Page 48

AJ

I jolted awake. The plane lurched sideways, slamming me against the car door.

The plane was hitting some turbulence as it felt like we circled the airport.

I glanced at my phone. It was mid-morning, and I had just minutes to get my shit and get back in the trunk as I felt the plane tip slightly downward.

“Shit,” I growled out as I pulled my earbuds out, shoving them into my pocket with my phone and throwing the empty snack bags into my duffel bag.

I reached down and pulled the lever to pop the trunk of the Altezza.

Might be a tighter fit than the Nissan, but I didn’t have much of a choice. I got out of the car and shut the door, rushed to the back, and shoved the trunk up. I tossed in my bag and squeezed inside. The plane lurched again, and I smacked my shin into the taillight.

“Motherfucker,” I swore as I tucked myself in fully and closed it.

As we landed, I focused on getting through this next part. I knew cars were taken from the plane to a holding space for pickup. I just didn’t know how long that would take.

Hopefully, they don’t need to open anything up and do their business as usual.

We sat on the tarmac for a few minutes before I heard the jet engines winding down, then muffled voices before the cargo bay door opened and began to lower.

I kept as quiet as I could as they went over each car and unloaded them.

“Huh,” I heard someone close to the trunk say.

“What?” another voice answered.

“There’s a dent on the hood of this one—the Altezza—but it’s not noted.”

Shit, my bad, Kayden. I chuckled to myself.

“Ehh, make a note that it was damaged on arrival. Then it’s not our problem.”

They walked away, and the car I was in started up. I waited until I heard the engine shut off again, and then I chilled in the trunk until I didn’t hear anything going on outside. My back was aching, being bent like this. I needed to get out.

I shoved the trunk open and peered out the crack. There were some people outside the opened bay, but I figured I could easily slip past them.

I grabbed my duffel and hopped out of the trunk, closing it. I made my way toward the exit.

If there was anything I knew, it was, if you just minded your own business and acted like you belonged, no one would question you.

I strode right out of the warehouse and toward one of the security gates. I waited until it looked like the guard was busy with something else and slipped past without a problem.

That was when it hit me.

I was home.

I stood at the taxi pickup lane and just inhaled that Los Angeles air. Warm, dry, with the smell of the ocean breeze. The airport was buzzing with people coming and going.

I skipped the taxi ride and started walking. Making my way out of LAX, I felt an excitement in my step that I hadn’t felt in a year.

I walked toward my old stomping grounds; I saw fresh street art on the sides of buildings and bridges and heard some hip-hop playing in the distance.

I couldn’t help but smile. I felt pretty damn unstoppable right now, and because of that, I thought about how I’d see Rosalie for the first time. Pulling out my phone, I checked the time.

“She might be at Kayden’s Customs right now. I could make it before they close.”

So, I picked up the pace. I slung my duffel bag over my shoulder and jogged toward the custom car shop Rosalie’s dad owned that she also worked at.

I passed by the Martin Luther King Jr. Memorial, some of my favorite places to grab a bite, and the park I’d been going to since I’d been a kid. Seeing people making their way here and there, each one on their own unique grinds? These were the people I knew all too well.

As I got closer to the custom shop, thoughts crept into my mind that had me slowing down.

What if she isn’t happy to see me? What if her old man kicks me out? What if I walk in and see her and some other guy making out on the couch in the loft like we used to? I don’t know if I’d be able to handle that.

“Because I’d probably beat the shit out of the guy,” I mumbled under my breath as I rounded one of the alleyways that led to the front of the custom shop.

Colorful street art always covered these alley walls. Kayden believed in giving local artists a place to express themselves that wouldn’t get them arrested. Last year, there had been lowriders rolling along. This year, they’d all been painted over with new cars and new scenes.

I set my duffel bag down behind a dumpster before I rounded the corner. The garage door was still open, so I quietly made my way over to it, peering inside to see who was still there.

The loft was empty, and the lights to the paint lab were off.

If the paint lab’s lights were dim, it meant Rosalie wasn’t here.

She lived in that room, always dreaming up her next custom paint job.

Some rock music was playing, which wasn’t Kayden’s usual taste in music, so it must be one of the other guys who worked here.

Fuck. Guess I’ll have to swing by her house instead.

I backed away around the corner and grabbed my bag. I decided I’d have to go to the motel and start plan B. Get my room back, then boost a car to get to the Hills.

Only one issue: I had to get through the Barron’s, one of the local street gangs, territory on my way to the motel.

It figured that I’d bump into Billy Crystal, not even a full block into their turf. Word traveled fast to him. He might not always act like it, but Billy Crystal was high on the Barrons’ food chain.

He slowed down his brand-new purple Chevrolet Suburban, which sported twenty-four-inch fully chromed Forgiato rims, fitted perfectly in brand-new tires. I glanced over in his direction as he cruised beside me while I walked down the cracked sidewalk and gave him a nod.

He drove ahead and pulled over. As I approached, his front passenger door was shoved open.

“Well, damn. I know my name’s Casper, but I didn’t think I’d be the one spotting a ghost today. Get in, man. Gotta catch up,” Billy said as he looked over the tops of his shades at me.

I stopped and rolled the duffel bag off my shoulder. Not too many people, even in the block, knew Billy Crystal was only his street name. Even less knew his real name was Casper.

“Toss it in the back, but watch the leather seats,” Billy said as he leaned back in his seat.

I opened the passenger door and set the bag down on the floorboards.

The interior was a deep tan, with LEDs underneath the seats. A couple of subwoofers in the back caught my eye. I bet if he turned up the bass, they could make the windows shatter.

Leave it to Billy Crystal to have the nicest ride on the block. Guessed that was what you could get with the amount of money you made from slinging dope.

“Damn, you got all the works in this whip,” I said as I closed the back door, a little too hard.

“Yo, easy on the door, Godzilla,” Billy called out.

I got into the passenger seat and closed this door easier than the last. I was used to closing the doors on cars I either stole or were old enough that you had to put a little elbow grease in it for them to close on the first try.

He pulled off the side and drove deeper into the Barrons’ block.

“So, you actually came back for the chick, huh? Didn’t think to hit me up?” he said as he came to a stop at a light.

“Had a lot on my mind. Don’t worry, I know I owe you,” I said as I tucked my hands into my hoodie pocket.

“Yeah, you do. I think I’ll need therapy from that girl’s trauma dump. So, let’s start tonight,” Billy said as he looked over at me.

“Can’t tonight. I gotta take care of something. I’ll settle up soon,” I said as a group of guys, all sporting purple in their clothing in some way, gave nods toward the SUV.

“Clear your calendar. Because you are riding with me tonight. I’m meeting a guy at a nightclub who wants to buy a bunch of product, and I need you there so nobody tries to steal it off me,” he said as he gassed it off the line from the light.

“Fuck, and it can’t wait a night? Who did you have going with you before I showed up? Have them do it,” I snapped. I knew pushing back was dangerous with a gang member, but I wasn’t too worried that Billy would get man enough to actually do something about me telling him no.

“Busy now that you’re back in town,” he said as he pulled up to a house at the end of a cul-de-sac and put the car in park.

“Like I said, you owe me. I’m just collecting my debts.

You can get your dick wet another night.

” He pushed open his door and hopped out, pausing to look back inside at me before he closed it.

“Hang tight. We got more to talk about before we head out. There’s a joint in the glove box. Smoke it and relax.”

With that, he shut the door and made his way up the driveway we were parked in front of, disappearing inside the front door.

It’d been ages since I’d smoked weed, and right now, it didn’t sound like such a bad idea.

I popped open the glove box and saw a few blunts inside with a lighter.

I grabbed one and smoked it, letting each pull sit in my lungs for a minute before exhaling.

Especially with my mind running around, trying to figure out what I would say to Rosalie when I saw her.

Shit, or what I’d do if she told me to fuck off and never talk to her again.

If I could get her alone, if she gave me a chance to explain everything, I’d tell her I was sorry.

Sorry that I had been stupid, not trusting that I could keep her safe after everything had happened.

That I’d been afraid of things like that happening again.

Sorry that I’d made her feel like I didn’t love her or that she wasn’t enough for me—because Rosalie had always been more than I deserved.

She was the best fucking thing that had ever happened to me, and I allowed my fears to get the best of me when push came to shove. I had taken the easy way out and run from the one woman who never deserved to be abandoned.