Losing Streak (The Lane) (9 page)

“Where I’m from, the devil is brave enough to come knocking himself should he be looking to collect souls.”

“Yeah, well here the devil is busy and doesn’t need to. He’s got me.”

“Ye say busy. I say a coward.”

“If you were wise, you wouldn’t say anything,” I warned. “And for God’s sake, sit down. There’s no need to crowd me. I get it. You’re bad and bigger than I am, but we both know I’m not really the threat here. Not right now.”

He crossed his arms over his substantial chest and fixed me with a look that I’m sure was supposed to scare me. Too bad it didn’t work. It did, however, tell me that he wasn’t impressed with being bossed around in his own place. I filed it away just in case.

“Or not. You could just stand there. That works too.”

“Ye wasted your time coming here. I ain’t budging. I run a clean place and I won’t be getting mixed up with the likes of yer King.”

I felt for him. I did. But there was no way I was going to show him my sympathy. Not when it wouldn’t change what needed to be done.

“I don’t think you understand. Joshua will get his way. He always gets his way. However, if you cooperate, if you play nice, you’ll be well compensated for your troubles.”

“Is that how he got ye then?” He bent slightly at the waist, just enough to be almost eye level with me. “Ye being well compensated, lass?”

I gave him a bored look.

“Despite how hard you and your wife would like to turn this around on me, I’m afraid that this is entirely about you. He’s not asking for much, and believe me, the longer you resist, the more that will change.”

“He ain’t getting an inch from me. Not even an inch. Ye tell yer King that.”

“Refusing him is dangerous.” It slipped out before I could stop it but I felt no desire to take it back. It was the truth and MacBain should know it.

“Aye.” He straightened. “And so is giving in to him.”

We glared at each other for a minute before I slowly rose from my seat to stand in front of him.

“You have a daughter, correct?” I asked in a low voice, hating myself instantly for what would come next. But I needed him to agree. The quicker, the easier, the better. For both of us.

“Aye. Sixteen. But ye already knew that, didn’t ye?”

I ignored the last part. “A wife and a daughter. I’ll assume that you love them. Love them fiercely. To a point where you can’t imagine life without them. I bet you’d do anything for them. You’d probably move heaven and hell to keep them safe. Am I right?”

“Aye—”

“Then do this. For their sakes. Joshua is not someone you want to try, and in the scheme of things, he’s really not asking for much. Push a few things. Turn a blind eye every now and then. Do it to protect them.”

He shook his head firmly, but his eyes softened just a fraction.

“That’s exactly why I’m saying no, lass.” He stepped back, giving me room to step around him. The intention was clear. Leave.

It was on the tip of my tongue to tell him that while I was going, no one else would be coming in to fill up those bar stools after I left. But something about the way Mrs. MacBain was watching me made me pause. We made eye contact, just for a moment, and in it, I saw another woman with a proud face despite her lot.

Damn it.

I took a deep breath.

“Think about it, Mr. MacBain. I know you’re new around here. Ask around to the other owners. Ask what happened to the last owner and why this place was up for sale for you to buy. Be careful how you word it, though.”

“This the part where ye tell me the walls all have ears?”

“Nope. But I will tell you to never assume they don’t.” I started toward the door. “I’ll be back soon.”

“Ye needn’t bother,” he called to my back. “My mind won’t be changing.”

“We’ll see about that,” I said, too low for him to hear before I stepped out into the mild night.

Chapter Eleven

Any other time, the encounter at Molly’s would have plagued me for the rest of the night, maybe even for days afterward. I wouldn’t have known how to function around it. I would have been dogged with warring emotions: guilt, remorse, maybe even some defiance because I was only doing what I had to. Tonight, however, when I walked out, everything was immediately shoved away as I steadied myself.

The Lane was just as busy, though still peaceful. Still steeped in a pleasant partying air that hadn’t yet turned sour or aggressive. That would change soon. One o’clock was usually the witching hour, the point when that jovial, celebratory camaraderie between strangers veered sharply toward chaotic and ugly.

Rice and Brandon were waiting for me with identical curious looks on their faces, Brandon’s a little more intense than Rice’s. The motives behind that curiosity were different and it was for the self-serving one’s sake that I answered vaguely.

“It’s handled.”

Rice nodded, his expression shifting into a thoughtful one. He’d be calling Joshua as soon as I walked away. The weasel.

I didn’t need to look over at Brandon to know he was fighting back, at least, a look of concern, and I knew the longer I didn’t glance in his direction, the harder that fight would become. Rather than give in, for both of our sakes, I turned toward the end of the street.

“All right, then. I’m off. Enjoy the rest of your evening.”

“We were told to redirect for the rest of the night.”

I flashed back to Mrs. MacBain’s face and I felt my brows knit together. Then I glanced over my shoulder and fixed Rice with a hard stare.

“I said it was handled. Let people back in. MacBain should enjoy one last night of business as he knows it now.”

“But King said—”

I whirled and pointed my finger at him before he could finish, aware that Brandon was watching the entire exchange carefully.

“Joshua isn’t here, is he? I am. And I said to move on.”

“My orders come from King and only King.”

I stalked forward, crowding into his space. Next to us, I felt Brandon stiffen, instantly on guard.

“Let’s get something straight, Boy Wonder. When I tell you to do something, you’ll do it.”

“No.”

“I’m sorry?”

Rice’s eyes narrowed until they were little more than slits.

“King is my boss. Not you. I don’t care what you say.”

What could I say to that? He sounded like a child. Worse than a child. I couldn’t even remember Jackson saying shit like that during his most difficult phases.

“Fuck you,” I finally shot back, knowing it wasn’t the most original response.

“You wish.”

“Not even a little bit.” I laughed, and I could feel the desperation, the need in Brandon’s gaze, but I continued to steadfastly ignored it. “Now I have shit to do. So get yours together.”

With that, I turned on my heel and marched off, and a minute or two later I felt Brandon follow at a discreet distance. A prickling sensation slid up my neck, and my skin felt tighter somehow, though not exactly unpleasantly. It was as if, under his gaze, it fit properly for the first time that I could easily recall.

* * *

The Tap Room was one of the shabbier bars on the Lane. It lacked the frills and fuss the other places boasted but it was busier than I anticipated. A small crowd surrounded the main bartender, a bald-headed, dark-skinned guy named Nick whom we all called Fury, mostly on Jackson’s insistence that he looked like some comic book character.

I stood off to the side, quietly and patiently for the first time all night, and waited for him to finish with his costumers. Watching him made me recall when Jackson and I had been behind a bar, flipping bottles in our matching tweed, being frequently confused for twins. I never missed it, never longed to be back there. I never desired to go back to being just another bartender on a street full of them, wondering how I was going to get us from one night to the next.

Fury finally spotted me once his last customer scooted farther down and he exclaimed, “Rosie-love!” as if I hadn’t seen him a mere two days before. But that was Fury. He made you feel important. He made everyone feel important. Even if they weren’t.

Hell. Especially if they weren’t.

“Good night?” I asked.

“The fucking best. Always the fucking best. Boss man will be happy with sales.”

“Which one?” I winked and he laughed as if we were sharing an inside joke. Maybe we were. Certainly no one else around us realized that the Tap Room was yet another extension of Joshua’s kingdom. I lowered my voice. “Speaking of sales, have your deposit ready?”

Fury shook his head playfully at me.

“Now when’s the last time you known me to be late before?”

“Fair enough.”

The bell above the door jangled, making us both glance in that direction. I fought to keep my face impassive as Brandon made his way toward us, stopping within feet of me, eyes resolutely on Fury.

“What can I get ya, boss?” Fury asked, arching a dark eyebrow.

“Just a Bud. Gonna need an extra napkin too.”

My eyes wanted to slam shut as the sound of his voice washed over me. It was the same, exactly the fucking same, and yet there was something foreign about it. As if I knew it from a dream and not from anything solid. But I held them open, and they felt wild in my fight to keep them focused ahead and not sliding over to the boy next to me. The one who made my side hum with his nearness and my lungs struggle to draw in a breath. I wanted to hear that voice again. I was terrified of hearing that voice again. I was terrified that hearing it would cause any resolve I had to shatter around me in pieces.

“Thanks,” he replied, when Fury passed a bottle across the bar to him. And then he was moving away, and his hand brushed my elbow as he did, too deliberate to be unintentional. I stared down at the place our skin had touched with a frown.

Fuck.

I turned back to Fury in time to catch the thoughtful expression that stole over his features as he watched Brandon over my shoulder. It made my scalp prickle, that look. I didn’t necessarily distrust Fury, but I also knew better than to not be suspicious of anyone.

“I’ll grab it on the way out. Your deposit,” I clarified upon seeing his confused look. That thoughtful look fell away as he grinned at me, teething flashing white and even.

“Not a problem, Rosie-love. Not a fucking problem.”

I picked up the glass of wine he’d poured me and tipped it in his direction in a silent toast before walking to the farthest booth with the single occupant whose back was to me. I was both disappointed and slightly relieved that I was able to avoid passing by the table Brandon was sitting at without it being obvious

Jackson didn’t look up from his phone as I slid in across from him, pushing aside a lukewarm beer that had been waiting for me, and set my wine down on the scratched tabletop.

“Thought you weren’t gonna show.”

He said it lightly, with a tone I knew well and always attributed to him and him alone, both joking and serious. A statement with a laugh behind it, but there was something different about it now too. A dark edge that hadn’t been there before, as if that lurking laugh was no longer good-natured. As if it were a mocking one now.

“Nah. Business just ran later than I expected.”

“Yeah?” He arched an eyebrow as he took a sip from his beer. “Could have called.”

“When did that start?”

He didn’t answer.

“You got plans I’m keeping you from or something?”

Jackson shrugged and shook a cigarette free from the pack next to him and lit it, taking a long drag. I wrinkled my nose at the smell and from behind the bar, Fury yelled something about nonsmoking laws, cursing when Jackson merely flipped him off. “Business is all. You should understand that.”

Oh, what the hell.

“What crawled up your ass, Jackson Young? And don’t you dare tell me nothing either.”

“You ain’t my mama, Rose,” he replied in a quiet but firm voice as he flicked his ashes on the floor, causing a fresh bout of curses from Fury.

Had I been holding my glass, I likely would have lost my grip on it.

“I know that,” I snapped, partly out of indignation and partly, more than I wanted to admit to, out of a dull but sudden ache of hurt.

“Think you forget sometimes.”

“No. I don’t. I know exactly who I am. I’m your sister. I’m also the girl who helped raise you and it wouldn’t kill you to show me a little bit of damn respect for it either.”

“We raised each other,” was his response, still so low, so even. Such a stark contrast to my own voice, which was slowly rising as the heat inside me did.

I gave him a look full of exasperation.

“That’s what you think, huh?”

“No. That’s what I know.”

I shook my head, as if to clear it. “Whatever you want to believe, Jackson. Whatever makes you feel better. Is that it? You need to feel better? You need to believe I wasn’t just as much of a mother to you as ours was? If so, go right on ahead. Believe whatever makes you feel like a man.”

“Thanks for giving me the permission to believe the truth. You might have made me dinner and given me medicine when I was sick, but I took care of you too. We looked out for each other.” He narrowed his eyes at me. “At least until you went to work for Joshua and decided I suddenly needed to be protected. You didn’t tell me half the shit he was into. All that fucking time and you didn’t tell me even half of it.”

“God, Jackson. There’s nothing to tell. Nothing you need to know.”

“That’s a load of horseshit.”

I sighed and rubbed my forehead. How had I ever dealt with this boy sober for years? He was enough to make the pope cuss.

My hand clenched suddenly around my glass as I felt, rather than saw, Brandon suddenly get up from his table. It took every ounce of will I had to not watch him go.

“Listen.” My voice held a note of strain that Jackson didn’t seem to notice. “Whatever is or isn’t going or has or hasn’t gone on with Joshua is none of your business, okay? In fact, it’s better if you forget that there might even be business that’s not yours.”

“There you go again. Forgetting you ain’t my mama.”

“Damn it, Jackson. You’re being stupid and making mountains out of molehills. Just let it go. There’s nothing for you to worry about.”

“Fine.” He paused, then, “You going to see Mama?”

I think he meant it as a peace offering, the change of subject. Instead, I fought the urge to snort. Some things never changed.

“Yeah. Told her I’d stop by tonight.”

“Tell her I’ll be by soon.” He was quiet a moment, staring into his beer with a dark expression on his face before he asked in a far too casual voice, “Seen your girl lately?”

I’d wondered if we’d arrive here tonight, since it’d been so long since he’d last asked. It was as if he thought bringing up Bri Martin more than every few weeks would indicate that he hadn’t entirely let go of the fact that she had chosen “that dumbfuck boxer” Luke Turner over their friendship. I didn’t point out that it was Jackson who had, in fact, been the one who tried to make her choose in the first place and had he not, maybe things would be different. I also didn’t point out that, as always, he was worried about shit that really didn’t fucking matter. Better for him to be focused on that kinda stuff anyway.

“Not for a few weeks,” I replied, watching him closely for the hurt and loss to settle onto his features. They didn’t make an appearance tonight, however. If anything, his expression grew colder.

“But you have seen her,” he pressed, finally making eye contact with me. I wanted to reach out and smooth the harsh, angry lines from his forehead.

“I have.” I took a long drink of wine instead, too big to be considered ladylike. Try as I might, I had a hard time swallowing the stuff. My goal was always to finish the glass. Not enjoy it. “She’s doing okay. Got a new job. That new sports bar that opened up in Monroe? Sidelines or something like that.”

“Yeah? Good for her.”

“She cut her hair.”

The mask slipped for the barest of seconds and something like longing flitted across his naked face. Then a wall slammed down and he looked away.

“Of course she did.”

“It looks good on her,” I continued, mostly because I knew he wanted me to despite his act. “Still as out of control as ever.”

His jaw clenched tight for a moment before he nodded stiffly. “It’s funny. Would have sworn you’d be more loyal than that, you know, with blood being thicker than water and all that.”

I set my glass down on the table with a thump.

“Hold up a damn second. Weren’t you the one that came to me all concerned? First it was, ‘She needs friends, Rose. Hang out with her,’” I mimicked. “Then, ‘Keep an eye on her, Rosie. I’m worried about her.’ I’m doing what you asked me to. Maintaining contact for your sake. Just like I hung out with her before for your sake. Now you want to give me shit for it?”

He stood suddenly and pulled a couple of crumpled bills from his pocket and threw them on the table. “Drinks are on me tonight.”

“Really? You’re going to do this?”

“I’ll call you later.” And even though he was still obviously angry, he dropped a quick kiss on my cheek, then straightened and thrust his hands deep into his pockets, the movement oddly familiar.

I wanted to strangle him. I wanted to gather him up and hold him close and shove everything away from him. I wanted to protect him from every potentially dangerous thing, emotionally and physically. It was like it always had been with Jackson, basically.

“See you, sis.” And with that, he sauntered away without so much as a backward glance.

Jackass.

I stared at my mostly finished glass of wine for a few minutes, struggling to understand what had just happened and why. It was true that something had been shifting in Jackson for a few months but that exchange was something new, something entirely new.

Stupid, stupid misguided boy.

Finally I stood and collected the crumbled bills with a sigh, glancing over at Brandon’s now-empty table without meaning to.

A napkin sat too close to the edge and I saw the black etches on its surface as I drew nearer. I glanced around quickly, making sure I wasn’t being watched, then snatched it up without breaking stride. I slipped it into my back pocket, and it sat heavy there, despite its weightlessness. It might have been nothing. It might have been just a grocery list he left behind. I was a fool for risking that it wasn’t.