Taming Blaze (8 page)

Dani's eyes widened, and her face turned pale as
she stood there, silent. 
Shit.
  She did not look happy to see me.  In fact, I was probably the last person on earth she wanted to see.  Who could blame her?  I’m sure she didn’t think she was going to screw a dirty biker on the side of the road and ever run into him again.

Guillermo broke the silence
.  “I apologize for my daughter’s rudeness.  As I said, she’s not entirely happy with this arrangement.”

“Blaze will provide protection, keep you at the safe house until everything’s clear
,” Mad Dog said.

“Dani,” I said.

Her lips parted, but no sound came out.  I couldn’t tell if she was angry or embarrassed.

“Nice to meet you,” I said.  “I’m Blaze.”

I felt an undercurrent of electricity between us, the same heat we’d had in the hotel.  It ran through my veins and I felt my blood boil, thinking about her touch.  I wanted to scoop her up in my arms, carry her away and get her out of here, away from this life.  It was some kind of primal instinct.  It took everything I had to stand there, rooted in the ground, and not rush to her.

“
I'm Dani,” she said, her gaze never leaving me, heat flashing in her eyes.

When she spoke, I knew it.  I knew it more than I’d know
n anything else in my life.  I knew that this girl would wreck me.

"This is such bullshit!"  Balling up a tee-shirt, I threw it in a bag.  “I’m so glad I unpacked everything just to have to repack it a
ll. Where am I being banished, anyway?" 

My father stood just inside my bedroom, scowling.  “It's for your own protection.  We talke
d about this."

I returned to my closet to grab shoes. 
I picked up a pair of Jimmy Choos, then set them back down.  Obviously there was no need for dress shoes.  I glanced at the safe in the back of my closet. 
Should I bring a weapon?
  I grabbed a more sensible pair of sneakers and walked out of the closet.  “So you’re telling me I'm supposed to just sit in a fucking house somewhere.  You won’t even tell me where.  And with some guy I don’t even know."

"It will be someone safe, someone I trust." 
My father paused.  "Clean up your fucking language.  I won't sit here and listen to you yell at me with that filthy mouth.  You're not a thug."

"Daddy, please."  I sat on the bed.  I didn't need this now.  I came home to get away from Billy, clear my head, have a little fun this summer.  Suddenly the issue with Billy paled in comparison.  It seemed like it happened a million years ago.  "I want to see my friends, hang out at the beach, do normal stuf
f regular college students do."

"You're not a normal college student." 
My father sat down in an overstuffed chair near my bed.  "I'm sorry you don't like it, but all this?"  He gestured at the room.  "All this is because of my work.  You are where you are because of it, and you could express a little more gratitude for your present situation."

"The present situation is that I'm being shuttled off to some
craphole
in the middle of nowhere, away from everyone I know
, for my protection
."  I spit out the last words, furious with him.  I had friends in Los Angeles, people I knew.   "I don't even know where I'm going."

"You don't need to
know.  It's for your own good."

I laughed bitterly.  "How come everything is for my own good?  I'm sick of hearing th
at.  I'm sick of all of this."

Anger flashed in his eyes.  "I would highly advise that you don’t say something you’ll regret.  If you don’t like
all of this
, as you say, I can arrange so you won’t have to deal with any of it ever again.”  It wasn’t simple fatherly advice.  It was a direct threat, coming from a man who had power and influence that was more far-reaching than I could begin to imagine. 

"Is this because of what happened with Billy?"  I just couldn’t help myself; I had to continue.  I swear I didn’t have a death wish.

"No, but he'll be dealt with suitably."

"I don't want him
dealt with
," I said.  "I didn't come home so you would have him killed.  Tell me you're not going to kill him."

My father
stared at me, unblinking.  "Does he deserve to live?"

Not really,
I thought reflexively.
Then,
yes, of course he does.
  "He was high.  He choked me.  You can't kill him," I protested.  I knew a moral argument against killing him would not sway my father, but maybe a practical one would.  "Do you know who he is?"

"I know
who he is."

"He's somebody, daddy."  I waited to see if anything I said was registering with him.  I hoped it was.  "He's one of the Randolphs.  I don't care what the hell he did to me.  You can't just have him killed.  You can't.  They will come after
us."

"It's not for you to worry about."

"Yes it is, daddy.  It's absolutely my concern.  How can you say it doesn't involve me?"

"It
's not your concern," he said.

"Prom
ise me you won’t go after him."

"I won't make that promise."

"Promise me," I begged.  "Please don't kill him."

"It w
on't connect to us in any way."

"You can't, daddy," I pleaded.  "It will come back to us.  If someone touches him, it will come back on us."  My stomach lurched.  I knew coming here was a bad idea.  At my core, I had hoped that my father was a reasonable man, that he wouldn’t do something insane like go after Billy.  I thought he would understand that it was too dangerous
.  The Randolphs were just too influential.  I should have stayed at school, distanced myself from Billy, waited until he got bored and moved on to someone else.

What was wrong with me? 
You knew he would kill Billy.  Some part of you knew, and that makes you a killer too.  You’re your father’s daughter.

No, no, no.

My father kissed my forehead.  "I promise you.  It won't connect to us."

"It's wrong."

"Morality is for people who live in a fantasy world.  Now, I won’t hear any more about it.  The conversation about this Billy is over.”

Over
meant
over
with my father.  Literally, if you weren’t careful.  “Can you tell me why I have to go away, at least?”

He
exhaled deeply.  “I didn’t want to bring up painful memories.”

My heart skipped a beat.  I sat
down on the bed, hands between my legs.  I was almost afraid to ask.  “You already did, on the phone.  You opened that door.”  I heard my voice falter.

“It’
s about your mother’s killer.”

I inhaled sharply. 
My mother.
He had already said it on the phone, but my heart still raced, having him bring it up here again.  "What exactly is going on?"

"The man who killed her -"

"The one you said was dead,"  I interrupted, not caring whether he found it rude.  “He’s not dead, then, is he?”

M
y father shook his head.  "No."

"Did you know he was alive, all this time?"
My voice sounded like it was coming from someplace else, somewhere outside of myself, this high-pitched, whiny voice that didn't sound like me.  It didn’t sound like I was in control.  "You said he was dead.  You lied to me."

"I told you that to protect you."

"Protect me?"  I couldn't seem to control the volume of my voice.  I stood, wobbling, my thoughts racing so fast I couldn't make any sense of them.  "Protect me from what?  Protect me from the life you forced me into when I was a kid? Protect me from my mom being murdered?  Tell me."  I was screaming, filled with rage.  "Tell me!  What exactly have you protected me from?"

"You have no idea, Dani," he said.  "You think you've been exposed to something, that the things you know are
something
?  You've been exposed to
nothing.
  You don't know what I know, what you could have seen."

"My mother's death- that was nothing, then?"

He shook his head, regret written all over his face, at least I thought it was regret.  I never knew with my father.  He was an emotional chameleon, changing at whim, and I could never be sure what was genuine.  Or if anything was ever genuine.  "You know that's not what I'm saying.  Your mother's death was a tragedy.  But her murderer was gone, and there was nothing you could do about it.  You didn't need to worry about him coming after you.  That's what I was protecting you from."

"So my mother's murderer has been running around for years wanting to kill me too, and you let me think I was perfectly safe?  That's your idea of protection?"

"You've been protected the entire time.  You've been safe."

"But suddenly I'm not."

"No.  You're not."

"But you're not goin
g to tell me why I'm not safe."

"No.  I'm not." 

"Why should I go to some safe house?"

"There’s no
should.
  You
will.
  This is the only time we'll have this conversation."

"Is that a threat?"  I was pushing it, and I knew it.  I was testing him.  I watched the vein on his neck throb, the one that provided me
with a barometer of how angry he was when I was a kid, how close he was to exploding.  I watched him, wondering if he would explode now.  He rarely did, but when he did it was nuclear.

When I was fourteen, my mother was murdered.  I ran around after that, completely out of control, and my father was angry all the time.  I didn’t know if he was angry at himself, at me, or at the world.  But o
ne day, I was sitting on my bed missing my mother, and I had an epiphany, as much as fourteen year old kids can have epiphanies.  I’d always thought of my father as dangerous, but never to me.  Toward other people, sure.  But not to me, his daughter.  But there was something about him after her murder, something dark- and I thought he might actually kill me.  That was why I begged to go off to boarding school.

“It's not a threat," he said.  "It's a statement.  We will not have this conversation again.  Pack your bags.  You'
ll leave tomorrow."

After he left, I sat on my bed
, feeling depleted.  Part of me wanted to fight this, to get my shit, jump in the car, and drive away.  I could start a new life somewhere under a new name.  I would live in Thailand; serve cocktails on the beach; live cheaply.  I could be someone else, anyone else, someone who was not my father's daughter.  Another part of me was just resigned to it all, the same way I'd always been resigned to the fact that my father would control my whole life, no matter where he was.  Everything he’d given me came at a price, and that was the cost.  It was my deal with the devil.

I knew I didn't have the strength to fight him.  I would shut my mouth
; go to the safe house; read some novels; and sit on my ass until he did whatever he was going to do.  I wouldn't ask too many questions, and I would live.  My instinct for self-preservation would win out in the end.  It inevitably did.  That was the most important lesson I'd learned in life. 

Always save yours
elf.

I steeled myself as I waited outside the heavy wooden door to my father's o
ffice.  Bikers stood at the entrance to the house, lingering, joking around, playing grab ass with each other like a bunch of high school football players. 
Morons.
  These guys didn’t look familiar, a different club than he’d used when I was growing up.  But they were all the same.  My father, always in bed with bikers. 
Like father, like daughter,
I thought.