either of them. Let it go and move on, was Brody’s motto.
“I’ll be right back,” the man promised, giving the cuffs a smack that ricocheted painfully through Brody’s arms.
“I’ll be here.”
Shifting his shoulders, trying to find an angle that didn’t hurt like a son of a bitch since the guy had hooked the cuffs around the steel grip on a huge toolbox. To, what? Keep him from running away? Brody silently cussed up a storm and watched Reilly drag his daughter out of the garage.
The last sight Brody had of Genna was the tear-filled apology in those big blue eyes.
Damn, she was pretty.
He should regret it.
She wasn’t his type, and she came with an insanely high price tag.
But the sweet taste of Genna was still on his lips. His fingers still tingled with the memory of her silky skin, the soft weight of her hair. Yeah. She was a mistake. But, even as he shifted again trying to ease the pressure on his shoulders, he couldn’t regret making it.
“Took your time,” he snapped when Sheriff Reilly sauntered back into the garage. Thankfully without the shotgun this time. He didn’t look any happier, though.
“You in a hurry?”
“I have things to do.” More importantly, he’d like to get this over before the old man was off shift. Nothing pissed him off more than hearing Brody had been in yet another scrape with the law.
“You’re gonna have to reschedule.”
“Why? You’re seriously hauling me in?” Brody wanted to laugh. Another black mark on his record wasn’t going hurt, but it was gonna irritate. Worse, it was going to disappoint his gramma. And he’d been trying hard the last few years to stop doing that. Irene Lane had this crazy belief that Brody could build a good life. Could be the kind of guy she could tell her friends about, could brag on and be proud of.
“I figure there’s only one answer to this little problem you’ve presented me with tonight.”
His expression bored, Brody arched one brow in question.
“You’ll have to leave Bedford.”
Hell, yeah. It was like the guy had poked into Brody’s brain and picked out his secret dream. Still...
“You can’t kick me out of town.”
“Boy, I can do whatever I damned well please.”
Brody considered a testament to his control that he didn’t roll his eyes. Because they both knew the guy was claiming powers he didn’t have.
“Let’s see. I’ve got you on underage drinking. Driving on a suspended. That fight last week with the Kinski boys, I’ll bet they’d file charges if pressed. I can call that aggravated assault. Your bike has modified pipes, violating the sound laws.” He went on reciting his list of minor offenses, boring the hell out of Brody. Was that the best he had?
Clearly reading his disdain, the sheriff shifted gears.
“You’re a bad influence on Joe, and I know you’re both involved in gang activity. I can make your life hell figuring out which gang, and what you’re doing. Or I can put the word out that you’re playing nice with me and let the gangs take care of you.”
That caused a twinge, but Brody shrugged it off. He was clean and gang-free, but his friend wasn’t. Still, Joe was a big boy. He knew what he was getting into.
“So that’s all you got?” Brody asked, his laugh just this side of a sneer. “A handful of petty offenses and a few threats?”
Reilly stared. Just stared. For so long, Brody’s neck itched and he wanted to squirm.
“Son, you’re getting the hell out of here one way or another.
Hell yeah, he was. He’d spent the last four years saving up, cleaning up and getting his act together so he could see the end of Bedford.
Three more months.
That’s all he needed to have enough cash to pay back the last of what his gramma had spent bailing him out of juvie, paying a lawyer to seal his records and covering his hospital bills. She’d mortgaged her house for him, and when he’d promised to pay it off himself, she’d doubled down with guilt, demanding he stay in town until it was paid. Her way, he knew, of watching over him as long as she could. She’d tried to get him to move in with her, but they both knew that was a bad idea. The few times he’d lived with her, Brian inevitably showed up, remembered he had a mother who might have some money and happily pounded on both of them. So Brody made a point to do as little as possible to remind the old man of Irene’s existence.
But he hadn’t been able to ignore her plea that he stay in town. The minute his slate was clean, he was outta there.
And never coming back.
“I’ll be gone soon enough,” Brody said. Then, pissed that he sounded weak, as if he were giving in to cop intimidation, he pulled out his best sneer. “You don’t have to worry about your pretty little girl. I promise I’ll keep my hands off her between now and then. No guarantees that she’ll reciprocate, though.”
Brody instantly regretted his words. He had no issue taunting the cop. But waving Genna around like that was cheap. Wrong.
And clearly the equivalent of a red flag in front of a charging bull.
Sheriff Reilly went from calm cop to furious father in an instant. His eyes, the same blue as Genna’s, Brody realized with an audible gulp, narrowed into slits. His fists clenched, then as if making sure he hadn’t broken any of his own bones, he slowly flexed his fingers before wrapping one hand over the butt of his gun. The sound of the release tab loosening was like fingernails on a chalkboard. Loud, painful and threatening.
Brody had spent the first half of his life a punching bag, the convenient focal point for every frustration, irritation or random violent thought his old man had entertained. He’d spent two idiotic years on the streets, honing his fighting skills and learning just how viciously painful a knife in the gut was.
But he’d never been scared for his life the way he was now.
“You won’t hurt me,” he said with his usual cocky assurance, even though he was nothing but. “You’re not gonna risk your badge, or your self-respect, breaking those laws you love so much.”
At least, Brody hoped he wasn’t. Because Sheriff Reilly looked furious enough to kick his ass inside out, then rip the pieces to shreds.
And then the guy pulled it all in. Brody had to admire that, the way he could control all that fury, channel his emotions. It was seriously impressive. And not because it meant Brody wasn’t gonna get beat up.
“As I see it, I have a couple choices,” the sheriff mused in a cool tone. “I can do just what you said, and accept the results of those risks. Or I can make sure you get outta here.”
“And I have no choice in leaving?”
“Actually, you do have a choice. You can choose army or navy. But that’s about as much say as you’re gonna get in this.”
Brody laughed. There wasn’t a damned thing funny in the sheriff’s expression, but that had to be a joke. The guy could toss him in jail; he could probably get away with kicking his ass. But he couldn’t force him to join the military.
“I’m not soldier material.”
The sheriff smiled his agreement. “You’re gonna be.”
“Or?”
Reilly nodded, clearly pleased that Brody saw the reality. This was definitely an either-or situation.
“Or I haul your ass in on statutory rape charges. Genna’s seventeen.”
“We didn’t—” Brody bit the words off, not about