Noble Prince: Tin Gypsy Series - Book 4 Read online

  How far we’d fallen.

  When I reached a busy intersection, I looked up and down, past the traffic, in search of a restaurant or coffee shop. A grocery store caught my eye.

  I crossed the street, keeping my head down as I hurried. The smell of fried chicken greeted me in the store’s parking lot and my mouth watered. I dusted off my sweats, damp from the snow, and pulled off my hood. I combed my fingers through my hair and parted it in the middle, creating a frame to hide most of my face. My reflection in the store’s sliding doors showed a flush in my cheeks from the cold air.

  Well, looking like a drowned rat is better than a corpse.

  A blast of heat hit me as I entered and took a black basket from the stack inside the double doors. Then I followed my nose to the deli.

  The woman behind the counter pasted on a smile, though her gaze was wary as she scanned me from the waist up. If I were in her hair net, I’d stare wide-eyed too. Nine months of living in a motorcycle club’s compound hadn’t done much for my looks.

  “What can I get for you?” she asked.

  “I’ll have the lunch special, please.” I pointed to the menu, where they had chicken and steak fries for five dollars. “Two piece.”

  She nodded and went about preparing the meal, putting it into a white to-go container. Then she slapped the price sticker over the latch and handed it over.

  “Thanks.” I didn’t linger and made my way through the produce section, palming an apple for my basket. Then I found the dairy aisle, getting a small bottle of chocolate milk.

  My stomach growled with every step as I wandered up and down the aisles, shopping by my hunger pangs. I added a jar of pickles and a package of Hawaiian rolls, the sweet ones Presley and I had begged our mother to get whenever she’d let us go to the store as kids.

  Mom would buy them in cash so they wouldn’t show up on the receipt Dad would pore over after work. Dad didn’t like sweet rolls. He didn’t like Mom spending his money on anything he deemed unnecessary.

  So she would buy them with the small allowance he granted her each week. Dad thought she used that twenty-dollar bill for lattes on the way to drop us off at school when really, Mom spent it on us. Lollipops or slushies. An ice cream cone or a Hawaiian roll. Presley and I would scarf our treats down in the car and agree without hesitation when she’d make us promise to eat a good dinner so Dad wouldn’t suspect that we’d snacked.

  I missed my mother.

  I missed my sister.

  Presley was here, somewhere in Clifton Forge. And though I had a phone in my pocket—the third item I kept on me at all times—I wasn’t ready to call her yet. First, I had to eat something and regain my strength.

  Because I’d need it.

  I had one hell of an apology to make.

  For ruining her wedding. For bringing death to her doorstep. For not returning one of the many texts she’d sent me in the past ten years.

  For hating her strength. For being jealous that she’d been courageous enough to leave. For blaming her when I’d been the coward, too scared to make the leap.

  Another long list. I only hoped she’d be able to forgive me.

  My trip through the store came to a halt in the cookie section. I was debating between the chocolate cream and fudge swirl cookies when footsteps thudded down the aisle. I ignored them, assuming it was another customer in search of sugar, and put both packages of cookies in my basket.

  I turned from the shelves, ready to check out, and ran into a solid wall.

  “What do you think you’re doing?”

  Cringing at the familiar, gravelly voice, I lifted my gaze. It traveled up the broad chest I’d crashed into, past a square, clean-shaven jaw, to a pair of the deepest blue eyes I’d ever seen.

  Luke’s eyebrows were pulled together above the bridge of a straight nose that cleaved his face in two. I’d noticed the symmetry of his features ten days ago, when he’d sat me down in his office and questioned me about Jeremiah.

  It had been easier to study the handsome Clifton Forge chief of police than relive the horrors I’d seen just hours before.

  His dark brown hair was short and clean cut. He stood with a proud, authoritative posture, his strong shoulders pulled back and his hands fisted on narrow hips.

  “I asked you a question,” he clipped.

  I hefted the basket hanging from my elbow. “Shopping.”

  “You’re in protective custody.”

  “Am I?” I dared, then made the move to sidestep him and head to the register. The basket was heavy and I wasn’t exactly at my best today.

  But Luke moved in tandem, blocking my path. “I got a call from Nathan that you ran.”

  “Walked. I walked.” Right out the back door.

  His jaw clenched as he glared down at me from his towering height. He stood inches over six feet and I was getting a cramp in my neck trying to hold his scowl. Even irritated, he was handsome.

  I hadn’t seen Luke since he’d deposited me at the safe house. The night Jeremiah had committed suicide in my sister’s house.

  After the gunshot, a strange man had hauled me out of my sister’s house. I’d fought hard, kicking and screaming as I attempted to rush to Jeremiah’s body, but he’d dragged me from the scene. Call it shock or insanity, but I’d thought if I could just touch Jeremiah, I could put the pieces back together. I could erase the bullet’s path and rewind time.

  Except the man who’d had me had been too strong and had hauled me outside into the freezing March night. Then Luke had appeared. He’d stood before me, much like he was now, and had given me something other than blood to focus on.

  His gorgeous face.

  He’d taken me to his truck, put me in the passenger seat and cranked up the heat. Then he’d told me to sit tight and wait. Maybe I should have run for it that night, but much like today, I had nowhere to go.

  After Luke had done whatever cops do after an armed man holds two women hostage before taking his own life, he’d driven me to the police station, where he’d taken me to his office and asked me a sequence of questions.

  I hadn’t answered a single one. Instead, I’d noticed how his eyes had a ring so dark around the edge it was like the graphite tip of a freshly sharpened pencil. I’d studied the shape of his mouth, stern and serious, and wondered what it would look like with a smile. I’d concentrated on the bob of his Adam’s apple whenever he swallowed.

  I’d studied Luke and ignored his questions until he’d given up and gone in search of answers from someone else.

  Presley must have enlightened him as to all that had happened with Jeremiah, because after two hours alone in his office, he’d returned and told me it was unsafe for me to be in public. That my life was in danger and he was putting me into protective custody.

  That was the moment his words had registered and I’d stopped studying his face.

  I’d gone along with it, too fatigued and shaken to argue. But that was ten days ago. Things were different now. Yes, I was still wearied, but the shock of all that had happened in the past nine months was fading. And I’d rather take my chances than waste my days staring at a beige wall.

  “Do you mind?” I pointed down the aisle. “I’m hungry and would like to check out.”

  He glowered and stood to his tallest. “Give me the basket.”

  Maybe another woman would have caved, but there was nothing truly fearsome about Luke Rosen. I knew exactly what frightening men looked like, and it certainly wasn’t him.

  “I’m good.” I took another step, but he blocked me again. “Seriously, do you mind? I want to eat and then I’m going to go find my sister.”

  “You’re going back to the safe house and I’m locking you inside.”

  Rage surged in my chest. “No.”

  “Let’s go before someone sees you.” Luke reached for the basket and I yanked it away with a feral snarl. “Scarlett, I will haul you out of here if I have to.”

  I tried to sidestep him again, but damn it, those lo
ng legs of his were a lot faster than mine. “Move.”

  “Give me the basket.”

  “Move!” The sleepless nights and the hysteria were catching up to me and the outburst came out as a wailing shriek. It came from the woman who’d been trapped for far too long.

  Luke’s eyes darted above my head. A couple stood at the end of the aisle, their cart immobile as they stared.

  “Goddamn it, Scarlett,” Luke said, lowering his voice. “Just put the basket down so we can get out of here. You’re drawing attention to yourself.”

  And I did not care. Not at all.

  “If you’re not going to get out of the way, I’ll just go around.” I spun on my shoes, whirling the opposite direction, but when I went to take a step and carry my basket away, I suddenly found its weight missing from my arm. He’d stolen it from me before I’d had the chance to clutch it tight.

  Then the world was spinning. The floors, the ceiling, everything flipped topsy-turvy.

  I’d fainted.

  No, that wasn’t right.

  I was being carried. Hauled. That had been Luke’s threat and damn it, I’d underestimated him. The chief had made good on his word.

  His shoulder dug into my belly as he walked. I lifted my face, pushing the hair out of my eyes. My basket of food sat exactly where I’d been standing. My chicken and rolls and cookies and chocolate milk. The items grew smaller with every one of Luke’s strides.

  “Put me down.”

  He kept walking.

  “Put me down!” I shouted.

  Still, he kept walking.

  I lifted a hand and raised it above my head. My hair kept falling in front of my face, obscuring my vision, but that didn’t stop me from using every ounce of strength I had left. I brought my fist down on Luke’s lower back. Except my aim was shit so I didn’t hit his back. No, my fist bounced off his firm, perfect ass.

  Luke didn’t so much as break his stride. “I promised Presley I’d keep you safe.”

  And without another word, without stopping, he carried me in a fireman’s hold out of the grocery store and into the snow.

  I was going back to the daisies, whether I wanted to or not.

  Hello, Scarlett. I’m rock bottom.

  Chapter Two

  Luke

  “Goddamn it, Scarlett.” I slammed the door to my truck and wiped the flakes of snow off my face. “What were you thinking?”

  She crossed her arms in the passenger seat, staring straight ahead. “I’m not going back to that house.”

  “Did something happen? Did Nathan—”

  “This isn’t about Nathan,” she snapped. “It’s about me. I’m sick of living in a prison.”

  “It’s not a—”

  “If you say it’s not a prison, I’m going to scream.”

  I clamped my mouth shut and sucked in a deep breath. This woman was making me fucking crazy. So was her sister.

  Was Scarlett really so cavalier with her own life? She’d been walking around the store like it was any other day. Did she not realize how much danger she was in?

  The Arrowhead Warriors, a notorious and violent motorcycle gang in the state, might want her dead. It wouldn’t take long for them to track Scarlett’s whereabouts to Clifton Forge. There hadn’t been any sign of them yet, but it was inevitable. A Friday afternoon jaunt to the grocery store was the epitome of reckless behavior. Did she have a death wish?

  I opened my mouth to ask, but when I glanced over, Scarlett’s face was as solid as stone. Any lecture would be pointless. She was locked behind her own mental fortress and if I actually wanted my warnings to penetrate those brick walls, now was not the time. So I started the truck, reversed out of my parking space and drove to the safe house.

  The tension in the cab was thicker than the gray clouds above. Scarlett sat statue still, her eyes trained on the road ahead, and the crease between her eyebrows deepened with every turn.

  She knew exactly where I was taking her.

  I knew she wasn’t going to stay.

  For fuck’s sake. I was sick of this goddamn mess. For the past ten days, all I’d done was try to stop the bleeding, but with every wound I staunched, five more cuts opened up.

  First, it had been the investigation into the hostage situation and suicide. Clifton Forge was a small town with an equally small police force. This case had required my complete attention, and the hours I’d put in at the station had been long. The mayor called five times daily to check in.

  Meanwhile, the media had swarmed. The only reporter in the state who hadn’t called the station was the one in Clifton Forge—but that was only because her husband had been on the scene, and whatever information Bryce wanted she could get from the other people who’d been at Presley’s house that night. Bryce had access to every facet of the truth, but ironically, her story had been written at the most facile level. There’d been no speculation. No mention of Jeremiah’s affiliation with the Warriors. It had read like just a domestic dispute, though that wasn’t entirely inaccurate.

  Finally, ten days later, the endless phone calls were beginning to dwindle. I’d planned to spend this afternoon plowing through the mountain of backlogged work. Instead, Nathan had called to inform me Scarlett had made a break for it.

  I didn’t have time to deal with a snarky woman who lacked enough regard for her own life to stay hidden.

  The closer we got to the house, the more Scarlett stiffened in her seat. Her fists were balled on top of her knees and with every block, I expected her to open the door and leap out. Stubborn woman.

  Where was her head? Where was mine? I’d hauled her out of the grocery store. Literally hauled. I’d manhandled her down the aisle and through the front door.

  What the hell was wrong with me? Damn it, that was not the man I was. This entire situation had frayed my nerves and shred my patience.

  I pulled up to the safe house, parking beside the truck in front of the garage. This wasn’t even a safe house. It was mine, a personal rental property that I’d bought cheap last year and was planning on fixing up. The red truck beside me was mine too. I used it to tow my raft and fishing boat in the summers.

  The Clifton Forge Police Department didn’t have a demand—or budget—for a safe house and when I’d needed a place to stash Scarlett, this had been the logical choice.

  Sure, it wasn’t much to look at. Yet. But this summer I planned to start remodeling and freshen it up before renting it out. For Scarlett, there weren’t many other options. This ugly but functional house was the best place for her.

  Until we knew exactly what threat she faced from the Warriors, hiding was Scarlett’s best option. Maybe things would die down soon and she’d be free to leave. But it had only been ten days. Ten days that had felt like a minute.

  My phone vibrated in my pocket as I shut off the truck. I pulled it out. Presley’s name hovered above a text. She’d been hounding me relentlessly for information on her sister’s whereabouts and I had no doubt she’d already heard about the grocery store incident.

  You better know what you’re doing, Rosen.

  I looked over at Scarlett, then typed out a quick reply. She’s safe.

  I’d promised to keep Scarlett safe.

  I was a man of my word.

  “Come on.” I climbed out of the truck and rounded the hood, opening Scarlett’s door.

  She didn’t budge.

  Why was she so difficult? Why? Didn’t she realize I was on her side?

  The snow had nearly stopped falling, so I stood in the cold, waiting.

  Scarlett had to go into that house on her own. I’d done enough hauling her around today, and if she wanted to sit here all night, then fine. I’d wait.

  The street was quiet. The neighbors on this block had been a godsend, watching over the house in my stead. This place had sat empty for two years before I’d bought it, and though I hadn’t started renovations, everyone nearby was glad that it would soon be getting some much-needed care.

  The man who
lived next door shoveled the sidewalk in the winter, though his own was covered, so I suspected he was out of town. I’d come over later and clear them both. In the summer, I paid the teenager who lived across the street twenty bucks a week to mow the lawn.

  Someday, this would make the perfect starter home for a young couple. Or if I could convince my dad to move here after he retired, I’d happily give this place to him.

  But first, it needed paint and new flooring. Electrical updates. Plumbing updates. The bathrooms and kitchen would be overhauled. Normally, the prospect of a project gave me energy. Today, I was just too damn tired to think about the work I had in store.

  Scarlett’s teeth began to chatter. She’d walked to the grocery store in the snow and her clothes were damp. Her hair too.

  But I didn’t move or speak. I simply waited.

  Minutes passed. Nathan stood at the front window. His shift replacement would arrive at five with dinner for Scarlett. I didn’t have the rotation on me but I was pretty sure Chuck was up next.

  Scarlett had had fried chicken in her basket at the store. I’d recognized the container, having grabbed the deli special a hundred times myself over the years. I dug out my phone and texted Chuck, telling him to stop by the store, get a fried chicken meal, some of those Hawaiian rolls and a chocolate milk.

  When he replied with a thumbs up, I shoved my phone away and looked to Scarlett.

  Her bravado was fading. The fight had drained from her eyes and her shoulders were slumped forward. And her teeth just kept on chattering, no matter how tight she clenched her jaw.

  “Scarlett.” I held out a hand.

  She looked at my palm and the sadness in her blue eyes made my heart twist. Fuck. She looked miserable. She looked weary to the core.

  “Come inside,” I urged. “Let’s talk.”

  Scarlett nodded but refused my hand. She hopped out of the truck herself, her feet landing hard on the snow. She wrapped her arms around her waist and trudged to the front door, her body shrinking before my eyes.