quitting my job and moving houses just to make sure Rip and the Gemini Riders could never find me again.

  “I had a feeling you'd come around,” Rip said, a smile on his face. He leaned forward and untied my wrists.

  Chapter Seven

  Liv

  Late that afternoon, we pulled into what Rip assured me was the final pit-stop before delivering the packages. I followed him mutely into the motel room, honestly too tired to be upset with my situation anymore.

  “You can take the first shower if you want,” Rip said generously as we walked into the motel room.

  Instead, I collapsed across the bed, throwing an arm up over my eyes. I didn't know if it was the fitful sleep from the night before or the stress or the exhausting ride across state lines, but I didn't even know if I had it in me to shower.

  My phone started ringing, saving me from answering Rip. I picked up the phone and accepted the call after barely even looking at who was calling. “Hollande?” I asked. I could feel tears start pricking my eyes already, and I wanted desperately to tell him what was going on — but I knew I couldn't do that.

  “Hello, darling,” Hollande said. “I went by your house this evening but you weren't there — what are you up to? It's unlike you not to come straight home from work, even on a Friday.”

  I bit my lower lip, trying to figure out what to tell him. I had been waiting to tell him about the trip until after I'd returned. I remembered how excited I'd been when I'd booked it, how sure I'd been that he would really agree to date me if I came back from this spontaneous trip full of stories to tell him. Instead, my trip was turning out a little differently from what I'd imagined, and I could never tell him about any of this.

  “I'm ... on a trip,” I finally managed to say. That was true enough, at least.

  There was a frown in Hollande's voice when he responded. “A work trip?”

  “No, a personal trip,” I said, wondering just how much I should say.

  “You didn't tell me you were going on a trip,” Hollande said, his voice almost accusing. And he was right to sound upset about it; I should never have kept it from him in the first place. Even if we weren't technically dating yet, we talked nearly every day and there was always the notion that we would be dating.

  “It was a ... last-minute kind of thing,” I practically whispered. “I know you keep telling me to be more adventurous and spontaneous, and I...”

  “Where are you?” Hollande asked. “You sound upset.”

  In fact, I could feel tears streaming down my face, and I was embarrassed to realize that Rip was still standing there in the doorway of the bathroom, watching this whole exchange. He was probably trying to make sure that I didn't say anything incriminating. I wasn't that stupid, though.

  “I'm fine, it was just a long day and I'm really tired,” I lied. “Don't worry about it. I'll be back home in a few days.”

  “Where are you?” Hollande repeated, and I wondered if I was imagining the suspicion in his voice. Maybe I was just hoping he would get suspicious, that he would call the police, that they would come to find me. But that really wasn't something that I could hope for, not when that would mean going to jail.

  I sobbed, trying to muffle the sound with my hand.

  “Darling, where are you?” Hollande repeated. “Is there anyone there with you?”

  “I'm fine,” I lied again, trying to keep the choked tears from my voice. “Really, Hollande, I'm fine. I'll be home in a couple days, and we can talk then.”

  “I'm going to come find you,” Hollande vowed. “I know I wanted you to be more adventurous, but maybe I pushed you too hard. I'm sorry if I pushed you into something that you're not comfortable with, darling. Let me come get you and I'll bring you back home.”

  I bristled at that, though. If this were a normal vacation, I would have been fine — maybe a little lonely, but not to the point that I needed rescuing. And it upset me to know that he thought that about me. Sure, I liked my routine, but I could be a little spontaneous sometimes without it being the end of the world for me.

  Not that he would have any proof of that, from the way I'd been living lately. The most spontaneous I got these days was to make an impulse purchase while I was grocery shopping.

  “Darling, you have to tell me where you are so that I can come rescue you,” Hollande said.
“I'll bring you back home and get you all settled in where you're comfortable...”

  Suddenly, I was replaying all of my interactions with Hollande in my mind, remembering all the times he had coddled me. Of course, he'd done it under the guise of acting like a gentleman, but the more I thought about it, the more I realized he treated me like a fragile possession that he had to take care of but didn't much care for.

  My eyes slid over to Rip, and I stared at him for a long moment, trying to puzzle out my feelings as Hollande continued to give me patronizing assurances over the phone. Maybe that was part of what had driven me to go along with Rip. Maybe that was part of my attraction to the man. For all that he had gotten me caught up in something totally illegal, for all that he was impulsive in all the wrong ways, he actually expected me to be able to reason and hold my own. He expected that a little danger wouldn't destroy me. And I appreciated that.

  “Hollande, I have to go,” I said, voice firmer than it had been at any point during the call. Without waiting for a response from him, I hung up, still unable to tear my eyes from Rip.

  Rip raised an eyebrow at me, folding his arms across his chest. “Who's Hollande?” he asked, tone dangerous.

  I ducked my head a little, dropping my gaze. “Just ... a guy I know,” I said, not even sure how to describe who Hollande was. The man was charming, a real social butterfly — and the more I thought about it, the more I wondered if he had just been playing with me all this time. Maybe he had kept leading me on, promising to be my boyfriend, and then had gone back to his posh group of friends and laughed about it all with them. Maybe.

  “Who is Hollande?” Rip asked again, his tone even more menacing. “The last thing I need is for someone else looking for you because you were sobbing into the phone while you were supposed to be having fun on vacation.”

  His words were eerily close to the truth, and I wondered if he'd been able to hear Hollande's side of the call. But I didn't think my phone volume was turned up that high.

  “It doesn't matter,” I finally said, shaking my head. “He's not important.” But I was crying again, this time in earnest.

  Rip looked torn for a moment, then he came over to the bed and sat down next to me, pulling me carefully into his arms. “Hey,” he said gently, lightly stroking my hair. “It's okay. You're going to be okay.”

  I sobbed and clung to him, burying my face against his chest even though I knew I really had no right to be doing that. “He's the reason I was trying to be more spontaneous,” I finally told Rip. “He told me he would date me if I was more spontaneous. But he doesn't really want me to be more spontaneous, he just wants ... a damsel in distress, I guess. He wants a silly doll that he can put up on a pedestal.”

  “Guy sounds like a jackass,” Rip muttered into my hair.

  I shook my head. “He was really good to me,” I said. “Patronizing maybe, but good. And he never got me caught up in anything like this.”

  “Except for how he kind of did,” Rip pointed out. “If you hadn't been trying to be more adventurous, would you be where you are now?”

  I shook my head again, trying to get my tears under control. I sniffled a little and pulled away from Rip, even though I almost wanted to stay there against his solid torso for the rest of the night, burrowed against his warmth and protection. I wanted that, but I didn't need it — and I supposed that was the real difference between Rip and Hollande.

  “I'm okay,” I said, although my voice was still a bit watery. I tried a smile and shrugged a little. “Sorry to go to pieces on you like that. I'm going to go get cleaned up.”

  “Okay,” Rip said, his voice still impossibly gentle as he reached up to wipe one last tear from my cheek. Then, his voice turned gruff: “For what it's worth, I think you deserve better than him.”

  I shook my head. “You don't even know him,” I said. “And anyway, I'm not sure how much I value the opinion of a criminal.” But I couldn't help smiling a little at him. “Thanks,” I said softly.

  Chapter Eight

  Rip

  The next morning, I let Liv sleep in a little — partially because I knew she must be exhausted after our ride across a good portion of the country and partially because I couldn't bring myself to disturb her when she was looking so peaceful and angelic sprawled out against the sheets like that.

  I puttered around a little on my computer, checking my email, and found that Damien had written to me with a request that I call him. I sighed and decided to save that until after breakfast at least. Finally, I went to get breakfast for us.

  Liv was just sitting up when I returned from the store. She blinked blearily at me and then yawned widely. “What time is it?” she asked, her voice still rough with sleep.

  “A little after ten,” I informed her. “We don't have that far to go today, and I thought you could use the rest.”

  She blinked at me, and I could see a few different emotions flicker across her face: gratefulness, surprise, and maybe a hint of suspicion.

  I grinned at her, amused by the suspicion especially, and held up the bags of food. “I brought us some breakfast, if you're hungry.”

  “Yeah,” Liv said, scooting towards the edge of the bed. “Yeah, uh, that's great. Thanks.”

  I wanted to ask how she was feeling, but I bit it back, not needing to upset her before we even got started for the day. I didn't know who this Hollande person was to her except that he was maybe a potential suitor, but I would have had to be blind to not realize that she had feelings for him that either weren't entirely reciprocated or were reciprocated in the wrong sort of way.

  I silently pulled out coffee and breakfast sandwiches and set them out on the table, sitting unceremoniously to unwrap one of the sandwiches. “I didn't know what you wanted, so I got kind of a selection,” I told Liv around a mouthful of egg, bacon, and cheese. I pointed at the other sandwiches. “There's a sausage-and-egg one and a bacon-and-egg one, or there's a blueberry muffin. And coffee.”

  Liv's brow furrowed, and she looked like she wanted to say something, but then she simply sat down across from me and grabbed the sausage-and-egg sandwich, unwrapping it slowly. “What's our plan for today?” she finally asked.

  “I have to call Damien,” I said with a shrug. “And then this evening, we're supposed to meet with Cherri to coordinate the drop off of the packages. I expect to have more details from her soon.”

  “You don't know where we're supposed to be dropping them?” Liv asked, sounding confused.

  “She needed to make sure the location was secure and that it could be changed if necessary,” I said patiently, reminding myself that Liv didn't know how these things were normally handled. “She gave me the city, but the exact location was yet-to-be-determined when we last spoke.”

  Liv shook her head, but she didn't push the topic. “What does Damien want?” she asked instead.

  I shrugged a little. “Not sure. Could just be news from our branch of the Gemini Riders; he knows I'm on a delivery at the moment and so we can't meet up in person. Or he could be calling to chat about this mission. It could be that he knows something about Cherri that could be important to us.”

  “Do you trust Cherri?” Liv asked, picking at her sandwich a little. “I mean, I know you said to Damien that you don't know anything about her, but you trust her not to … I don't even know.”

  I took a bite of my sandwich and chewed while I considered this. “It's difficult to explain to you what it means to be a part of a biker gang if you're not part of that lifestyle,” I told her. “It's kind of like being a part of a fraternity or a sorority in college, I guess, or part of a ... really solid group of friends. Even if your friends have friends that you don't know, you trust them, right? Because your friends are friends with them and your friends wouldn't be friends with people that they couldn't trust. Something like that.”

  “So Cherri's kind of a friend-of-a-friend?” Liv pressed.

  “Kind of like that,” I said. “I mean, the other thing about it i
s that there are...certain rules that go along with your membership. You agree to follow leadership's decisions, and you agree to accept their judgement.”

  “So if Damien told you not to deliver these packages, you'd listen to him?”

  “It's not that simple,” I said, shaking my head. “See, there's a hierarchy. Damien is the regional president of our branch. But Cat Zodiac is our national president — despite the fact that she's in jail at the moment. My orders are first from Cat and secondly from Damien.”

  “Do you trust Cat?”

  I sighed and rolled my eyes a little. “Look, this isn't really breakfast conversation, all right? Can we drop the discussion of politics?”

  Liv watched me for a moment and then shrugged, ducking her head a little. “Fine,” she muttered. “Just trying to know what I was getting myself into.” She sounded sullen, almost as though I'd hurt her feelings, and I had to suppress a sigh.