Page 43 of Rotten Men

“I’m just glad all of this is over.” I sigh, feeling the weight of the past month leave my burdened shoulders.

“Not yet. There are still plenty of loose ends they have to tie up, but at least I’m no longer their prime suspect. Whoever killed Ed is still out there though, and he deserves just as much justice as I did.”

I look up at his concerned, scruffy face, and it astounds me how his thought process works. Ed was an asshole, and in my eyes never deserved James’ friendship. He was a lowlife, a cheat, and a compulsive gambler. I watched him screw James over time and time again, and his death, although unfortunate, didn’t come as a surprise to me. What did shock me was anyone thinking that James could be responsible for it.

“I’m sure that the police will do their best to find the real culprit, now that they know you didn’t do it.”

“Well, aren’t we the glass-half-full type of girl all of a sudden?” He jokes, giving me another tight squeeze.

I punch his firm stomach, and he feigns injury as he pulls away from our embrace.

“Come on, Handsome. Let me take you home.”

“Never thought I’d be so happy to hear those words.” He chuckles at my side as we both head to his truck. Before he gets in, he throws a wink my way, and I give him a soft smile in return.

I know these years haven’t been entirely easy on him. Living with me, for one, takes tremendous effort. But I am grateful that we somehow found each other.

Once both of us are strapped in, I turn on the ignition and radio, leaving the hideous jail behind us, hoping to never set eyes on it again and relieved that this whole thing is over. However, once we get on to I-65 S, my relief is overshadowed with the dilemma I have to face now that James is out of jail. My mind feels as if it’s being bombarded with problem after problem, catastrophic blows coming from all sides—a wasted battlefield of my own creation.

James is now free, but that doesn’t mean we have our freedom back yet. Too many people know of James’ existence, which means they can pinpoint exactly where we are. While I was able to solve one crisis, I now had to find a way to fix the impending one, which might arrive on our doorstep any day.

“You’re scowling,” James remarks, turning down the radio playing his favorite country song, a buffer I had installed to keep him occupied while trying to figure things out.

“I don’t scowl,” I deflect, never taking my eyes from the road. I know if I turn to face him, I’ll see the same preoccupied look I was trying to avoid.

“Yeah, you do. Quite often actually. You no longer happy I got my ‘get out of jail free card’?” he jokes, trying to lighten my pensive mood.

“Don’t be silly. Of course I’m happy. I’m just thinking about where we go from here,” I confess, my face as calm as possible as not to alarm him. He just survived one hellish experience, so I would hate to drop another one of my messes on his lap so soon.

“What do you mean? What’s going on in that pretty, little head of yours?”

I bite my lower lip and the metaphorical bullet simultaneously.

“We can’t stay in Nashville anymore. It’s not safe.”

“Hmm.” I hear him mumble beside me.

“Too many people know who you are now; meaning they know where we live and how to get to us. We need to change that before anyone decides to pay us an unexpected visit. I have worked too hard to be caught now by my father, or worse, Ciro.”

“So what are you planning to do about it?” he questions apprehensively.

“We use the moneyMammàgave me and disappear. Start fresh somewhere else. I won’t expect you to come with us if you don’t want to, but it won’t be safe for you either, should you decide to stay,” I explain cautiously, hoping he understands this isn’t something to take lightly.

“I’m not leaving you two to fend for yourselves,” he quips back, hurt I even suggested such a thing.

“We can take care of each other just fine, but it would be nice to have you with us. We could even go to Mexico and buy a small house on the beach so you can drink Coronas all day while chatting up the exotic locals,” I tease with a slanted grin.

He lets out a huge laugh that comes straight from the gut, and the sound warms my worried heart.

“You and I both know my romancing days are far behind me,” he snickers.

I give him an understanding nod, and pat his knee in solidarity.

“Speaking of which, I still have a bone to pick with you,” he adds with a hint of disappointment. I arch my eyebrow feigning ignorance, when he deadpans unequivocally, “You told them I was your husband.”

“So?” I shrug, my tone is unapologetic at the sound of his disgruntlement.

A pregnant pause ensues, making me turn to glance at the man who is looking at me with displeasure in his brown eyes. I turn away and squint my eyes, hating how I will never live up to his moral code.

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