Falling for Heaven (Four Winds) (8 page)

             
Her voice came out a squeak.  "Damien, let go."

             
"You're really too good for me, what with all you do for your family."  His voice was a hushed whisper, that could have been seductive, except the words they spoke sent chills coursing through Heather's body.

             
"What do you know about my family?"  The panic in her gut rose to her throat.  This man was more dangerous than she'd realized. 

             
"I could help with your mother, you know.  I have enough money to put her in Piney Meadows.  We could put her there, where she could get the latest treatments, and we could visit her as often as you'd like, my sweet, sweet Heaven."

             
"Stop it."  She gritted out her teeth, still in his clutches.  She couldn't see his eyes, but she knew they would be cold, glinting orbs.

             
"And your sister…Think of all the fun the three of us could have together."  The lecherous lilt of his voice made Heather shudder.

             
"How do you know all of this?"  She was near tears at the helplessness of her situation.  She danced to help her family, and now her dancing had introduced them to a man that was…evil.  She didn't know how he knew what he did, but she knew in her core that the reason he cared about any of them was because he was evil.

             
"I make it my business to know.  He has plans for you, and they don't include me, and that makes me sad…"

             
"What do you mean?  Who has plans for me?"  At her question, Damien's grip released, and Heather jumped up, turning to face him.  The look on his face stopped her cold. 

             
His eyes were cold, as she'd expected, but the wry smile on his mouth gave the man an air of childishness, as if he was the boy who was fixing to be punished for something he'd done wrong.  And he knew it.

             
Without thinking on his expression, just feeling relief at being out of his clutches, Heather strode out of the room, and walked straight to Robbie.

             
The enormous black man listened intently as Heather explained that a client knew where she lived.  His eyebrows joined in the middle of his increasingly wrinkled forehead as he listened to her.  When Heather told him about the roses, he immediately walked to the back of the club where the private rooms were.  She didn't need to tell him about her mother or Tiffany.  Nobody here really knew them, and she liked keeping that part of her life separate from this one.

             
Heather liked Robbie.  He was an imposing man, but he had a quiet manner about him, one that begged no arguments.  She had seen him resort to violence only a handful of times in the years she had worked there.  And it had been impressive.

             
He returned shortly with a puzzled expression on his face.  “He’s not back there, Heaven.”  He knew her real name but didn’t use it on the floor.  “I don’t see him in here, either.  Maybe he left.”  Crossing his arms, he asked her, “Do you want me to call the police?”

             
“What for?  He hasn’t done anything illegal.  They won’t do anything.”  She could feel her self control rapidly evaporate.  How had he left without them seeing?  He would have to walk right past them to get to the exit.

             
“I’ll give you a ride home tonight and check out your place, if you want.”  Robbie offered.

             
“I would like that.  Thank you, Robbie.”  Feeling little relief at his kind gesture, she tried to smile at him, but the danger of the situation still simmered under her skin.

             
He shrugged and went back to his post.  Heather managed to get through the rest of the night with an uneasy smile on her face.  For the first time in eight years, she felt like her job was putting her in danger.

             
Robbie gave her a ride home after ensuring the other girls had left and walked through her house with her to confirm that Damien hadn’t broken in.  Then he patiently waited while she let Taco out for his midnight outing, and made sure she was in for the night before leaving.  His presence made Heather feel better, but she couldn’t shake the unease seated in her gut. 

             
Eventually, she went to sleep.

When she woke up, later that afternoon, Heather didn't want to be home alone.  Deciding that she wanted a little light in her life, she texted Uri.

R U busy?

He texted back immediately.

No.  What is going on?

I dont work 2nite. Want 2 cum over 4 dinner?

I do not like texting.  Can I call you right now?

Sure.

She smiled at the idea of a man in the twenty-first century not texting, as her phone rang.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Heather.”  He seemed to enjoy saying her name.  It sounded good on his voice, sending a tiny shiver up her spine.

“You want to come over tonight for dinner?”

“Sure.  What time?”  She could hear a smile in his voice, and it made her warm, chasing away some of the desperate gloom from the night before.

“I’ve got to go see my sister for a little bit, so let’s say around seven?”

“Okay.  I’ll be there at seven then.”

“Um…don’t you need directions?”  She asked.

A pause.  “Right.  Let me get a pen and some paper.  Hold on a minute, please.”  She smiled again as he actually put his cell phone down, and rummaged around for something to write with. 

When he picked
up the phone again, she gave him directions to her apartment.

“Uri?”
              “Hmm?”  He answered, the noise sounding strangely intimate to Heather’s ears.

“What do you have against texting?”

He chuckled.  “I’m just old-fashioned, I guess.  See you at seven, Heather.”

“See you.  Bye, Uri.”

“Bye.”

After hanging up
, she grabbed Taco and her bike and made her way to Tiffany’s place.  She stopped at a grocery store around the corner from her sister's apartment and bought some frozen dinners and a gallon of orange juice.

Letting herself in, Heather called out.  “Hey Tiff?  I brought you some groceries.”

A suspiciously ethereal voice came from the living room.  “Thanks, but I’m not really hungry.”

Before she went into the living room, Heather poured Tiffany
a glass of orange juice and responded, “Then have a glass of juice.  You don’t want to get scurvy.”  She was only half-kidding.

Tiffany was pacing back and forth in her tiny living room, muttering to herself, wearing the same clothes that Heather had seen her in the
last two times she had been here.

“Wh
en is the last time you took a shower, Tiff?”

She stopped and seemed to think a little before answering, “d’no.”  Her pacing continued, but the muttering had stopped.

Handing her the glass, Heather said, “Drink this.  I’m going to run you a bath.  I’ll help you get cleaned up.  You’ll feel better.”

“I feel fine.” 

“Of course you do.  You’re high.”  Heather left the room and went to the bathroom.  It was disgusting.  The floor of the bathtub was black and covered with wet towels.  Groaning, Heather pushed up her sleeves and pulled out the towels, dropping them into a heap on the floor before going in search of some sort of cleaner.

Once she had scrubbed enough of the grime away to feel okay about setting her sister in the tub, she ran a hot bath.

“Tiff?  Come take a bath!”  Her sister was immediately in the doorway, fidgeting and shifting her weight from foot to foot.

“I got an idea.”

“Come get in the tub and tell me about it.”

“I can start a tattoo parlor.”

“That would be one way to use your artistic talents.”  Tiffany used to be a phenomenal artist.  Her pen and ink sketches had won state-wide awards, but Heather hadn’t seen any recent work.  She honestly hadn’t seen anything her sister had done in years.  “Have you been drawing any lately?”

Tiffany had strippe
d, and Heather tried not to stare at her emaciated frame, as she stepped into the tub.

“Not really, but it’s probably like riding a bicycle, you know?”  She was fidgeting in the tub, rubbing her legs with her hands, then her arms, then her legs again.  “It’s a good idea, thoug
h.  I can start a tattoo parlor,” she said, hope filling her voice.  Heather liked the sound of it but was afraid it was just another great idea to get her through until her next high --- like the idea of the portrait studio and the caricature artist.

“Yeah, Tiff.  It’s a great idea.”  Heather grabbed some soap and started cleaning her sister.

“I just need to get clean and get some cash.”  She was still fidgeting, not moving toward anything to actually wash herself, just letting Heather do it all.  “Just enough to get started, you know?”  She looked at Heather, beseechingly.  “Like $3,000?”

Heather ha
d washed her back and shoulders and was moving on to her arms, trying to hold them still.  “I don’t have it, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“I thought you made good money at your job?”

“I do, Tiff.  But I have bills to pay.”

“Not that many bills.”

“You have no idea about money.  I pay an outrageous sum for Mom to be in that home, and I pay your bills on top of my own.  I don’t have enough money to be giving you more to open up a tattoo parlor.”

“Mom’s got money to pay for that place, doesn’t she?”

“Not enough.”  Heather gritted out between her teeth.  It seemed like she had the same conversations over and over with the people she loved.

Tiffany’s eyes brightened with inspiration.  “Maybe if you saved a little each week, by the time I’m clean, you’ll have enough for me to start my tattoo parlor.”

Heather tamped down her rising anger.  “How about you get clean, get a job, and save up your own damn money and stop sponging off of me for a change!”  She was washing Tiffany’s hair now, scrubbing it vigorously with her fingernails.

“Ouch!  That hurts!”  Tiffany was squirming in the tub, holding Heather’s hands.

“If you could take care of yourself, I wouldn’t have to wash your disgusting hair.” 

“Just stop!”  Tiffany was fighting her, but she was no match for Heather, who pushed her head under the water and rinsed the suds from it, only slightly surprised that an oil slick didn't spread over the top of the water's surface.

“You finish, and I’ll go get you some clothes.”  Heather left the bathroom and got a mismatched pair of sweats for Tiffany to put on.  Back in the bathroom, her twin was sitting still in the tub, looking defeated.

“So you won’t lend me the money?”

“No.  Now get out and dry off.  I’ve got to get home.”

“I don’t need you.”
  As if suddenly remembering something, her eyes widened and she inhaled triumphantly.  "Your boyfriend came by.  He's rich.  He'll loan me the money."

Heather froze
, a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach.  "Who?"

"
You know, Devon, or Damon.  Yeah!  It was Damon!"  Her eyes narrowed.  "He's cute, where'd you meet him?"

"His name's Damien, and he's not my boyfriend.  He's bad news, Tiff.  Please don't talk to him again."  She lowered herself to Tiffany's level, crouching outside the tub.  "Did he come by here?"

Tiffany nodded.  "He's so rich, he probably wouldn’t even miss three thousand dollars."

"Don't let him come inside this apartment again, Tiff.  I'm telling you, that guy's dangerous.  Please."  She pleaded with her sister, knowing it wouldn't do any good.  She would do whatever she wanted.  She was aware she needed to pick her battles with this one, though.  The bigger a deal she made out of Damien, the more her sister would fight.  So she changed the subject.

“When I come back in two or three days, are you going to be sitting in this same spot shivering like a drowned rat?”

Tiffany’s eyes ignited with a flash of anger.  “No!”  She tried to get out of the tub, but was suddenly too weak.  Heather gripped under her armpits, and lifted her, getting her up and wrapping her in a towel.  She left her there to dress and went into the kitchen to heat up something for her to eat.  She breathed deeply, reminding herself why she put up with it.  This wasn't her sister.  This was the drugs.  She just neede
d to get Tiffany over this hump and then hopefully things would improve.

Finding her sister on the couch, still in her towel, with Taco licking water droplets off her leg, Heather said softly, “There’s food for you in the microwave.  Please eat?”

“Go away, Heather.  I don’t need you.”

Without responding, Heather scooped up Taco and left.

Chapter 10

             
The knock on her door came promptly at seven, and Heather went to answer it, trepidation rising within her.  She honestly wasn’t sure where this thing with Uri would lead, and she wasn’t sure where she
wanted
it to lead.  But he was here now, and she had invited him.