Resisting Ruby Rose (The Ruby Rose Series) (25 page)

CHAPTER 35

If only.

If only I hadn’t been born.

If only
I’d
never held a gun or wielded a knife.

If only
I’d
never discovered the secrets, the lies, the clandestine plans to destroy.

If only
I’d
refused to embrace my talents and had clung to a normal life.

But thinking through all the “if only” scenarios wasn’t ever going do me any good.

Toes in the sand, hands on my board, I took a running start to paddle out past the surf. Through the foaming white wash. Over the breaking waves. And beyond the shoreline.

The contradictions of my life had come full circle. Ruby Rose was both dead and alive. Almost everyone I knew and loved was gone, yet the future held an overwhelming number of possibilities. The girl I used to be, out here with Jack Rose, barely existed even in memory. The girl I had become, out here with Damon Silver, buzzed with previously unknown energy.

“You gonna make it?” Silver called to me from his board beyond the break, a teasing gleam in his eye, not dissimilar from the way Jack Rose used to taunt me.

“
I’d
worry about yourself, old man,” I called back, paddling toward his ideal waiting spot. “They don’t have waves like this in Kansas.”

“It’s a good thing I’m not in Kansas anymore,” Silver said, splashing water at me from a sitting position.

“Perhaps.” As I paddled closer to him, our simple exchange sparked my imagination about what would have happened if h
e’d
never left home. If the twister never swept Dorothy away, would she have ever faced the wizard, met the witches, created the story?

“Why’d you leave?” I asked, sitting up on my board next to him. The placid lull during the break in sets made the water seem like glass. “You promised to tell me.”

“Of course I did,” Silver said, bowing his head.

I waited patiently, studying the twilight horizon and absorbing the way the reds turned to pink and the oranges turned to yellow from one fleeting moment to the next.

“You know,” I said, still looking past him to the ocean’s end. “There’s no record of a Damon Silver living in Kansas during a two-decade span of when you could have possibly lived there.” I glanced over to gauge his reaction.

“Resourceful Ruby,” he said, narrowing his eyes at me with a mix of frustration and maybe pride. “I should have known you’d test me.”

“I just wanted to put you on notice not to bullshit me,” I said, trying to keep it light. I wasn’t trying to pick a fight with him anymore.

“Well, thank you for the notice,” he said. He pursed his lips for a moment. “When I was sixteen years old, I killed a man.”

I shouldn’t have been surprised by this, but for some reason the number sixteen stood out.

“I grew up on a farm. One day, a neighbor attacked my father over a land dispute. The man was about to hit my father over the head with a shovel.” Silver’s voice was colder than the Pacific as he explained himself. “I got off one shot with my dad’s shotgun and saved his life. But when the county defender claimed defense of others, the prosecutor claimed murder in the second degree.”

Anger swelled in me.

“I was tried as an adult and convicted of manslaughter in the end,” Silver continued. “The silver lining was my sentence. Ten years’ probation and community service.”

“This doesn’t make any sense,” I said, not understanding how I would have missed court records for Damon Silver. “I found nothing on any criminal convictions.”

“That’s because after a year of community condemnation and the near bankruptcy of my family due to the trial,” Silver said, “I left. I skipped parole, changed my name, and never looked back. I bought a one-way bus ticket to California, where I joined the military under a new name.”

I couldn’t believe it. “You just up and left your family?”

“I ruined them,” he said flatly. “Despite the fact that I saved my father from probable death, he never forgave me.”

“What did your mom say?” I asked, hoping for some kindness in my biological tree.

“She’s the one who bought me the bus ticket.”

I deflated, heavy with sorrow for our screwed-up pasts.

“I never spoke to them again. The only contact I’ve had with any of them was five years ago, when I sent flowers to my sister’s place after my mom died.”

“That’s awful,” I said, almost sorry
I’d
brought it up. It was another one of those harsh truths that might’ve been best left undiscovered. And while his story raised more questions, I decided to leave them for another day.

“Not really.” He sat up a little higher on his board as the ocean started moving again, stirring up some waves. “If it meant that
I’d
be sitting here with you in this moment,
I’d
do it all over again.”

A swell of current lifted me up in a gentle stroke.

“Be careful with that logic,” I said, slightly uncomfortable with his happy-ending mentality. “A lot of death has led us here. I’m not sure
I’d
like to do any of that over again.”

“Of course not.” He took a deep breath and acknowledged the budding waves requiring our attention. “But maybe, just maybe, it’s all been for some greater purpose.”

Maybe, just maybe, he was right. If I could cling to the idea that no one, including my father Jack Rose, died in vain, then I could be OK. I could go on. I could live in my own Rose-colored skin. Or Silver-colored, depending on how I looked at it.

Suddenly, a perfect-looking wave began forming thirty yards away. If I started paddling now, it might be the best wave ever.

Spinning around, I lay down on my board and dug into the cold water. An invigorating energy took over as I felt the ocean doing most of the work for me. The nose of the board gathered momentum, and I shifted back to balance myself before the five-footer took me back to the shore. Back to where I belonged.

“Have a nice ride with Pops?” Quinn teased me as I towel-dried my hair after the hottest shower
I’d
taken in a long time.

“He’s not so bad,” I said, sitting down on the veranda of Quinn’s new place on the coast of Half Moon Bay. Still being “wanted for questioning” by the Orange County Police Department prevented me from staying in SoCal, but that didn’t mean that I couldn’t find some anonymity in a hideout up north. I wasn’t technically on the run—Skryker must’ve been buying me some time, because I hadn’t seen myself on
America’s Most Wanted
. Yet.

“Maybe I’ll let you teach me a thing or two after some of the bruising goes away,” Quinn said, playing for sympathy. He didn’t come out of the Getty unscathed, unfortunately. Not that any of us did—but at least we were alive. At least Rosie was recovering at the same hospital as my mom. “I could use a little massaging right around here.” He pointed at his right shoulder and grimaced in pain.

“There are easier ways to get me to touch you,” I said, refusing to give him what he wanted.

“Easier ways?” His eyebrows jutted up in elated surprise. “Please tell me what ways you have in mind.”

“Oh, please,” I said, running my fingers through my wet hair. “Don’t act like you didn’t know how to play me from day one.”

“So you’re telling me that every time I want to be near you, I have to open myself up to getting my arse kicked by you?” He cocked his head.

It was both exhilarating and exhausting to consider being close to Quinn again. Though w
e’d
been laying low together for weeks—me, Silver, and Quinn—I wasn’t ready to approach the idea of being with someone again. Not even a kiss seemed appropriate under the circumstances. Missing Mathews’s funeral, the mass cover-up of the Martinez-Skryker debacle, and only sporadic contact with my mother and Dr. T had worn me down.

“It will get easier,” Quinn assured me, knowing I wasn’t ready to be comforted with any amount of physical contact. “I promise.”

“I hope you’re right,” I said, thinking about what he gave up at a much earlier age. I didn’t doubt his story anymore—
I’d
seen through him too many times. He was just as lost and divided as I was. Not like Liam, who had so quickly embraced the dark side of this life. Quinn wanted out, too, but he was smart and patient enough to do it the right way at the right time, lest he end up “gone” like Sofia. And right now, we all agreed it wasn’t the right time. Skryker still had leverage over all three of us.

H
e’d
sent each of us one of his lovely manila envelopes as reminders. Mine contained the surveillance pictures from Brandon’s house (neck-punch shot and all), printouts of the documents found on the flash drive that I delivered (a series of letters, supposedly from me, wherein I threatened Brandon’s family and instructed him to meet me at Silver’s boat), a stack of financial documents and statements that wouldn’t be good for me or Jane, and a “you’re welcome” note signed by Skryker himself, containing a newspaper clipping announcing Jane Rose’s victory in the district attorney’s race (with Brandon out of it, sh
e’d
had an easy win).

There seemed to be no limit to Skryker’s manipulations. H
e’d
do anything to anyone for his power. But to what end? At least I knew what Martinez was after: revenge. But with Skryker, I had no idea what he really wanted from me. From any of us. But with the help of Quinn and Silver, I was going to find out.

“Silver will be back soon,” Quinn said, standing up. “
I’d
better get dinner started.”

“Wai
t . . .
” I suddenly felt cold, with the barely existent Northern California sun hiding behind the clouds. “Sit with me for a few minutes. I promise not to elbow you or anything.”

“Really?” he asked, sounding pleasantly surprised by my offer. “Not even a choke hold?”

“Well, no, choke holds aren’t off the table.”

A broad smile spread across his gorgeous face as he took a seat on the couch next to me. It could have been his charm, his cologne, or the way he wore his boots with the red laces, but I realized right then that I might have been ready for his touch.

“Thank you,” I said, placing my hand on his chest and breathing in the sweet chocolate he had on his breath. Clever boy. “For everything. I think you may have been right.”

“About what?” He accepted my subliminal invitation and moved closer.

“We might actually be good ‘partners.’ Professionally, that is.”

“I think you’re right that I was right.” He tilted his head sideways, ready if I wanted the kiss.

“You’re really asking for the choke hold now,” I joked, and moved in so only inches separated our lips.

“Ruby Rose,” he said, breathlessly. “I’ll let you do whatever you want to me.”

That’s when I could no longer resist.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

An awkwardly long hug and a sincerely genuine thank-you to:

My editor, Courtney Miller, for believing in me (and Ruby) from the start. To Timoney Korbar, for embracing my crazy ideas and taking them to the next level. To Erick Pullen, for all the generous support. To Marianna Baer and her brilliant mind. To everyone at Skyscape/Amazon Children’s Publishing, for giving me the opportunity of a lifetime.

To Sarah Davies, my rock-star agent, whom I admire for so many reasons, not the least of which are her killer ukulele skills.

To Erin Summerill and Peggy Eddleman, who have been there for every step of this writing journey, even when I momentarily “broke up” with them due to pre-launch hysterics.

To Sarah Donovan, for being my biggest UK fan. To Elana Johnson, for being a marketing genius. To Chantele Sedgwick, Katie Dodge, Ruth Josse, Kim Krey, Jamie Thompson, Emily King, Shelly Brown, Kathryn Purdie, and Taffy Lovell, for all the writing getaways and conference hot-tubbing.

To Lindsey Leavitt, for being the yin to my Las Vegas yang. To Crystal Perkins, Tera Childs, Erika Babbitt, Amelia Kynaston, Veeda Bybee, Annie Reynolds, and Daria Snadowsky, for all the late-night neon scribbling.

To my Ruby Rose Book Launch Committee, Misty Sullivan, Meleah Smith, Julie Tandy, Erica Boardman, and Jamie Heagany, for making Ruby Rose shine amongst the Vegas lights.

To my fellow OneFour Skyscapers, Christina Farley, Meredith McCardle, and Lori Lee, for your camaraderie (and letting me be the yellow ninja).

To my parents, who didn’t disown me after the first book. To my siblings, John, Michelle, Julie, Chris, and Jeff, who forgive me for all my B-wording ways.

Finally, to my husband and kids: Baller, Brave, Brilliant, Big-Time, and Beautiful. You are still my favorite B-words.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Photo © Erin Summerill

Jessie Humphries is a B-word. N
o . . .
not that one. More like book lover, blog writer, Bar member (State of Nevada), and, on Halloween, a bona fide member of the Babe Patrol Police Force (she has the cheap costume with an official patch to prove it). She lives in Las Vegas with her husband and four little B-word children: Brave, Brilliant, Big-Time, and Beautiful.