The Probability of Violet & Luke (The Coincidence, #4)

For this very reason, I try to keep Violet out of the loop of what the plans are, but the problem is the girl knows her shit.

It’s nearing eight o’clock, but the sky is still bright, the sun blaring it’s heat down on the city and desert land that surrounds it. We have the windows rolled down, but it still doesn’t help with the sweating factor, but part of that might be because I’m in the backseat with Violet, trying not to be so damn nervous about the entire situation.

“So what’s up with this The Warehouse place?” Violet asks from the backseat of Cole’s 1970 Dodge Challenger. She’s wearing that short dress I didn’t want her wearing and it hugs her body perfectly and leaves little to the imagination. “Because it sounds like a place where the mafia would hide dead bodies.”

Cole glances at her in the rearview mirror inquisitively while Ryler smiles, rolling his window all the way down. “Well, if it was, I’d think you’d be a little worried that we’re taking you there, wouldn’t you?” my uncle jokes as he retrieves a pack of cigarettes from the dash.

“You would think so,” Violet says amused, the hot breeze flowing through the cab blows stray strands of her hair into her face. “But if you guys are in the mafia, you’re not very scary, nor are you packing a gun so escape seems possible.”

“And how do you know we’re not packing any weapons?” Cole asks, his gaze landing on me and I can tell he approves of Violet, which would be just great except that she doesn’t approve of me.

“Well, you’re both wearing tank tops and there’s no place to hide them in there. None of your pant or short pockets look bulky and I made a mental note that neither of you had one in the back of your pants.” She relaxes back in the seat, folding her arms, restraining a smile.

“Smart girl,” Cole remarks as he slows the car at a stoplight. The busy sidewalks are buzzing with excitement, neon lights flashing on every building, and I can practically smell the slot machines on the inside of them. “Luke, I like this one. You should keep her around.”

So do I, I want to tell him but instead say, “Yeah, she’s not so bad, I guess.” I nudge her in the side with my elbow so she knows I’m messing around.

“What can I say, I like to prepare myself,” Violet says, not moving away when I rest my shoulder against hers. “You never know who the crazies are.”

My body stiffens, wondering if she meant it how I took it. But she seems calm and content, so I’m guessing she’s just chatting and didn’t really think much of it. Still, it reminds me that one of those ‘crazies’ she’s referring to is my mother and what one of those ‘crazies’ did was murder her parents, which led to her spending most of her childhood in foster homes, which led her to Preston’s and her messed up life. All because of my mother and some unknown guy.

Ryler rotates in his seat to look at us and signs something to Violet, something amusing I’m guessing with the way Violet laughs and he smiles.

Violet shrugs. “Knives aren’t scary. You can run from knives.”

Ryler’s brow arches as he rests his arm on the back of the seat, still signing.

“It sounds like I’m speaking from experience, huh?” Violet muses as Ryler nods. Then Violet shrugs again, not willing to divulge any of her past, something I’m used to. But I know enough about her and she had a shitty childhood, so I wouldn’t be surprised if she ran from someone with a knife. Fuck, what if it was my mother. I never did get the details of what exactly happened that night.

“You’re a pretty tough chick,” Cole remarks then looks at me. “You know, we could use her tonight.”

“No,” I say sharply. “She’s not here to get involved in this.”

“Well she’s here,” Cole says, getting a little annoyed. “So technically she’s already involved.”

“She’s just here to watch,” I argue, balling my hands into fist. “Nothing else.”

Violet’s eyes are on me, not necessarily glaring, but she doesn’t look happy either. “What’s up with you and the whole protective thing?” she says it quietly, but Ryler still hears her and sensing a fight, turns back around in his seat and proceeds to smoke.

“I just don’t want you getting hurt,” I tell her with a shrug. “It’s not like this is some new fucking revelation. I was the same way while we were…” I want to say dating, but where we really ever officially dating? Yeah, we went out on one or two dates, but our relationship was so brief—too brief.

“I don’t need protection,” she promises in a firm tone. “And if there’s some way I can help then I want to. Trust me, manipulation is my gift.”

“I don’t want to be the Preston in your life,” I utter it so quietly it can barely be heard.

She sucks in a slow breath while her hand absentmindedly wanders to the bruises on her legs, pretty much confirming my suspicions that the bastard put them on her. It makes me see red again like when Preston kissed her in the parking lot of the University, my anger blinding me to the point that if Preston was around, I’d do something irrational and probably irreversible and not even think twice. I remember when my best friend Kayden Owens beat the shit out of this guy Cameron—the same guy who raped my sister Amy right before she committed suicide by jumping off a roof—because he’d hurt his girlfriend, Callie, probably in the same way he hurt my sister. At the time, I sort of understood why he did it, protecting the people you care about. But he’d only been with Callie for a little while so there was still some confusion how he could get so passionate about defending her. But I get now, why he did it, how the rage can consume you to the point that you can’t see or think clearly, if you care about someone that much. I’d have beaten the shit out of Cameron too, if I ever found him—still would—for Amy. And I’d hurt Preston just as equally if not more for what he’s done to Violet. Because I care about Violet that much, in a way that I’d ruin my own life if it meant she’d have to carry less pain in hers.

I get a revelation at that moment, one that I didn’t see coming and I’m not sure if I’m ready to accept it. It crashes into my like a truck, slams the breath out of me, and makes my heart ache in a very unfamiliar way.

I care about Violet more than I care about myself.

Maybe even… Love her?

Fuck, am I in love? No, there’s no way. I don’t even know what love is.

“You’re not Preston,” Violet interrupts my panicking thoughts, her hand covering the bruise on her leg. “I want to help you if there’s a way. You’re not forcing me to do anything—I’m choosing to do it.”

I want to ask her what he forced her to do to cause those bruises, but even if she would break down and tell me, I don’t want it to be in the car with Ryler and my uncle pretending like they’re not listening while I flip out and probably lose control in the worst kind of way.

“She could be a good distraction, Luke,” Cole interrupts as he makes a right off the freeway and up an off ramp. “She’s a beautiful girl—and I mean that in a nice, nonflirting way.” He’s annoying the shit out of me right now and I know he can tell, but doesn’t care.

“What exactly are you thinking?” Violet scoots forward and crosses her arms on the back of the seat. Her hair is pulled up so I can see the back of her neck and the dragon, along with the stars tattoos, the ones that represent her parent’s death. I don’t know why I do it, but I find myself putting my finger to one of them and tracing the pattern. She jumps from the contact but doesn’t say anything.