Losing Streak (The Lane) (14 page)

Chapter Sixteen

Brandon’s fingers slid to the top button of my jeans and hovered there.

“You ever feel like we shouldn’t be doing this?” he asked. His eyes danced with something like amusement but it was hard. Almost angry. As if he knew the answer to his question and quietly hated it.

I shoved his hand away and grinned as I unbuttoned my pants myself. “Never.”

He didn’t respond with words. Instead, he took over, the roughened pads of his fingertips brushing against my belly as he hooked them into my waistband, peeling my jeans and panties down my legs. I felt a flash of disappointment that he didn’t stop long enough to see them. They were nicer, far nicer, than anything he’d ever known me in before. But that disappointment melted away almost instantly when he gave me a wicked smile, making my skin heat and warmth trickle and pool into my belly.

“Always is rushed, isn’t it? And cramped.” He knocked an elbow against his backseat for emphasis. “I hate that.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“No? Well I think it’s bullshit.”

“Maybe a little,” I agreed. “Still beats the hell out of the alternative, though. Nothing at all.”

“True enough.” That grin was still playing with the edges of his lips and I started to lean forward to meet it. He pushed me back instead. “Still. A bunch of quickies all the time isn’t too romantic or whatever.”

“Are you going to fuck me or perform a monologue about the ways you wish you could fuck me? Because one is acceptable. The other ends up with us both nursing a case of blue balls.”

His smile only grew. Before I could react, he’d wrapped a hand around each of my calves and pulled them over his hard shoulders.

“Would hate for you to get blue balls.” Moonlight spilled across his face, flirting with his features. Then he bent his head, his dark hair framed by the pale skin of my thighs, and whatever reply I might have had was lost, never to be found again.

His mouth was firm against me, all warm breath and demanding tongue and I was throwing my head back, banging it against the door panel and not giving a damn. A strangled hissing noise escaped past my lips, and it turned into a gasping moan when he hummed in approval against already slick flesh.

I was close. I was so close already. My legs shook with it, my fingers gripping dangerously anything and everything within my reach. I bucked toward him, silently begging for that one touch, that one stroke that would shove me tumbling over the edge. As if he understood, his hands clamped harder onto my hips, holding me in place, burning the skin there.

Close. So close. So close so close so close.

“Rosemary-dear, would you kindly pay attention!”

I shook my head, finding myself sitting across the table from Ted Jacobson in an empty Tap Room as he and Joshua talked figures instead of back in that dirty pickup truck with a boy with five-o’clock stubble that shadowed his jawline and scraped against me pleasantly. Or they had been talking figures, last I remembered. Now they were both staring at me as if I’d stood up, balanced a wineglass on my head and done a solo version of the Charleston.

“Sorry.” I clenched my eyes shut for a minute then blinked rapidly, as if I had a headache I was fighting against. “I must have zoned out for a minute.”

“Are you feeling okay?” Joshua asked, feigning concern, a stark contrast to the frown that had taken over his face. “You are not usually this—distracted.”

“I—yeah. I’m just kinda tired. Might be coming down with something.”

“Well, we’ll try to hurry this along so we can get you home and into bed, but in the meantime, please attempt to keep up.” To Ted, he shook his head as if to say “Females.” Ted smiled at him in a conspiratorial way, something I found hilarious considering the only experience Ted had with females of any kind was limited to his mother.

Whom he still lived with.

“Anyway, as I was saying,” Joshua continued, once he was sure I was mentally present. “I believe that another sponsored fight is in order soon. Get a hold of your gaming commission friend about the permits. Theo and Darren need to recruit. We need fresh faces and new challenges.”

“What about Turner and Johnson?” Ted asked, one hand coming up to rub his bald patch as he thought. “Aren’t they still pulling in a decent crowd?”

“Well, sure, but for how long? We need new fighters. Boys just as skilled and lethal as Turner. Our investors need variety, and Turner needs someone who actually stands a chance at besting him if we hope to keep people coming back. I have a lot of hope for our new one, of course, but according to Williams, he’s nowhere near ready to step into the ring with Turner at this time.”

My ears perked at Brandon’s name. I never knew exactly what he was doing for work. We never talked much about it when we were together.

“We need an alternative plan. Hope for the best but plan for the worst. My grandfather used to always say that, you know. Great advice. Wonderful advice. Too bad the old man never did take it himself. Poor soul. Died absolutely destitute. Never made over minimum wage his entire life. Still, it was solid words.”

Ted nodded quickly, muttering a “Yes, of course!” and “Absolutely!” under his breath. Ever the lapdog, Ted. So eager to please his master.

“Rosemary-dear, have you written down anything?”

I glanced down at the notebook in front of me and saw that I hadn’t, not really. Not to the standards that I usually did. Which, of course, Joshua had already known when he asked. I tried thinking back to what they’d talked about in the hour or so that we had been there and aside from the fight, I came up empty-handed. Had I been listening at all? At any point?

Such a rookie mistake.

“I jotted down the important things,” I improvised quickly as Joshua’s disapproving stare bore into me. “I’ll add to it later when my head doesn’t feel so achy.”

“Too little sleep can do that. Perhaps you should refrain from going out so much. I hate to see you shirk your duties.”

My nose wanted to wrinkle but I managed to fight it and nod instead. I could feel Ted watching and I knew he had that fake sympathetic look on his face, though his sympathy was for Joshua rather than me. Poor Joshua, who might be forced to rely on his own memory.

“Good girl.” He turned back to Ted. “Do you see that? How well she takes suggestions? It’s like I’m constantly trying to tell you. Finding the right person is crucial, and though she does have her faults, of course, Rosemary is the epitome of a exemplary employee. I don’t know what I’d do without her.”

“She’s lucky to have you too, of course,” Ted said quickly, as if seeing an opening to heap compliments on his master and jumping at it eagerly. “I’m sure all she’s learned since coming to work for you is incomparable.”

“Well, yes, I’d like to think so. I do try to impart as much wisdom on those who work for me as possible. After all, what good is an employer who doesn’t challenge and teach to those who work for him? I’d also like to think Rosemary appreciates that as well. She does always listen so attentively. Except, of course, when she overestimates herself and wears herself too thin, what with going out so often like girls her age are wont to do.” He chuckled as if amused, but something darker ran through it. Something decidedly not amused. “That’s where a good employer will step in to remind. It’s a give-and-take relationship, isn’t it, Rosemary-dear?”

I nodded. “Oh, yes. Absolutely.”

Joshua smiled indulgently and patted my hand. “I’m so glad you agree. We’ll try to hurry this along, of course, but you know how some things cannot be hurried. Try to keep up as best you can.”

It was said lightly, with just enough faked sympathy behind it that even Ted, watching so closely, always watching Joshua so closely, didn’t even pick up the implication there.
Keep up.
There was no
trying
involved. Keep up because that was what was expected of you. I nodded to tell him that I understood, both what he was saying and what wasn’t being said. He graced me with a slight, approving smile in response before turning back to Ted completely.

“Now, what were we saying?”

Almost immediately, I was back to struggling to pay attention.

Joshua suddenly turned toward me, making me jerk.

“What about MacBain? What’s the latest on him?”

Both Ted and he were watching me closely and I arranged my face in a careful mask, shrugging casually.

“He’s coming around, I think. Not entirely there, but like I said before, I don’t foresee a problem.”

Ted nodded, a yes-man through and through. Joshua, however, continued to watch me, almost as if he could see through my mask and my lies to the truth that lay underneath. That I was no closer to having MacBain under his thumb than I was when he first gave me the job.

He nodded slowly, his voice soft. “Good, good. Try to speed things up there. Remember, your time is limited, isn’t it? Can’t have that loose end dangling.”

“It won’t be,” I assured him with the confidence I always felt when it came to the errands I was given. But this time, this time there was something shaky running underneath it. Something that felt a little like the tickling sense of doubt. I felt the urge to shake my head roughly, like a dog shaking water out of its fur, in an attempt to repel it, but with Joshua still observing me like a specimen under a microscope, I knew better. “It’s not going to be a problem.”

“See that it isn’t.”

* * *

One of the few things I loved about the Lane, now that I no longer had to serve drinks on it, was how congested it was. If the bars were open there were always people ready to fill them, no matter what time of day it was. It was almost romantic, that. Well, maybe mostly unhealthy, but also kinda romantic in a dedicated sort of way.

I thought about dropping into Duke’s when Joshua finally dismissed me, urging me to head home and get some sleep. It wasn’t open yet, wouldn’t be for another hour or so, but I knew Jackson, at least, would already be there, the others trickling in to help set up. It’d be the closest Jackson and I would have to being alone in a while. Maybe I could get to the bottom of whatever it was that was eating at him. At the least, I could possibly find out if Brandon came in often and if they ever talked. If Jackson had ever put it together and realized who Brandon was to me and vice versa. I could, hopefully, find out about the darkness. If Jackson was in it as well as how deeply it was in him.

I was gonna go, I decided. I was going to just go and see him and, if nothing else, I’d remind him to stop lifting booze, even if that reminder annoyed him. I’d stepped off the curb to cross the street when my phone buzzed from my purse. I frowned and paused, fishing around until I found it.

The number staring back at me made me want to toss it away as if it’d burned my fingers.

“God, no.”

Because unexpected, unscheduled calls from Mama’s doctor never meant anything good.

With a shaky hand, I answered and brought the phone up to my ear.

“Hello?”

“Ms. Young?”

“This is her.”

“We have some bad news.”

Chapter Seventeen

Her platelets were down again. At an alarming rate. It had happened before, just enough to cause a spike of worry, but not enough that they rushed her in and started pumping her full of borrowed blood. Eventually, it had resolved itself. Dr. Shallaby hadn’t been able to pinpoint what had caused it and how exactly it’d managed to fix itself. Multiple myeloma was tricky that way, he’d explained. Especially at the more advanced stages. But we were all content, at the time, to accept that it was resolved and hopefully there would never be a repeat.

Only now there was.

I stood there on that curb, one heel on it and one off, and clutched the phone to my ear long after Dr. Shallaby disconnected. It wasn’t the end, he assured me, not quite and not yet, but it was troublesome. Dangerous. Because somewhere blood was leaking, not making it to its intended destination, but it wasn’t actually leaving her body.

I’d asked about complications, what that could mean for Mama, and all I’d gotten in response were a lot of nonanswers, something that terrified me right down to depths I hadn’t known I possessed. Nonanswers were the scariest of them all. Nonanswers meant they didn’t know. Didn’t have any kind of idea, not even a vague one. They had encountered something new and with the stage Mama was in, new was never a good thing.

Fuck. It was never, ever a good thing.

I forgot about Jackson and Duke’s. I forgot about darkness or agreements or petty theft. Blood pounded in my ears, a fast tempo that crashed against my skull relentlessly. I was turning and almost stumbling down the street before I realized it, stomach twisting and my heart heavy, too heavy.

I spied Mrs. MacBain only a little ways ahead, preparing to enter Molly’s, and without conscious thought I sped up, closing the distance between us, and latched on to her narrow wrist as she reached for the door handle.

If she was startled, she didn’t show it. Not Mrs. MacBain with all her blood where it was supposed to be and a spine tempered with steel. She fixed me with a hard look and snarled.

“Ye’ll be unhanding me, lass.”

Unfortunately for her, my spine wasn’t made of weak stuff either.

“You need to talk to your husband,” I told her, clutching at her wrist as though I was drowning and it was a lifeline. Maybe it was. “You need to make him understand that Joshua King is not someone you want to mess with. You need to make your husband understand. I need you to make him understand.”

Her eyes might have softened, but it was hard for me to tell, what with the white noise playing on loop in my head. But if they did, if she felt any sympathy for the girl she dubbed a wolf in front of her, it did nothing to change her answer.

“My husband will not bow. What kind of woman would I be, what kinda wife, if I told him to?”

Of course it wouldn’t be that easy. Not now. Not when I needed it to be.

“A smart one!” My grip tightened to a point where she winced before jerking her arm away. She stayed, though. Whether it was out of interest or because I’d shifted just enough to block her path inside, I wasn’t sure. “One who knows it’s better to climb into bed with the devil if that’s what keeps you safe.”

A look of understanding flashed across her features like lightning and just as dangerous. She chuckled low in her throat, one hand coming to rest on her lean hip.

“Speaking from experience, are ye?”

“This is not about me,” I choked out and no truer words had ever been spoken. “Why can’t you people get that? It’s never been about me.”

“Aye. So ye said. Can’t say I believe ye, though.”

“I don’t care. God, I don’t care. What I care about is you talking to your husband before it’s too late.”

I didn’t stick around for her reply. I moved quickly around her, wanting to put enough space between us as fast as possible so that I wouldn’t even feel if her answer was a negative one.

I forced myself to walk straight, evenly, if a little clipped. I felt almost drunk, a stumbling, heavy buzz that pulled at my legs, exhausting them as though they were moving through quicksand.

I reached into my purse, blindly, unsure of what to do with my hands but needing to do something, anything, when my fingers brushed against my phone. I hadn’t even remembered putting it back in there.

I didn’t think, it wasn’t a conscious decision, but I snatched it up and dialed Brandon’s number. He answered on the second ring.

“Hullo.” There was a weird echo to his voice, I recognized dimly. I dismissed it almost immediately.

“I need to see you.”

He didn’t hesitate, maybe because he recognized the urgency in my voice. Maybe because it was Brandon, and it was me, and Brandon never hesitated when it came to me.

“Meet me at the apartment.”

I had the presence of mind, at least, to put up a halfhearted protest.

“Babe, it’s the middle of the day. Anyone who would rat us out will be busy doing other shit. Park around back. I’ll meet you there.”

I hated the hesitation I felt in my voice before I even heard it.

“Will you hurry?”

“Fuck yes I will.”

* * *

I hadn’t been parked long when the tap on my window had me glancing up from my dashboard.

Brandon had my door open and was pulling me out from behind the wheel and into his arms before I fully registered it. I clung to him on instinct, grabbing the worn material of his shirt in both fists and burying my face in his throat. His arms came up fast around me, one anchoring in my hair as if to keep me there, tucked under his chin.

He didn’t ask. Maybe he knew. Maybe he was just able to surmise. Whatever the reason, he stayed silent, but he didn’t let go. Not first.

When we did part, me pulling away and him following suit, I didn’t say a word, though my throat was burning with them.

His hair was damp with what looked like sweat and more disheveled than usual. I frowned, giving him a questioning look as I pushed a lock back from his forehead with fingers that trembled slightly.

“I’m having to train someone new,” he said and then he caught my hand and pulled me into his building. A brush-off but not. I would have pushed it, might have pushed it, wondering who he was training and why he was training anyone at all when he’d been a cut man before. But then I was inside his apartment and he was shutting the door behind me and I stopped thinking at all.

His lips crashed down on mine and they were anything but gentle. Possessive and frenzied, desperate and bruising. I sank into it, losing myself in him and his kiss that I could feel all the way down to my toes.

We’d never bothered much with foreplay, Brandon and I. But we especially didn’t anymore. Every time was fast and hard with an urgency behind it. It was never knowing how long we’d have to wait. It was the wait. It was the creeping and hiding and sneaking around that spurred our movements, drove them. We hurried because we had to, because at any moment one of us might be called away. We didn’t make love. We fucked. We fucked because it was necessary on so many different levels.

As our tongues battled, Brandon’s hands slipped behind me, creeping up under my shirt. A second later, my bra was being unsnapped and he pulled away long enough to yank my shirt over my head and slide the bra straps down my arms, leaving me naked from the waist up. With a fiercely approving look, he attacked my lips again, leaving me breathless and panting my need.

His shirt became my sworn enemy after a few minutes, the way it teased my nipples and was between me and his bare chest. I grew enraged at it, showing no mercy as I jerked it over his head, separating from him only long enough to throw it across the room where it belonged, far away from me and the smooth expanse of Brandon’s skin.

Shoes and pants were next, the top button of my jeans becoming a casualty as Brandon ripped at them, his movements frantic in his drive to get them off of me, as if their presence was somehow a danger to myself and others. His own pants followed and before I could wonder at his ability to multitask, both strip and kiss me senseless, he’d lifted me up and backed me to lie on top of the kitchen table.

He stood there for just a second, gazing down the length of my body. The sunlight poured in through his living room blinds and did funny things to his features. Then he grabbed me behind the knees, the movement abrupt and unexpected, and yanked me down toward him. I wrapped my legs around his hips just in time for him to slam forward, filling me up, erasing everything else.

He started to pull out, tortuously slow, and I arched off the table to glare at him.

“Don’t you dare.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

And then he jerked forward, filling me again, and the relief was so complete, so whole and unmatched, that my chest felt tight with it. He pounded into me furiously and, God, I didn’t want it to end. Didn’t want him to end. I feared the moment that it would.

Over and over he pounded and slammed, and it was borderline violent and so very necessary. When his grip slipped back down to my hips once more and he heaved me off the table against him, I held on even as I shattered. I broke into a million pieces that scattered across the room, and the noises that clawed their way out of me sounded as though they came from a some ancient, keening beast.

From somewhere far away, I felt him follow, crushing me to his chest.

We ended up on the floor sometime after that. It could have been only minutes later. It could have been hours. I sighed, the tight feeling of his arms around me and his breath in my ear filling me with an ache that radiated from the point where we were still connected.

We lay there for a few minutes, struggling to catch our breath, until finally he lifted me enough to extract himself and rolled over, dragging me with him until I was splayed across his chest.

And there, on the kitchen floor, the room growing darker and darker around us, I finally started to truly panic.