Jillian Dodd - Hate Me

But then another possibility pulses through my brain. Vincent hurts, drugs, or kills the bouncer. In his slick suit, it would be easy to underestimate his strength.

Where the hell is Cooper?

And why did they let Vincent backstage?

I bend down, pull the duct tape off the gun, and slip it into the back of my shorts.

The bouncer stops Vincent from coming any farther and walks up to my cage.

“I have twenty minutes left. You're going to get me in trouble with Marla.”

He lowers his voice. “I know you're new, but the gentleman here is a VIP. Big VIP. And he requested you now. You know the boss man is all about customer service.”

“Fine. I'll go powder my nose, then I'll head up there.”

The bouncer looks back at Vincent, who shakes his head.

“I think now would be better.”

“Um, okay.” The bouncer opens my cage and takes my hand to help me out.

The second my feet hit the concrete floor, Vincent starts moving quickly toward me.

My eyes get huge.

I point and go, “Um . . .”

The bouncer turns around and says to Vincent, “Go back to the VIP section now. We’ll meet you there.”

“I just want to talk to her. I'm a producer. This could be her big break.”

“I don't want a break,” I whisper, putting my hand behind my back and gripping the gun.

Suddenly, Vincent charges toward the bouncer.

Shit!!

I move to avoid getting knocked down.

When I do, the big cage swings, ramming Vincent and the bouncer, knocking them down.

Cooper grabs me, pulls me down the hall, and pushes through an exit door.

The bright streetlights temporarily blind me.

“Which car is it?” Cooper yells.

I hand him the gun. “Here, take this.”

“Where the hell do you get—”

I don’t answer, just pull him toward a sweet black Ducati.

“A motorcycle?” Cooper panics. “I’ve never ridden one.”

I hop on the bike, pull on my helmet, toss one to Cooper, pop the kickstand, turn the key, grab the clutch, and hit the start button, bringing the motor roaring to life.

“Just hang on!” I yell as both Vincent and the bouncer barrel out of the exit.

I pop the bike into first gear with my foot, crack the throttle, and speed off into the night.

I make numerous turns through the warehouse district, already having memorized the streets, and then shoot out onto the highway near the Santa Monica airport.

I drive fast, weaving in and out of traffic.

Once I’m sure we’re not being followed, I head toward the coast, merging onto the PCH, heading toward Malibu.

I try to stay close to the speed limit now, not wanting to get pulled over and end up a sitting duck on the side of the road.

Before the Malibu city limit, I make a right turn and pull into an unmarked parking lot. Then I hit the remote on the bike’s keychain to open a big garage door and pull in, dousing the bike’s lights and quickly closing the door behind us.

“I don’t think we were followed, do you?” I ask Cooper as I turn off the bike, pull off my helmet, and shake out my hair.

“I don't know how the hell we could’ve been. You were driving like a maniac!”

I roll my eyes at him. “I was only doing eighty on the highway. Vincent has a Porsche. Those things are fast!”

Cooper takes his helmet off and sets it on the bike. “Somehow when you said stealth out the back , this was not what I envisioned.”

“It worked, though. Come on, we’ve had our excitement for tonight. Let's get the hell out of here and back the airport.”

“What about your wig? Our bags?”

I point to a Mustang sitting in the bay next to us. “It's all in the car.”

“What is this? A chop shop? Is this all stolen?”

“No, it’s the concierge detail shop that does Tommy's car. They pick up his cars from the house every few weeks, detail them, and put them back under their covers all shiny. He dropped the motorcycle off, picked up Tommy's Ferrari, moved our bags to the Mustang, and already has Tommy's car safely back home. He's also going to drive it around town tomorrow. You know, just to be seen.”

“Did he not think it was an odd request?”

“Considering his clientele, probably not. Especially with the rumors of Tommy's affair.”

“Oh,” Cooper says. “That's smart.”

I find the Mustang’s keys hanging exactly where I was told they would be and replace them with the keys to Brooklyn’s bike.

Even though B knows nothing about it, there’s something comforting in the fact that his bike helped me tonight.

Cooper grabs my hand. “You’re shaking.”

“A little, but I'm fine.”

“Adrenaline rush,” he states. “It’ll stop soon. In the meantime, I’ll drive.”

On the way to the airport, I throw the dress I wore earlier over my club clothes, tuck my hair back under the wig, rub off the paint, and gently remove the eyelashes.

“I have to admit,” Cooper says, “I’m very surprised you know how to ride a motorcycle.”

“That wasn’t just any motorcycle. It was Brooklyn’s. The concierge service takes care of B’s and his dad’s cars, too. I knew we were going to have to make a speedy exit, so it seemed like the best option. Honestly, I’m really lucky that he knows me, or I never would’ve been able to pull it off. I didn’t exactly ask B if I could borrow his bike.”

“What made you even want to learn?”

“I was fine with just riding on the back. It was fun, felt romantic, you know? But after a couple times of us going somewhere and B needing to take me back home before he was ready to leave, he decided I should learn how to ride it. That way I could take myself home if I needed to.”

And once I learned how, he knew he could get high or drink and I could drive us both home. Although at the time that sorta pissed me off, I’m now really grateful I know how.

After we’ve taken off and gotten to cruising altitude, Cooper says, “So what do you think we accomplished? Seems like all it did was piss him off.”

“We made him think I’m back home.” I smile. “And remember, a pissed off, out-of-control, mistake-making Vincent is exactly what we want.”

“I was there the whole time. In the shadows. Waiting for the right moment.”

“I didn't see you.”

“You didn't look scared.”

“I had protection. Speaking of which, what did you do with it?”

“It’s in the bag.”

The flight attendant interrupts Cooper to ask us if we would like dinner or a snack.

“Dinner,” Cooper says.

“I’ll just have some water,” I reply. I might not be shaking as bad on the outside anymore, but my insides are still a wreck.

“My sister needs to eat,” Cooper tells the attendant. “Bring her a dinner along with her water.”

She quickly comes back with plates of grilled chicken in a mushroom sauce on a bed of risotto.

I eat a little and then lean my head against Cooper's shoulder.

Confidence and swagger.

7am

“You awake enough to drive back to school?” Cooper asks me, putting our bags in the car.

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

He sits in the passenger seat until I get about a half mile from school, then he hops in the back and hides.

I go through the school gates, pull into my parking spot, hop out of my car, leaving it unlocked, and then walk to the dorm and straight into my shower.

I’m forty-five minutes late for our 7 am Social Committee meeting.

“Sorry I'm late,” I say, my entrance interrupting Logan.

“That’s okay. We're just finishing up,” he says.

“You’re our last report. Is the French Club ready for tomorrow night? Will the baskets all be ready?”