Blow - Kim Karr Page 0,21

good distance so when the rain started falling even harder, I moved faster, making sure she was right behind me. We reached my vehicle in the downpour and I opened her door. Elle didn’t look at me as she got in quickly. I didn’t stop to talk; I just wanted to get off the goddamn street. I ran to the other side and hopped in. When I did, I looked over at her just as she was wiping the rain from her face, or was it a tear?

Both of us were wet. Both of us were out of breath. The air in the car was cold. But the heat that rose as we looked at each other was scorching. For a second, I considered making a move on her, but then, the longer I watched her, the more I realized things between us weren’t going to be that simple.

She looked vulnerable.

It wasn’t something I could handle.

I just wasn’t expecting it.

She was a fighter.

Or so I had thought.

I had to avert my gaze. I knew then that I couldn’t see her after tonight. There were only two categories of women for me—the just fuck and the never fuck. Somehow, she didn’t seem to fit in either and that was dangerous. As if the situation she was in weren’t already dangerous enough, she didn’t need my involvement in her life fucking her up more.

Patrick Flannigan was a heartless, greedy bastard and O’Shea was on his shit list. Add me to the mix and she was in real danger. Many years ago, my grandfather, Killian McPherson, had ordered me to keep my distance from Patrick and ordered Patrick to keep his hands off me. Since I hated Patrick, I dutifully obliged. Since my grandfather was in charge at the time, Patrick was forced to obey. But Gramps was in a home now and no longer here to act as a buffer between Patrick and me. I was on my own. For that reason and so many more, I knew better than to get too close to Patrick.

My father’s well-being was one of the many reasons.

But for her, I’d have to take a risk.

I’d have to step closer.

My own consequences be damned. I was going to make sure she wasn’t a part of O’Shea’s issues. But I had to be smart about it. I had to figure things out first. For my father’s sake.

What did she know?

I was getting ahead of myself. I had to ease into the information. I stopped thinking and started the car. “Where to?” I asked. My voice sounded low and I hated the weakness I was allowing to bleed through my words.

She, on the other hand, seemed to gather strength in the silence and spoke strongly. “A small boutique on Charles, just past Revere.”

I pulled out into the traffic and turned the radio on. The Sex Pistols blared loudly. “Sorry,” I said, quickly turning the volume down.

“You don’t have to turn it down. I like it.”

Unabashedly crude, intensely emotional, and meant to exhilarate and offend at the same time, I guess it was the perfect sound for the mood we were both in.

We rode in silence and I hummed along to the lyrics until I couldn’t stand the quiet any longer. She was staring out the window and I could tell she was somewhere back in time in her mind.

I wanted to get her out of that dark place. I considered how. I thumped the steering wheel, trying to decide what to say. The car in front of me stopped and I skidded to a halt. “Sorry,” I said.

The rain was falling and she was watching it, seemingly unfazed by my sudden stop, but then she looked over. “What?” she asked.

Out of nowhere, I started blurting out things about myself I never told anyone. “When I was growing up, I hated my parents. My mother was controlling; my father was docile, always caving in to her every whim to keep her happy. Even through all the fighting, they stayed together. I was fifteen when they finally divorced and it was because of my actions. That was a dose of reality and it not only forced me to grow up fast, but it forced me to get over the hatred even faster. Everything changed for me that year. The guilt I felt over what I’d done, what I caused, was a bitch to handle, and I didn’t handle it well for a long time. It was so many years later