Monk by Ivy Black
Chapter Fifteen
Kasey
“This is a fine meal. Delicious,” my dad says.
“Thanks,” I reply. “I thought it might be nice for you to come home to a nicely cooked dinner. I imagine it’s been a little while.”
He nods and takes another bite of the pot roast I’ve made. My dad is a traditional meat-and-potatoes kind of guy, and though I ought to have made him something a little more unique and gourmet, I know he prefers more basic fare.
“So, where were you last night?” he asks.
“Went out. Getting reacquainted with the town.”
“That so?”
“Yep,” I reply. “That’s so.”
He takes another bite and chews thoughtfully, his eyes never leaving mine. My stomach tightens like it did whenever he would question me like this back when I was a kid. There’s just something in his eyes and the tone of his voice that makes it feel less like normal conversation, and more like an interrogation posing as casual small talk.
“See anybody while you were out getting reacquainted with the town?” he inquires.
I wipe my mouth with a napkin then set it down on the table. I already know where he’s going with this, and it’s not exactly the argument I want to be having right now. I’ve spent the entire day trying to not think about last night simply because it’s left me so damn confused and twisted up inside. Last night did not go how I’d expected it to go.
“You know, it wouldn’t hurt to just come right out and ask what it is you want to know. I’m not some criminal you need to play word games with, in the hopes of tripping them up to get a confession out of them,” I snap at him.
He takes another bite, his gaze still locked onto mine as he chews. “Force of habit, I guess. But my question still stands.”
My hands ball themselves into fists and I grit my teeth, knowing what’s about to come. But I’m not a sixteen-year-old girl anymore. I’m a grown woman and can make my own decisions.
Yeah, and look how well that worked out with your whole murderous-cartel-employed husband, the little voice in the back of my mind mocks me.
Ruthlessly quashing that voice, I turn my gaze to my dad who is looking back at me like I am actually one of those criminals he expects to lie to him. If this is what the crooks he interrogates feel like, I suddenly feel a pang of sympathy for them. It’s a stark reminder that my dad has eyes and ears everywhere around here. One of the perks of being the sheriff, I suppose.
“Yes, Dad. I saw Jacob last night. I didn’t even know he was in town and ran into the other day,” I confirm what he obviously already knows.
“Uh-huh,” he says as he wipes his mouth with his napkin. “And why’d you do that? He ain’t cause you enough misery for one lifetime already?”
Picking up my fork, I push the food around my plate, silently counting to ten as I try to rein in my anger, trying to tell myself that my dad is simply looking out for me. He bore the brunt of my emotions when Jacob left, and when things weren’t good around here. But the truth of the matter is that he hasn’t liked Jacob from day one and was glad when he left.
“He wanted to explain and apologize for what happened… back then,” I say.
“Apologizing” might be a generous description of what actually happened, but I’m going to give Jacob the benefit of the doubt.
“I don’t want you seein’ him, He’s bad news. He’s always been bad news,” he grumbled.
“Not that I’m planning on seeing him, but you haven’t liked him from the start. You never even gave him a chance.”
He shrugs. “Man comes from a family like that, he ain’t gonna turn out any different. And he hasn’t. You’ve seen the crowd he runs with now.”
“He’s nothing like his parents. He never was,” I argue.
My dad smirks and shakes his head. “You’ve always defended that boy.”
“Because everybody has always assumed the worst of him. Nobody ever gave him a chance because of who his parents are.”
“‘The apple don’t fall far from the tree’ is an old sayin’ for a reason. I hauled his folks in on more drug and domestic violence charges than I can count,” he says, as if that somehow settles the discussion.
“Uh-huh. And how many times did you haul Jacob in, Dad? For anything?”
He stabs a piece of meat on his plate and pops it into his mouth, chewing slowly. He knows he can’t say anything to that because the answer is none. For all of his ill words and thoughts about Jacob, my father has never arrested him once.
“It’s only a matter of time now that he’s one of those Dark Pharaohs. Goddamn biker gang. They’re always mixed up in trouble,” he says, pointing his fork at me, “trouble I don’t want you getting mixed up in, Kasey.”
“They were handing out food to the poor. That’s where I ran into him,” I say.
“And Ted Bundy volunteered at a suicide hotline.”
I gape at him for a long moment before I can speak. “Are you seriously comparing Jacob to Ted Bundy?”
“If the shoe fits.”
Pushing my plate away, I have to literally bite my tongue to keep the snarky response from flying out. This is an argument I don’t want to have with him.
“I think your dislike of Jacob is making you jump to ridiculous extremes,” I say.
He gives me a disapproving look. “Think so? That motorcycle gang of his is involved in drugs, runnin’ guns, prostitution, human trafficking… even murder, so tell me again that I’m jumpin’ to ridiculous extremes, Kasey.”
My father and know he sometimes embellishes stories to make a point. And while I have no doubt Jacob’s motorcycle club is involved in some shady stuff, I have a hard time believing that if they were truly doing the things he said, they’d still be walking around. If they were guilty of half the things that he’s accusing them of, they’d be rotting in prison.
I know my dad well enough to know he’s made it his mission—no, his crusade—to lock them up. See, my dad has a very specific, idealized image of what Blue Rock Bay must be. And as the Sheriff, he does all he can to make sure that image comes to pass.
I’m not going to continue debating this with him, though. There is no reason to. My dad has hated Jacob since we were kids, and there’s nothing I can say at this table that’s going to change his mind. I don’t know that there’s anything that can change my dad’s mind. When he forms an opinion of somebody, he can be that immovable.
“Well, this is all moot anyway. He asked to meet because he wanted to explain why he left, so I met him and listened. That’s it,” I say.
He doesn’t say anything, so I get to my feet and start clearing the table. I carry everything into the kitchen and set it all down in the sink. As I’m putting all of the leftovers into containers, my dad comes in and sets his plate in the sink. He turns on the water.
“I’ll clean up,” I say.
He pauses for a moment but then turns the water off. My dad walks to the doorway and then pauses, his back to me.
“I remember how tore up you were when he left. I remember what it did to you. I just… I don’t want to see it happen again,” he says.
He doesn’t wait for me to reply and heads through the door. A moment later, I hear the television come on and hear the cheering of the crowd and the muffled but excited voices of the announcers. I turn back to the sink and start the dishes.
Seeing Jacob has turned my world upside down. I’ve always thought I have come to terms with all of my feelings for him and about what he did long ago. But seeing him—speaking with him—has been like ripping the scab off an old wound. And now, I’m just bleeding all over myself again.
***
After a shower and brushing my teeth, I change into a pair of boy shorts and a t-shirt to sleep in. I open the windows then pull back the covers. The nights are chilly but not cold, which is perfect for me.
Stepping back into the bathroom, I’m putting on my night cream when I hear my phone buzzing on the nightstand. A shot of adrenaline gets my heart racing when the insane thought that it’s Jacob calling pops into my head. I don’t know why I’d be excited to talk to him. But then, I don’t know why I kissed him back last night. I did, anyway. And much to my own dismay, I didn’t entirely hate it either.
With a crazy flutter in my belly and a stupid smile on my face, I dash out of the bathroom and snatch up the phone. I quickly connect the call, pressing the phone to my ear.
“Hey,” I say.
“Well, don’t you sound chipper?”
My heart immediately drops, and my mouth goes dry. Feeling simultaneously disappointed and irritated, I sit on the edge of my bed silently cursing myself for forgetting to pick up a new phone.
“What do you want, Spencer?”
“You know what I want. You and my money.”
“Get used to disappointment,” I bark at him.
“I’m not fucking around, Kasey. I want you to get your ass home with my money,” he replies, his voice low and gruff.
“Sign the papers, Spencer.”
“Do you think this is a goddamn game? Do you know what my employer will do if he doesn’t get that money back?”
His employer. I smile as soon as I hear the flicker of nervousness in his voice. Spencer is obviously paranoid about anybody listening in or about me recording the call.
“Your employer. That’s cute. And by your employer, you, of course, mean Miguel Zavala, notorious murderer and drug cartel boss,” I sneer, twisting that knife.
“I’m not fucking around, Kasey. I want you home, along with the money you stole from me.”
“I didn’t steal anything from you, Spencer. Now, sign the papers, we both go our separate ways, and everybody wins.”
“You think I can’t find you?”
“Yeah, actually I do. I never credited you with an abundance of brains.”
My stomach flutters and it takes all of my strength to keep the quaver out of my voice. Talking to Spencer like this is something I’ve never done. But then, leaving him—finally—seems to have given me a boost of strength I never felt when I was with him. It’s a nice change and makes me feel more like my old self than I’ve felt in a very long time.
“Kasey, I’m warning you, if you’re not home where you belong, with my money, tomorrow—”
“You’ll what? Tell your cartel buddies to kill me? You’re really willing to go that far, Spencer?”
“Kasey, I am warning—”
“You said that already,” I interrupt him. “Sign the papers. I’m divorcing you, Spencer. Get used to the idea. If you want to talk to me again, contact my attorney. I’ll be disconnecting this line tomorrow.”
“Kasey—”
I disconnect the call and shut my phone off, knowing he’ll only call back all night if I don’t. For good measure, I drop my phone into the nightstand drawer and close it. After that, I turn out the light and settle into bed, pulling my covers up over my shoulders.
Truthfully, I am a little worried about Spencer finding me, and I probably have to start making plans to move on and find somewhere else to settle down for a while. It’s not like I don’t have the money now. Plus, it will keep my dad insulated from all of this garbage. The last thing I want is for him to get pulled into something like this. Something, if Spencer really does get his cartel friends involved, has the potential to go badly. I don’t want my dad paying for my sins.
My mind is filled with a sense of doom, making me feel half-crazed with fear. I push it away and stuff it all down, doing everything I can to stop thinking about it. In its place, my mind fills itself with images of Jacob. And rather than the feelings of gloom, I’m suddenly overwhelmed by confusion and angst.
And as I think about him, with all of the emotions swirling from within, I still feel the tingle and burn of his lips on mine. A familiar warmth flares within, and I slide my hand down between my thighs.
