Page 25 of Ring My Bell

“You’re… okay with this?”

“You don’t have to sound so disbelieving. And I’m not okay with it, but it’s not like we’ve got a lot of choices right now, is it?” He nodded for me to buckle in, and he started the car. “If we back down now, Raymond comes out on top. Again. And I’m tired of being angry at him. Not because I’m wanting to forgive him or some bullshit like that. But, for once, I want to be the one coming out ahead. And I want to deserve it. Because we deserve it,” he added softly. “I understand if you want to back out. I do. I don’t think it’s a good idea, but I’m only able to make that assessment from my point of view. I can’t read your mind or know what’s in your heart here. Not unless you tell me.”

I nodded again.. “I… I, um. I don’t want him to win. He’s ruined lives. He’s trying to ruin ours. He…”

“Hey, you okay?”

“Not really,” I admitted on a weak chuckle. “I feel like I just stepped off the edge of the stage, expecting there to be stairs, but it’s the orchestra pit.”

He winced. “Been there. Got the weird scar on my ass to prove it.”

That got a tiny smirk. “Show me later?”

Dimples flashing, he winked at me. “Let’s get to Kansas and see what the others have dug up, and maybe you can see my scar and my secret tattoo.”

Chapter Ten

MATHIS

The rest of Kansas was very brown.

So. Very. Brown.

“This is the beigest beige to ever beige.”

I snorted softly. “It’s between growing seasons, so everything is just kind of… there.” I signaled to change lanes. We were a few minutes out from the hotel and already bombarded by messages from Paige and Gerald, one requesting various takeout options and the other keeping us up to date on Raymond and Vicky. The festival was starting in less than a day, and, apparently, the entire town was packed to the gills. He glanced at me, fingers drumming on his leg as he tapped out a tune I didn’t recognize. “You sure you’re okay?”

“Just a little nervous,” he admitted, smiling weakly. “Raymond’s messages—well, his alleged messages—freaked me out. I guess I really thought that he’d be, like, good riddance and just ignore us, you know?”

“People like him…” I sighed in relief as the hotel came in to view—my ass hurt from sitting so long. And, frankly, I was dying to get Iggy alone again, preferably after a shower, nap, and dinner. “People like him hate not being in control. It’s not about winning or having something no one else has. Not really anyway. It’s more about being the one who says when it’s over. When something is done for them.”

Iggy stared down at his phone again, worrying his lip between his teeth. “Mathis, two more messages came last night. Um. Whoever it is—”

“Raymond,” I groaned. “We know it’s Raymond!”

“Well, he knows we’re going to the festival, which is, like, totally expected, but it still gives me the heebie jeebies, you know? Especially because he’s being so, um… rude? I guess? Like, you know how he’s a dick and all but in public he’s like a suave dick? But now he’s not even trying.””

“What?” My heart lurched. “Did he say something to you?”

“‘See you fucking useless asswipes soon,’” he read. Then, “I hope you’re ready to be sorry for the shit you’ve put me through, you ungrateful whore.”

Blowing out a harsh sigh, I turned the car into the hotel parking lot. “Well, if he shows, he shows. There’s nothing we can do about it.”

“Um.”

“Oh, shit, now what?”

“This one isn’t so bad. It’s from Monty.”

“Monty? The guy you said was working for Raymond? That Monty?”

Iggy nodded. “He sent it via email, so at least he’s not cyberstalking me. As far as I know anyway. Lessee… ‘Iggy, I quit. I couldn’t stand it anymore. No promises are worth my soul. I have a little something for you. I hope you enjoy it. Think of it as an apology, of sorts, for not speaking up sooner. I know you and Mathis are heading for the festival, and finding lodging up there is a pain in the ass. Raymond has an old rental cabin he hasn’t used since he bought that penthouse in St. Louis.” Iggy snorted. “He gave us directions and told us where to find the key. It’s right on the edge of the festival grounds, apparently, where all the snooty sorts have their fancy-ass cabins so they don’t have to camp in tents with the poors.”

“Nothing wrong with tent camping!”

With an annoyed sound, he waved a hand over himself. “This magic does not happen in a tent with no electricity or running water. If you want me pretty, I need amenities.”

The idea of camping with Iggy was both terrifying and kind of great. I almost told him I’d take him to my favorite place, a place up in Nebraska I hadn’t been to in a long while, but I bit down. Hopefully, there’d be time enough to work up to that between us. I had a feeling Iggy would see taking a camping trip as a bigger step than sleeping together, since it’d mean sacrificing his comfort for a few days.

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