Bulletproof

36. Tyler

I can practically feel Franny's panic from my seat beside her. She has her fingers gripping a wad of hair at her neck and her other hand tapping a nonsensical rhythm on her leg, just above the knee. I reach down underneath the bench and pull down the little compartment there. I search around with my hand until my fingers make contact with material that feels like my shirt. I yank it out and without looking over at Franny I take off my bloodied mess of a shirt and slip the clean one on.

Hiding the ruined shirt away in the compartment, I sigh and run a finger idly down my neck where Oscar tried to choke me. Bruises will soon begin to form. I hear Franny let out a shuddering breath before she turns on the seat and faces me, legs up on the bench and knees nearly touching her forehead.

"What actually happened?" she asks.

I shrug. "Some of the guys were a little bitter over things."

"Things?" she prompts.

I scratch the back of my head, catching a glimpse of the blood stuck under my nails. "I went down to the bar to talk to Brad while he was having his shift. I was supposed to be fast, just in and out, but some of the fighters were having a drink and decided to pick a fight. Two of them were drunk and the other one wasn't."

"Why did they pick a fight?" Franny asks.

"Turns out that not all of the guys agree with my whole idea of going up against Carl. They're loyalists. They don't fight because they're broke or have families that need feeding or because a petty criminal record has left them with nowhere else to go. They fight because it's fun and afterwards they grab their wad of cash and use it to buy a drink with Carl. They got pissed and before I knew it, it was the three of them against me and we were all throwing punches. A couple other guys helped me out but it was bloody."

Franny lifts a hand off her knee and runs her fingertip lightly over my neck.

"Someone tried to strangle you," she says.

"As I said, it was a drunken brawl."

"A drunken brawl would be clumsy, hard-hitting punches and kicks. Strangling someone is showing that you have the intent to kill them, that you're trying to kill them. A stupid drunk wouldn't try and strangle you like that."

I reach up and stroke a thumb over the marks. "He was just angry."

"Ty." Franny grabs my wrist and pulls my hand away. "Aren't you even a little worried right now? Someone just tried to murder you and you're acting like it was just another fight."

"Because it was," I say. "Fran, I've had fights like this before. Last year I was pissed off and wandered down an alleyway and picked a fight with anyone who was willing. In that moment, no one is bothered about how you get the guy down on the ground and unconscious, as long as it happens. And if that means someone gets choked or someone whips out a knife, then so be it. I'm used to it."

Franny pulls her hand away from me and switches the radio off completely. "Why did you come here, then?" she asks. "If you're so calm and easygoing then why did you come over to me and not just go home?"

I stare at her and breathe through my nose deeply before pushing my hair out of my face. I slide along the bench until I'm right beside her. I place a hand on her knee and look deep into her eyes.

"I'm still human, Franny."

"Could have fooled me," she says.

"You calm me down," I finally say. "If I'd gone home then I'd have punched a hole through a wall. Or worse, ended up punching my dad. I get jittery after fights and for some reason, you calm the shakes."

"So you're saying that you come to me because you know you won't punch me?" Franny asks with slight amusement.

I laugh softly. "Something like that."

I reach up and brush my knuckles against her cheek. Franny closes her eyes before slowly opening them back up and reaching out to me. Her fingers grab at my clean shirt and make a fist in the material. She drags me closer and my hand clamps down on the curve of the door beside her head. My other hand breaks her knees apart and I slide into the space between her legs. With my hand caressing her side, she keeps one hand in my shirt and the other on my cheek as she brings my head down towards her.

Her lips are almost hesitant as they meet mine—but that soon changes.

Franny's fingers grip my hair as she deepens the kiss. I smile against her lips and hike a thigh over my hip as I kiss her back. Fingers slide away from my now-crinkled shirt and her arm circles around my back, pushing me down onto her. I stroke her cheek, taking in the heat from both our bodies as I pull away for a moment only to dip back onto her lips mercilessly.

The kiss becomes feverish and we grip each other, hard. My hips slide downwards to settle into the new position, moving back and forth slowly. Our lips part and Franny pushes at my chest.

I stumble back until I'm sitting, frowning over at her, thinking that she's made a quick decision to want me gone. But with a sudden move, Franny gets up and hovers over me, straddling my legs. My hands automatically find refuge on her hips where they settle comfortably as she strokes the edge of my jaw and leans down to place a kiss on my neck, right on the bruised vein. My body tenses, but Franny doesn't move. Instead, she grows more confident. The prim and proper kiss becomes an open-mouthed kiss on my neck that sends a shudder down my body. I grip her hips tighter as Franny rolls her lips and tongue over the red marks littering the skin of my neck. My head lolls back and gently hits the truck window. I wrap one arm around Franny's waist and roll my hips against hers. Her eyes close as her lips find purchase against my neck.

"Fuck," I whisper against her hair.

Once her lips have touched every mark on my neck, Franny lifts her head and looks up at me. I place my knuckles under her chin and tilt her head up to kiss her soundly on the lips. It is much more chaste than I want it to be but from the light that just flicked on in her home's kitchen, Franny has company waiting for her.

I tilt my head towards her house and Franny looks out the window to see the light in the house.

"It's Tally," she explains. "I said my dad needed me."

I nod and run my hands up and down her sides before leaning forward and resting my forehead against hers.

"That detective that was talking to you about your dad's injuries," I begin. "I'm going to meet up with him tomorrow. We'll make a plan and then I just have to follow through with it and Carl's gone. This could work."

"He sounds like a bent cop to me," Franny says bitterly and I smile.

"He's rough around the edges. Does things that aren't exactly . . . legal to get people behind bars."

"Which makes him no better than the people he arrests," Franny comments.

"But he's my last chance," I say. "My very last. I don't get the chance to be cautious about people anymore."

Franny kisses my cheek. "Be safe."

I just hug her closer.

***

Detective Franks is standing beside his car with a cigarette hanging out of his mouth when I pull up. He drops the cigarette on the ground and stomps it out before catching my eye and tilting his head towards his car.

Climbing out of my truck, I lock it up and walk the two car spaces down to reach his standard-issue undercover police car. The parking lot is nearly empty even though it's the middle of the day. I take once glance at the lake it looks over before opening up the passenger door and sliding inside.

Franks is flicking through a little notebook when I settle down in the seat. His eyes roam over a couple of things before he sighs.

"Look, Carl's an asshole," he says. "And he's good at clearing up his tracks. Apart from lately."

"Lately?" I ask.

"He's been physically harming more," Franks says. "Couple of guys are beaten up, minimal force, a bat. Then suddenly we have two cases that are high priority. One is a man beaten nearly to death with a bat, multiple broken bones, bruising, cuts and a completely destroyed eye. Another has a knife wound bleeding like hell and bruises and cuts covering his body. Then there's a dead body showing up in some ditch a couple streets over from a notoriously sketchy bar. He's getting sloppy. And that's where you come in."

"How?" I ask.

"You make the perfect scene. Catch him right in the act of doing something he shouldn't be. Have the whole thing as a setup. I'll be waiting outside the doors with a whole damn SWAT team if I need to. And when the time is right we come charging in and catch him red-handed."

"You make it out as if it's going to be easy," I comment.

"It will be," Franks says. "All you're going to be doing is what you always do. Do a fight for a bit of cash, pretend like nothing is going on, and then before you know it, a whole army of policemen will have him down on the ground with guns pointed at his fucking head."

- Ellie x