Losing Streak (The Lane) (12 page)

“No? You trust him? Because I sure as fuck don’t.”

“God, no,” I said firmly. “But that was our deal. If nothing else, he’s good at keeping his word. Besides, what about you? You’re involved too.”

“Not like you. I’m just the guy that does what he’s told but otherwise keeps his head down. King sends me somewhere, I go. He tells me to come back, I do. I don’t get myself involved in anything that would complicate shit.” Something in his expression shifted suddenly and his hands tightened on my hips, almost bruisingly. “Except for right now. God, babe, this is pretty fucking inappropriate considering the topic, but I’m dying to complicate shit right now. Like shove-you-up-against-this-wall complicate.”

Heat slammed into my stomach like an angry fist as I pictured bricks digging into my back and his hipbones into my thighs.

“What the hell is stopping you?” It had a desperate edge to it that matched the desperate ache between my legs.

“Time.” It sounded like an apology. “We probably should get going. I need to get to the gym before anyone wonders where I’m at and starts asking questions.”

I groaned. He was right, though. We didn’t need to push our luck any further. “Fine. Damn it. Next time then.”

“Yeah?”

I heard it twice, an echo from the past that layered over the now. I closed my eyes and I searched for an answer, a way to tell him that no matter how badly I’d missed him, how much I wanted him to complicate things and I wanted to complicate them too, we couldn’t actually do it. This had been stupid enough. There was no reason to be idiots, and there was too much at stake to lose. But it was the silence waiting for me back on the Lane that I remembered. The questions asked without any real investment in the answers. I thought about the months behind us, piled high, and the empty weeks still ahead. When I opened my eyes all I saw was him.

I dragged him back toward me and pressed my lips against his.

“Yeah.”

This kiss made me ache all over, but it was a delicious kind of ache, nothing like the hollow one that so often sat heavy in my chest. This ache was both hot and cold and had everything to do with the boy in front of me.

When we broke apart, his hands resting lightly on my hips, Brandon’s eyes were hooded and I bit back a grin. A rush of something like a roaring wind bellowed in my head. I burrowed into him more fully and felt the strain against the front of his low-slung jeans.

“On second thought, we should, ah—” He cleared his throat. “We should go somewhere. Anywhere really.”

I grinned in earnest because he’d read my mind.

He barely waited for a response before he was yanking me deeper into the shadows, his grip on my hand crushing. I let out a low laugh, suddenly giddy, and it felt
good.
Really good. And when Brandon glanced back and shot me his own smile, one full of mischief and depraved plans, I laughed harder. I laughed at myself, at him.

I laughed at Joshua.

How foolish he was to believe he could keep us apart, that he could drive a wedge between us, keep us from seeing each other with threats and promises and contracts that weren’t even written on paper. How arrogant he was to truly believe we would listen,

I tilted my head back, regarding the blanket of stars above us as they regarded me, and I felt the giddiness and warmth bubbling in my chest grow wider, deeper.

Then Brandon turned toward me, his lips crashing down on mine and we were fighting each other for dominance, tongues dueling. I was pulling at his shirt, desperate for it to be shed, and he obliged, his lips disappearing for only a fraction of a second before they were back. I moaned into his mouth, my hands skating across bare skin that felt like a dream.

Without breaking away, he frantically tugged at my shirt, and I pulled away long enough to yank it off before throwing myself back in his arms.

His skin scorched where it touched mine and it wasn’t enough, not nearly enough. I wasn’t sure I would ever get enough. I was fumbling with the top button on his jeans, so desperate for more. So desperate to keep feeling alive and on fire and
complete.
I finally succeeded in popping it free, and I tugged them and his boxers down in one quick motion, immediately cupping him. He groaned against my lips, his own hands grabbing my jeans and yanking forcefully until I brushed his hands away with a breathless laugh and shimmied them down, the air nipping at my exposed flesh.

His lips were back and his hands roamed, heating chilled skin, and I wasn’t thinking of anything but him and the feelings that coursed through me, threatening to overwhelm me.

We didn’t mess around with any kind of foreplay. There was no teasing or playing nor was there a need for it. One minute we were two separate entities and the next he was lifting me and filling me up with one quick movement, stretching me in delicious, necessary ways. I clutched his biceps desperately, want and need and lust all tumbling around my head, setting my nerve endings on fire.

And when he started to move, stars exploded behind my eyes.

He angled his hips and hit a spot buried deep inside me that made me half shriek, half hiss and clutch his shoulders. Almost immediately, my orgasm slammed into me and it was powerful and consuming. I burned with it until I was left as little more than a pile of ashes that might have only vaguely resembled the girl I had been before entering that alley.

Chapter Fourteen

It had started out so simply. In the beginning, I really was just an assistant, possibly the best-paid assistant in existence. I dropped off and picked up dry cleaning, scheduled deliveries to the bars, picked up the deposits in the mornings and took them to the bank. I took over the payrolls and handled any scheduling that needed done. I took care of the legal side of things, leaving Joshua free to handle that other part of his life. Back then, it’d been easier to look Mama in the eye. Back then, I’d hardly had to lie at all.

Things started to bleed over eventually, though. Minor stuff that really didn’t seem like that big of a deal. Have someone pick up the guest list for the next fight from the Tap Room. Drop off a package to Fury. Pick up one from Jeff. Take this phone call but don’t talk about it later. Don’t ask questions and don’t answer any from anyone else. Such little things. Tiny, insignificant things. They weren’t wrong. They might be morally questionable, legally on the iffy side, but they weren’t wrong and besides, Mama was taken care of and Jackson wasn’t at risk and Brandon was safe, so really, what did collecting money from one business owner or another really matter in the scheme of things? Not when there was so much to gain from it.

What was the saying? About all that glittered not being gold? They were right. It wasn’t. Sometimes that glimmer in front of you was nothing but a huge pile of shit covered in glitter. Sure, it was shiny if the light caught it just right, but that didn’t change the fact that it was still shit.

The bass thumping inside the club seemed to vibrate the ground beneath my feet as I bypassed the line that had already formed out the door despite the early hour. The people waiting, mostly men from what I could tell without really stopping to check, weren’t too happy about my cutting them, obviously more than a little anxious to get inside and take in their fill of half-naked girls. I ignored them, the nobodies with their whines and protests, and approached the big bouncer standing just outside the door, arms folded across his massive chest.

“Ladies’ Night isn’t till Sunday, ma’am. That’s the only night you girls are allowed to line jump. You’re gonna have to go to the back.”

“Yeah, that’s not going to happen,” I said, earning myself what I’m sure he thought was his fiercest glare. “You new?”

“Ain’t really none of your business, lady.”

“Yeah, you’re new.” I laughed, causing his scowl to deepen. I put my hand on his tense, hard forearm and leaned forward slightly, dropping my voice. “Listen up, because your ability to do so will determine whether or not you get to keep this job. Got it? You’re gonna use that headset to call in to Carl, that’s the night manager, in case you’re too new to know that. You’re gonna tell him that Rosemary is here. Make sure he knows that I’m gonna want my usual table and I’m going to need to speak to Carmen. Sooner rather than later. In fact, I want her waiting for me. I don’t have a lot of time to waste tonight.”

“And if I don’t? Because I gotta tell you, lady, I got a VIP list for clients that get that kinda treatment and your name ain’t on it.”

“No? You sure about that?”

“Positive.” He pushed out his swollen chest a little further, as if proud. “Memorized it my first day here. Ain’t a single Rosemary on it.”

Behind me, the line was growing increasingly restless. It would have almost been quicker to wait in it for all the resistance I was getting, but now this was personal. A challenge. Now it was about teaching this New Boy how things worked around here since no one else apparently had.

“What’s your name?” I asked him, mirroring his stance.

He didn’t look like he wanted to answer, but he also struck me as a boy whose mama had taught him to respect women, no matter how irritated you were at them. “Vince.”

I smiled up at him. It was a sweet smile that was also a little like a knife.

“Well, Vince. First chance you get, I recommend you ask Jeff for the other list and memorize that one as well. In the meantime, call for Carl. Trust me. You got more to lose if you don’t do it than if you do.”

Eyes narrowed while he obviously weighed his options, he finally turned slightly and spoke low into his headset for a minute. I waited patiently, a smirk creeping up to rest on my lips. This was going to be delicious.

A half a beat later, his shoulders straightened quickly and he shot me a wide-eyed look over his shoulder.

“No, no. I’m sending her in now.”

Without a word, I offered him my wrist. He hurriedly snapped an armband around it, not bothering to trim off the excess plastic.

“Christ, lady,” he muttered when he’d finished, cheeks flushed a faint pink. “You could have just told me, you know. Jeff’s gonna have my ass if he finds out.”

“You like working here?”

He nodded firmly, glancing over the top of my head at the impatient line behind me. “Money’s good and hours are okay. Plus I get to beat the hell out of anyone that starts shit without getting into trouble. So, yeah. It’s a pretty good gig.”

“Tell you what then, Vince. I’ll make sure Carl knows to keep his mouth shut to Jeff. But you’re not gonna wanna make that mistake with anyone else on that other list. Especially not the big guy.”

I didn’t know if he even knew who the big guy was, but he must have known enough that made him nod quickly. I flashed him one last smile as he stepped aside so that I could enter.

The Landing Strip always smelled musty. It was the only way I could describe it. Like the combination of a locker room, a house that had been closed up for far too long, and what I imagined old vagina to smell like. The owner, Jeff Riley, kept the lights lowered to the point of being all-out dark, probably to help hide the general dinginess of the place, but if anything, it only added to it.

A topless Carmen was waiting for me, her crossed leg bouncing almost nervously underneath a small table at the very back near the private “rooms.” That term was used loosely, as they were really little more than slapped-together plywood boxes with mismatched curtains pulled across the front to hide the occupants from the rest of the club. They all appeared to be empty for the moment, which was just as well.

“I’m not going to like what you’re here to say, am I?” she asked with a grim expression as soon as I was close enough to hear.

And because I liked Carmen, a fact that was nearly astonishing given that I liked so few people, I answered her honestly with a shake of my head.

She sighed. “Thought so.”

I slipped into the chair next to her and offered her my best sympathetic face. “I tried to get him to send Dejah instead. Daniels is pretty set on you, though. I guess you could be flattered, if you wanted to look for the silver lining here.”

“I don’t. Silver linings are nothing but bullshit.” Dejah was near the stage chatting up a guy in the galley seats, and we fell silent for a second as we watched her before Carmen continued, “So, that’s it, then? No choice?”

“There’s a choice. But you’re not going to like it.”

“Still want to hear it.”

I understood that all too well. “He, uh...he asked about your mom. And Victor.”

Carmen’s eyes swung to mine, alarm dancing in their brown depths and I nodded. She slumped into her seat, hands coming up to run shakily through the hair at her temples. It was almost painful to watch, so instead I turned back to Dejah, whose grin seemed to be genuine. She was laughing at something the guy next to her had said, leaning toward him ever so slightly, her surgically enhanced breasts only barely brushing against his arm. Enough for him to feel the contact but not enough for one of the bouncers to swoop down and separate them for inappropriate touching. It had to be kept clean out on the floor, after all. The real dirty stuff was reserved for the basement and only for clients deemed safe.

Next to me, Carmen sat quietly for a moment longer, also watching the exchange, and from the corner of my eye I could see that her face was pinched and sad in a desperate, quiet sort of way. I wanted to reach across the space between us and take her hand, a gesture that was more Mama than me. I also kinda wanted to tell her to put on a shirt because while I was strictly heterosexual, I was having a difficult time keeping my eyes off her impossibly large chest.

Finally, she glanced over at me and while her mouth still sagged at the corners, her eyes were hardened with resolve.

“You know that I haven’t seen my ex in almost two years?”

Not what I was expecting, but I decided to roll with it. “No?”

“Nope. Victor doesn’t even ask after him anymore. I’m not sure when he stopped, you know? It used to be an every night thing. ‘Mommy, when will I see Daddy?’ And I always had an excuse for him. Then it just—stopped. One day I realized I couldn’t remember for sure when the last time he’d asked had been and that was it. It was like my ex never existed.” She glanced away for a minute, taking in our surroundings. Maybe checking to see if anyone had wandered close enough to overhear. Because she leaned in a second later and lowered her voice. “He did that. Joshua. Got rid of Tommy. I don’t know how. I don’t want to know how. But I don’t have to look over my shoulder anymore. I didn’t think I’d ever see a day where I wasn’t looking over my shoulder, and I sure as hell didn’t think I’d never have to again. Joshua promised me, though. I didn’t believe him at first but I do now. He wasn’t a good man, Tommy. But Victor won’t ever have to know just how awful he really was. He’ll never have to witness Tommy’s rages firsthand or see Mommy bruised and battered. And I’ll never have to fear the day that Tommy turns on him. I owe Joshua. I owe him a lot. And he never lets me forget it.”

She stood and picked up her serving tray.

“There’s a part of me that will always be grateful to Joshua and what he’s done not just for me but for Victor and my mom,” she continued, voice still soft, but strong. “My mom used to pray every single night that she wouldn’t get a call one day that she had to bury her daughter and grandson. She doesn’t have to do that anymore. Joshua saved everyone I love in some way.” She gave me a look full of significance. “But I would not lose even a little sleep if he dropped dead tomorrow.”

I was nodding before she finished. “I know the feeling.”

She laughed humorlessly and patted my shoulder as she moved around me. Back to the floor and the leering men and a life that was maybe just as desperate as the one she’d left before. “I thought you might.”

* * *

I stopped in the tiny foyer of Mama’s house and looked around, noting the subtle changes since my last visit, just a day ago. A new flower arrangement on the entryway table. A different picture frame housing Jackson’s second-grade picture. Mama’s house constantly evolved, slowly. In steps and phases, it shifted and changed. So much like Mama herself.

She came into the living room then, somehow looking a little stronger than yesterday, though still just as unnaturally thin, and her eyes lit up just enough for a burst of warmth to wrap around my heart.

“Rose,” she exclaimed softly. “I wasn’t expecting you so early.”

I was overwhelmed by my emotions as I looked back at her. Resentment for a life that etched those deep creases around her eyes and the disease that still made her stoop slightly. Gratitude for the swine of a man who put her up in a house that we didn’t have to live in fear of losing. Worry that when it was all said and done, when it was over, it’d be taken from her like so many other things in her life had been.

She crossed the space between us in that graceful way of hers that had only started to come back, coming to stop in front of me. She reached up and framed my face with gentle hands.

“What are you thinking about so hard that’s putting those lines in your forehead?”

“Nothing. Just thinking about how pretty you are.”

“Such a gorgeous girl to tell such ugly lies.” She laughed, patting my cheek before releasing me. “Well, come in, Rose. Jackie’s not here yet, so in the meantime, you can tell me everything that’s been happening in your world.”

I followed her into the kitchen, taking a seat in one of the hard chairs left over from my childhood of hard surfaces, and I watched her move about making dinner, a lightness surrounding her, so different from the tired woman with the hunched shoulders of not so very long ago. Joshua could be an ass of a man, but he’d done this. Made this. He’d taken the stress of just trying to survive off her and me. He’d given her a tidy house with flowerbeds and a backyard and better medical care and in doing so, he’d given her back some of her dignity. Something that had been stolen from her between raising Jackson and me and the cancer.

“I voted for him!” Mama said excitedly as I gave her the watered-down version of a dinner party I’d attended at the mayor’s house, where Joshua had me quizzing the mayor’s wife to determine how much or little they knew about him. There was an enchanted gleam in her eyes. “Is he as nice as he looks?”

I nodded, knowing that even if he wasn’t, even if he was the most foul man to walk the face of the earth, I’d lie to her. I’d give her lies and keep the truth for myself, feed her whatever pretty stories made her happy.

“I thought so,” she sighed. “He just has that look about him.”

“A nice-guy look?” I asked with a grin. “Never heard of it.”

“Oh yes! You can tell. Nice guys have a way. They wear their niceness like a second skin. Like our Jackie.” And here we were again. I bit back a groan and gave her a strained smile. “Jackson wouldn’t be much of a nice guy if he heard you calling him Jackie.”

“Wait. Who called me Jackie?” Jackson’s voice came from the living room suddenly. A second later he appeared in the doorway, giving us something between a mock glare and a real one. It looked out of place on his face, that real part and yet, at the same time, it fit. “Mama, you calling me names behind my back again?”

“There’s my boy!” Mama said, her face lighting up again but brighter this time, more devastating, as she beckoned him closer.

Jackson grinned lightly, a poor imitation of that radiant smile he and Mama had once shared, and gave her a hug.

“What smells so good?” he asked when he pulled back after a minute, not waiting for Mama to release him first. A look of hurt flashed over her features, there and gone so fast that I could have imagined it. “I know it ain’t stuffed cabbage because the house doesn’t smell like ten degrees of asshole.”