The Edge of Us (Crash and Burn Book 2) Read online

  “So you’re serious about this normal life thing?”

  He rested his hands on his hips. “This is as close as people like us will ever get, Naomi. Where else will we find a cushy nine-to-five that pays this much?”

  I shook my head. “I still can’t believe they let you choose your own team. You must have in at least five blow jobs at the top.”

  “Six,” he said, walking down the hall and switching on lights. “Come see the master!” he called.

  I followed him, glancing at a guest bath in the hall before winding up in what was now my bedroom. The one I shared with Matt wasn’t even that nice. “Who are these people?” I asked, looking up. The walls were gray, the woodwork white. The matching king-sized bed sheets and comforter were folded back.

  “Deep state?” he said, just as surprised at the turn-down service as I was. He looked at the three short roses in a round vase on the chest of drawers and flicked a dangling pink petal. “Pink roses, Nomes.”

  I wrinkled my nose. “Peter? No.” I shook my head.

  “He’s always loved you,” Trex called after me. “He’s a senator now, isn’t he?”

  “Junior senator.”

  I walked down the hall, sitting at the table because I was too sweaty to sit on the new couch. I used my shirt to wipe the sweat from my face.

  Trex set a glass of ice water in front of me, gulping down the one he’d poured for himself, then sat it on the counter. “I have to go. I’m joining the downtown gym.”

  “Aw, that’s cute,” I teased. Trex fake-punched my arm. “Where’s a good place to get a couple beers?””

  Trex thought about it. “For you? McCormack’s Pub.”

  “See you at work,” I said.

  The door closed, and I was alone again.

  The first twenty-four hours after Matt’s death was harder than anything I’d ever experienced. I moved home to be with my parents, immersing myself in the grueling routine of training my father’s militia, working long hours just to keep from feeling the debilitating sadness that came when I was alone. Everyone who said pain became easier with time had lied. You have no choice but to let it roll over you, strangle you, chew you up and spit you out, and then continue with life.

  I walked into the spare bedroom, pulled Walter from my utility pants, and gently cut into Matt’s box. One of his flak jackets were on top, so I draped it over my shoulders, hugging the fabric to me.

  “Going out tonight,” I said. “It’s not the same without you. Nothing is. It never will be.”

  I was going to sell his truck, put his box in the attic, and then try to start over again.

  chapter two

  live bait

  Naomi

  T

  he green neon light spelled out the words McCormack’s Pub, illuminating a sign that hung over the door. The bar was a small rectangle of aged brick on a corner in a questionable part of town, struggling not to look rundown in a neighborhood full of homeless shelters and check-for-cash traps.

  Without another outlet, I welcomed someone, anyone to take it a step too far just so I could beat his ass. People didn’t alert the cops in places like this, and if I was honest, recruit training and my later grueling missions were stress relievers that I’d only missed since walking away. Screw being normal or mentally functional. What does that mean anyway? I can have tits and be angry, not smile, get in a brawl. I was never the girl to wear skirts and toss my hair when a boy was around. I wasn’t even the girl next door. I wasn’t sure what kind of person that made me, but if landing a punch once in a while could make the pain go away, whatever. I choose violence.

  I stood with my back against the bricks, puffing out the last hit from my cigarette, then went inside. The bartender was cleaning when I approached the bar, thick around the middle, bearded, red-cheeked; he could have been a young, tawny-haired Santa. I held up the butt of my cigarette. He held up a trash can.

  “You can’t smoke outside the entrance. It’s like fifty yards or some shit.”

  I arched one eyebrow, and Santa began to laugh. “I’m just fucking with you, lady. What are we drinking?”

  “A beer. Whatever’s good and local.”

  “If you like a good IPA, Butcherknife Brewery has Amputator. Their Hefeweizen ale is a good late summer beer.”

  “Surprise me,” I said, sitting on a stool near the center.

  “Bottle? Draft?”

  I stared at him, bored.

  “You look like a bottle girl to me. I’m Jerry. Passing through or transplant?”

  “The latter.”

  “Welcome. I think. You don’t seem so happy to be here.”

  “I am actually. This is me in a good mood.”

  His blue eyes widened, pushing against his full, flushed cheeks as he popped the top off an Amputator and pushed it toward me. “Scary.”

  “Yes.”

  He chuckled. “What brings you to the Springs?”

  “New job. What about you?”

  “Born and raised.”

  “You like it that much?” I asked. I didn’t know too many people who were still stalled in their hometown. Mine was Sasabe, Arizona, just north of the border, and I couldn’t wait to get out and see something else.

  “Got my girlfriend pregnant senior year. Gave up a football scholarship to get married and raise a family.”

  “Congratulations,” I said, raising my beer.

  Jerry paused and squinted his eyes. “I can’t tell if you mean that.”

  “Do you get your family by on this job?”

  “I’m part owner of this place, believe it or not. Four years and still going strong. The locals like it even if it is run down. I know,” he said, probably in reaction to my expression. “I look like one of the employees. My wife tells me to wear a button-down shirt or something with a collar. She teases me all the time. She’s lucky she’s gorgeous.” He chuckled.

  “How long have you been married?”

  He looked across the room, seeming to scan through a hundred happy memories. “Eleven years.”

  “What would you have done if you’d gone to college?” I asked.

  He thought for a moment. “I’m not sure. Played football, joined a frat, figured it out.”

  “You saved yourself a few nights of blackouts, lying in your own vomit, STDs, MIPs, DUIs, loans for classes you don’t need for a degree you probably wouldn’t use—if you finished at all. You have a beautiful family, and you’re a successful entrepreneur. Congratulations.”

  Jerry nodded, considering my answer. “Thanks … what’s your name?”

  “Naomi.”

  His smile was something I hadn’t come across often enough. I was happy for his wife, happy for his kid, and hoped he went home that night not feeling like a reject of life after all. No one should feel like a failure because their plans changed.

  I sucked down the last of my beer, and Jerry already had another one ready to go. Just as I took the first cold sip, a group of men and one woman pushed through the doors. I turned to face forward, pissed at myself for getting to know the owner. Now any scuffles would need to be taken outside.

  “Jerry!” one yelled, pointing at my new friend. They were already drunk.

  “The hotel should really stop serving you guys. Stavros knows you come here shit-faced,” Jerry said, still smiling. He shook his head, keeping his voice down—not that they could hear him. “Hotshots fighting the canyon fire,” he explained.

  “Oh. Is that why the sky looks like Satan is throwing a party in Heaven?”

  Jerry didn’t appreciate my analogy, but he got over it. “It’s been burning for a week or so now. They’re all at the Colorado Springs Hotel.”

  “I have a friend staying there too.”

  “So you’re not new?” Jerry asked, surprised.

  “We came here together. Both doing the same job.”

  “What job is that?”

  “Security.”


  Jerry was unconvinced. His eyes scanned the curves of my arms, deciding in the moment I could pass for security. “So you’re military?”

  “Used to be.”

  “What branch?”

  “Do those look like they came from the Air Force to you?” a woman said, gesturing to my arms.

  Jerry laughed out loud. “Hey, now. My brother is Air Force. He’s pretty mean-looking.”

  “Terrifying, I’m sure,” I said, taking a swig.

  The woman ordered a beer, then slid onto the stool next to me. I scanned her quickly before facing forward. Didn’t want her thinking she was about to make a friend. She was about my size, wider in the hips, wearing a dirty, once-white tank top and olive-green coveralls tied around her waist by the sleeves.

  She nodded once in my peripheral, so I did the same without making eye contact.

  “Logan Reese,” Jerry said, clearly disappointed. “It’s been a while. I thought you’d finally listened to me to quit hanging with those goons.”

  “Don’t call me Logan in front of the guys,” she snapped.

  Jerry smiled. “Why not?”

  “Because Sanchez took a twenty-two-year-old stripper home last job, and it’s become a running joke.”

  “What is?” he asked.

  “Her stage name was Logan.”

  “Your fault,” Jerry said. “You turned down a perfectly good job offer in Tucson.”

  “It wasn’t perfect actually.”

  “Because of the job or that you didn’t want a new partner?”

  “I have a new partner,” Reese said. “Bobby is new, remember?”

  “New to you,” he teased.

  Reese rolled her eyes and took a drink. “I like hanging out with the guys, even if I had a choice,” Reese said. “I work with them, and I work too much to meet anyone else.”

  Jerry sat a bottle of beer in front of her after popping the cap. “You escaped tonight, huh? How’s your partner?”

  “Who cares?”

  Jerry rested his elbow on the bar, leaning toward her with a sly grin. “Word on the street is you do.”

  She narrowed her eyes at him before taking a swig.

  “So,” Jerry said to me, “Reese is an aviation mechanic for the US Forestry Service.”

  I raised my bottle to her, and she did the same.

  “You a Marine?” Jerry asked.

  “You figured that out all on your own?” I asked.

  He chuckled, immune to my barb. “Did you see any action?”

  “Wanna see my scars?”

  Jerry laughed again, and Reese did too. I wasn’t sure why strangers thought I was so amusing. It was usually either a nervous thing or they found my bluntness refreshing. Either way, humans were attracted to people who treated them like shit, and I didn’t understand it. Almost as if they needed the approval from someone they knew didn’t offer it very often, whether they knew it or not.

  Jerry left me for a moment to serve the hotshots. He firmly told them they’d only get one round, and then he would be cutting them off. They booed and whined, but ultimately agreed.

  “So,” Reese began, pausing after I sighed. “You just here to drink then?”

  I took a sip.

  “Okay then.” She took a swig and watched her friends. Most were on the small dance floor with women who could’ve been their mothers. I shook my head and turned to rest my elbows on the bar. I was already friends with the bartender, and the hotshots weren’t arrogant, misogynistic pricks—so far. Not looking like a promising night to blow off steam. Fuck.

  “Hey,” a man behind me said. He was breathing hard from dancing. I turned to see his unassuming grin. He had a full but kept beard, his round, brown eyes matched his hair. He was good-looking, but I could tell he was nice. Why bother?

  I turned back around.

  “She’s just here to drink,” Reese said. “It’s not just you, she won’t speak to me either.”

  “Oh. Sorry. Didn’t mean to interrupt.”

  I could feel him walk away, and an old, familiar twinge in my heart made me pause. I’d never thought twice about hurting anyone’s feelings before, not sure why I cared now.

  Jerry watched the man for a moment, then crossed his arms and pressed his lips together, trying not to laugh. “That’s Zeke. He might be the best of them.”

  “Is. Is the best of them,” Reese said.

  “You’re a good one too,” Jerry said. He nodded toward her while smiling at me. “She mostly works on the helos.”

  “Because Bobby tears the shit outta them like everything else,” she grumbled. “But Zeke is worth talking to."

  “I don’t care,” I said, taking another swig. Jerry looked at my left hand. I lifted my fist and then my middle finger, showing him my wedding band. Jerry seemed confused, and I rolled my eyes. “I’m married.”

  “That’s the wrong finger,” Reese said.

  “Is it?” I said, putting down my hand.

  Jerry nodded. “Okay. I won’t try to set you up with Zeke then.”

  One of my eyebrows shot up. “Do you play matchmaker a lot?”

  “Just for them.”

  “Not that we ask,” Reese said.

  Jerry shot her a look. “You haven’t. Keeping it all in-house.”

  “Shut up,” she said quickly, taking another drink.

  “Are you their pimp or something?” I asked.

  Jerry’s laughter made his middle shake. “No! No. Just for them—the Alpines. They’ve come in here for a couple of years now. They’re all good guys. I just want everyone to be happy, I guess.”

  “You know who’s a good guy, Jerry?”

  He paused, waiting for my answer.

  “You.”

  His face lit up with an appreciative smile as he nodded once and walked away, seeming happy that he’d completed his mission to soften me up.

  I finished my beer and then headed outside, taking in the not-so-fresh, smoky mountain air and lighting a cigarette. I pulled my phone from my back pocket to call an Uber when I noticed a few of the hotshots and Reese standing outside, some smoking, some not.

  “Damn it!” one said, trying to get his lighter to work. “Is this the only one we’ve got?”

  “Hey,” I said, tossing mine to the man next to him—the one Jerry called Zeke.

  “Thanks,” Zeke said, handing the lighter to his friend. He looked back at me twice while they lit their cigarettes.

  A group of men younger and rowdier than the hotshots passed by, heading for McCormack’s front door.

  “Look at the tits on that one,” one of them said.

  “Tater tots.”

  “Anything more than a handful is too much.”

  They all laughed.

  “Now those I’d motorboat until I ran out of gas,” another said, referring to Reese.

  “Hey, c’mon,” Zeke said, letting his hands fall to his thighs. He looked genuinely disappointed.

  The new gang of men stopped, and one stepped forward. “What’d you say?”

  “I said quit being an asshole,” Zeke said without hesitation. “You’re making the rest of us look bad.” His fellow hotshots perked up, but Zeke didn’t seem to need them.

  “You calling me an asshole?”

  Zeke looked around. “Who else would I be calling an asshole, genius? Of course I’m calling you an asshole. You don’t talk about women like that. What the fuck is wrong with you?”

  “I do whatever the fuck I want.”

  Zeke laughed once. “So what you’re saying is you’re not an asshole, you’re an unapologetic asshole.”

  The man stepped forward again, just inches from Zeke’s face. They were about the same height, but Zeke and his colleagues were a solid month into fire season and leaner.

  “Say asshole one more time,” the man said, nose to nose with Zeke.

  “Kick his ass, Heath!”

  “You don’t want to do this, Heath,�
�� one of Zeke’s friends said behind him, a chuckle behind his words.

  The hairs on the back of my neck stood up. Zeke was apparently a bad ass, and I was about to see a show.

  One corner of Zeke’s mouth went up, and he stared straight into his adversary’s eyes as he spoke just one word, “Asshole.”

  The man swung, but Zeke ducked. I put away my phone and settled in to watch. The hotshots and the assholes were cheering for their friends, but mostly a lot of attempted swings, bear hugs, and shoving was happening. Zeke pushed Heath away from him, then got in a couple of good punches, but every time he swung, he left himself wide open for an attack. Heath was slow and clumsy, but he hit harder than Zeke, but even after a few knocks to the side of the head and jaw from Heath, Zeke remained focus. They weren’t stopping anytime soon, and I didn’t want Zeke to take another punch over me.

  I rolled my eyes, threw down my cigarette, mashed it with my boot, then walked over to where the boys were brawling. They’d slowed down, but neither were going to quit.

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa,” I said, holding up my hands.

  Zeke stopped. Heath didn’t, landing another blow to Zeke’s jaw. Zeke spun a half turn and stumbled toward his friends.

  I grabbed Heath’s wrist, and he looked down at my hand, surprised at my strength.

  “I said whoa.” I stomped on his toes, kicked him in the nuts, upper-cut him as he leaned down in reaction and then turned, elbowing him in the ear. He was down, in the fetal position, writhing while holding his nuts. “Don’t get up.”

  “You bitch!” he wailed. He leaned forward, attempting to stand. I held him down with my boot on his chest. He grunted.

  “Just rest, sweetheart.”

  One of Heath’s friends grabbed for me, but I moved to the side before he could make contact. Another came at me, but Reese tripped him, and he landed on his face. I could see Zeke from the corner of my eye punch another of Heath’s friends, and I was glad. It was a fun challenge holding down Heath and beating the hell out of his cronies at the same time, but a challenge nonetheless.

  The rest of the hotshots joined in, and within seconds, Heath’s friends were stumbling away. Heath stood and took a swing at me. I purposefully didn’t move, instantly feeling the sting of his knuckles against my jaw.