Free Dirty Money by Ashley Bartlett

why he wants me followed.”
    “I dunno.”
    So I hit him again. This time he hit back. In the face. Maybe I had that coming, but I didn’t care. Without thinking, I hauled the H&K out of my waistband and shoved it under his chin.
    “Why did he send you to follow me?”
    “He didn’t.” The guy didn’t even look scared.
    “Then why the fuck are you here?” I pushed the barrel against his windpipe. It made him cough.
    “I’m supposed to give you a message.” He wheezed.
    “Then what’s the message?”
    “He wants to know if it feels good?” A small grin accompanied his question.
    “Does what feel good?” This dude was irritating.
    “To hold someone’s life in your hand.” The grin got bigger.
    “Motherfucker,” I said more to myself than him. Vito had played me again. Having me followed to see how long it would take me to notice, then testing me. “Give him a message for me.”
    “What?”
    I spat in his face. Then I realized what I’d just done. Reacted just like he wanted me to. Disgusted, I stepped back, the horror slowly dawning on me. He laughed as I ran away.
    I turned into the nearest liquor store, bought enough tequila to make me stop thinking, and returned to my motel room.
    Vito and his guys were probably still watching me. They could knock themselves out. Yes, they’d gotten to me. Yes, they’d won. If they wanted to watch the aftermath they could waste all the time they wanted. I didn’t give a fuck anymore.
    When I shut the door of my motel room, I didn’t give much thought to leaving it again. At that point, I didn’t care if I never came out. The new plan was to drink until I ran out or died.
     
    *
     
    There was pounding. At first, I thought it was coming from my head. It was, but the door was shaking too. Sparse light shone through the cracks in the curtains over the window. Dawn.
    I rolled off the bed soaked in sweat and shivering. One hand groped for the half-empty bottle on the floor. With the other, I shrugged into my shoulder holster. It was twisted and the leather dug into my bare skin. Armed for anything, I answered the door.
    It was Ryan.
    “Bro,” was all I could manage to squeeze past my lungs.
    “Don’t call me that.” His gray eyes looked damp. “I’m not your bro.”
    That fucking hurt. “Oh, yeah.” I attempted a smile. It didn’t work. “How could I forget?” Slowly, deliberately, I drew the gun Reese had given me and pressed the barrel against his chest. “Bang. You happy now?”
    “No.” His tears threatened to fall, hovering on long, pretty eyelashes.
    “That’s what you wanted me to do.” I shrugged and prayed I could keep myself from crying. Or throwing myself into his arms. I took a swig of booze.
    “No, Coop. I never wanted this.” He looked like he was about a teardrop away from throwing himself into my arms too.
    “Okay, enough bullshit, you two.” A slender hand shot out from the hallway, just out of my line of sight. Reese grabbed my gun, shoved Ryan into the room, and followed, slamming the door behind her. She tossed the gun onto the bed and stood with her arms crossed.
    Damn, she looked good.
    “You think you could put some clothes on?” Reese spat at me.
    I glanced down at myself. “No.” She was in my goddamn room; she could just deal with it.
    “Fine. We’ll make this quick. Where is it?” Reese started ransacking the room. Under the bed, in what passed for a shower, pulling out drawers and tossing their meager contents to the floor.
    “Where is what?” Nonchalantly, I leaned against the wall, my bottle hanging between my thumb and forefinger.
    “Don’t fuck with me, Vivian.”
    I never wanted to hit a woman as bad as I did right then. Instead, I drank some more tequila.
    “It’s kind of hard to fuck with someone who won’t let you touch them.” I lifted one shoulder in a shrug. Lifting both was too much effort.
    “You got plenty of touching.” She stopped searching long enough to stare at me good and hard.