Mine to Keep

by Rhenna Morgan

  Bonnie couldn’t help it. She cocked an eyebrow at Roman and shook her head. “Looks like you’re on your own, buddy.”

  An odd look swept over his features, the same smoldering heat that had fired when she’d first opened her apartment door four nights ago. That night, he’d smothered it quickly, but now he didn’t bother to mask it. Just aimed all that tall, dark and deadly right at her. “You would not intervene on my behalf?”

  Intervene.

  For some reason, the way he said it made her brain pair the word with a very hands-on mental image. A deliciously vivid plan of attack that required a shoulders-to-toes connection and as few clothes as possible.

  Stop. Getting. Ideas. Bonnie.

  But she had entertained all kinds of ideas in the last several days. Many times over. Most stemming from that one frozen moment when she’d gotten a very tangible feel of how rock solid every inch of him was. Just thinking about that handful of seconds got her heart moving fast enough to count as a cardio routine and left her muscles quivering like Jell-O shots.

  Unable to hold his gaze without giving her thoughts away, she waved him off and made a show of checking supplies behind the bar. “You don’t need my help. Just wad up a twenty, throw it across the bar and run for it. That’s what all the smart guys do.”

  She cleared her throat and checked how her customers were doing. “So...you guys want a drink? Not exactly your kinda crowd, I know, but I gotta earn my keep.”

  Cassie considered Bonnie for all of a second. “Actually...” She looked to Kir then Roman. “Can you two give me a minute? Alone?”

  Kir and Roman traded some sort of he-man silent communication over the top of Cassie’s head before Kir kissed her temple and said, “We will wait by the door.”

  “Thanks,” Cassie said, laying her hand over his before he pulled away.

  Roman didn’t look nearly as confident in giving them alone time. Probably because he’d taken a gander once or twice at the assholes at the corner table and had the same opinion of them as Bonnie did. Still, he dipped his head to Bonnie before he turned. “Good night, malen’kaya koroleva.”

  “Hmm,” Cassie muttered as he walked away. “That’s a new one.”

  “What’s a new one?”

  “That saying. I haven’t heard it before. I’ll have to ask him what it means.”

  “Well, if you figure it out, let me know. He wouldn’t tell me.”

  Cassie’s eyes twinkled. “Oh, really?” That silly grin of hers notched a little higher before she studied the liquors lined up behind Bonnie. “What’s good to drink here?”

  “Got no clue. I’m anti-alcohol.”

  The smile disappeared, replaced with utter confusion. “You work in a bar and you don’t drink?”

  “Got a family full of people who drink more than enough and never saw a good thing come of it, so no.”

  “Hmm.” She scanned the bottles once more and screwed her lips to one side. “Can you swing a margarita?”

  “On the rocks, sure. No frozen ones, though. The machines are pricey and our folks mostly order well drinks.”

  Cassie dipped her head. “Okay then. One margarita. After you take care of everyone else.”

  “Fine.” Bonnie paused before heading to the opposite end of the bar. “But do me a favor. If anyone even looks like they’re gonna hit on you, hustle out of here before Kir can kill them. Cops are horrible for business.”

  Getting the patrons closest to her lined out took almost no time at all. Getting Trixie to stop asking questions about the hot guys by the door and get her orders out to her tables was an entirely different matter.

  “Oh, come on,” Trixie whispered while Bonnie worked. “I’m not askin’ you to set up a blind date. Just introduce me.”

  “They’re with someone.”

  “The blond dude’s with someone. The big brute is flying solo. Unless you’re hooking up with him, or something.”

  “Oh, no.” Bonnie shook her head and loaded up the last of Trixie’s orders. “I’ve had my share of badasses, thank you very much.” She pushed the tray to Trixie. “If you think you’re up for knockin’ down that tree, then you’re on your own, big girl. Have fun.”

  With a pouty hmmph, Trixie took the tray and headed off to deliver her goods, a frighteningly determined gleam behind her brown eyes that almost made her feel sorry for Roman.

  Bonnie sighed, walked back to Cassie and started on her margarita.

  Crossing both hands on the bar in front of her, Cassie leaned in and murmured, “I take it she’s not the easiest gal to work with?”

  “Ha! What gave me away?”

  “Well, for starters, you looked like you were gonna whack her upside the head with that tray a few times. Plus, you were giving her the death glare when we came in.”

  Bonnie stopped midway to sliding a straw into Cassie’s drink. “I have a death glare?”

  “Absolutely.” Cassie took the drink when Bonnie handed it over. “Though, I didn’t learn that little tidbit until you’d spent a few hours with Roman.”

  “Well, you can’t blame me. He’s bossy as hell.”

  Cassie sipped her drink and shuddered a little when the tangy mix rolled down her throat. “They all are. But they mean well. And from the looks of things, you do just fine holding your own with Roman.”

  There it was again. That mix of hope and Cheshire delight that crept onto Cassie’s face every time she mentioned Roman and Bonnie in the same sentence. Surely, she didn’t think there was any prayer of the two of them hooking up.

  Well, hooking up might not be bad. But no way was she ever going to end up with a guy like Roman. Let alone mesh with a family as tight-knit as Cassie’s. “Listen, I hope you’re not getting any ideas about me and him. I mean, he’s a nice guy—underneath all that grunt and grumble attitude he’s got going on—but there is no way in hell he’s ever gonna want to hook up with me.”

  “Says who?”

  Yep. She’d totally gone and gotten terrible ideas. “Says the girl who watched him while he got a load of my apartment. And while he combed every inch of my dad’s house. Guys like him might jump in bed with a girl like me once—maybe twice—but they settle down with...” She floundered for the right word, then waved at Cassie. “Well, with girls like you. Or Evette. Classy. Smart. Women who do something with their lives.”

  For three or four solid blinks, Cassie just sat there and stared at her. As if she were replaying Bonnie’s outburst in her head just to make sure she hadn’t missed any pertinent information. She firmed her lips a second later and rotated her drink in a slow circle. An antsy tell that any seasoned bartender acknowledged as the precursor to either a confession or one hell of a story. “Yeah, about that.”

  Yep. Confession time.

  Cassie studied her drink a moment longer then met Bonnie’s stare. “Roman told me what you said when he checked on you Monday night. That you’d somehow gotten it in your head that you’re not cut out to be around us—or that you think your family’s crap is going to rub off on us somehow. But, Bonnie, you couldn’t be farther from the truth.”

  Bonnie opened her mouth.

  Before she could get a single retort out as to exactly how accurate that fear was, Cassie held up her hand. “No—don’t even start. Not until you listen to me.”

  From near the door, Roman stared at her as if he knew exactly the conversation they were having and silently dared her to keep her mouth shut. Kir watched as well, but with a secret smile on his face.

  “Fine. Lay it on me.”

  And boy did she.

  How Evette had been a single mom and barely eking by when she’d asked Sergei for help finding a job. How she’d lost both of her parents before she was even out of high school and had gone through terrible times with alcohol before getting pregnant with Emerson. How Cassie’s family life had been anyth
ing but a picnic, with a family full of elitist scientists who thought her dreams of a career in photography were unrealistic and doomed to failure. How the only reason she’d gone into reporting was that it was the only job her parents had even remotely given her positive feedback on.

  “And you don’t want to get me started on the guys,” Cassie said. “Suffice it to say, their backgrounds make ours look like fairy tales. They might have a ton of money now and live in fine houses, but the three of them either started with almost nothing, or had a seriously crappy upbringing. We’re all just like you.”

  The muscles at the back of her jaw wouldn’t work. Couldn’t rally enough to close her gaping mouth. Probably because her brain was too busy scurrying twenty different directions and piecing together everything Cassie had said in a way that made sense.

  It couldn’t be true.

  Evette was as classy as they came. Bright. Savvy. Fashionable.

  Cassie was as well. Had been since the day they’d met.

  And Roman? She couldn’t imagine him wanting for anything. Ever. He wore a suit like he’d been born in one and commanded everything and everyone around him like it was second nature. You just didn’t learn those things on the street.

  Or did you?

  Through the ancient speakers, the playlist she’d fired up two hours ago shifted from the driving kick of Five Finger Death Punch’s “Blue on Black” to the smooth intro of Coldplay’s “Arabesque.” All around her people talked, laughed and commiserated about the week they’d left behind and the weekend ahead.

  But her brain couldn’t quite reboot. Couldn’t overcome the possibilities Cassie had planted.

  Or you’re just too smart to buy it.

  The snarky jab fueled by one too many experiences lashed hard and deep and left a stinging burn in its wake.

  “We’re having a barbecue tomorrow,” Cassie said. “Some really good friends of ours from Dallas are flying in, and I think you’d like them a lot. I want you to consider coming over. Just hang out, eat some food and see what you think.”

  Finally, her snark rallied. “You have friends flying in from Dallas? I don’t even have friends willing to drive from Desire to Tremé.”

  Cassie gave her a sassy don’t-be-a-wiseass look. “Don’t even go there. One of the guys—Trevor—has a charter jet service, so we visit each other a lot. They’re the most down-to-earth people I’ve ever met. You’d actually love them.”

  “You realize you just used down-to-earth and charter jet service right next to each other. That’s an oxymoron if I’ve ever heard one.”

  Cassie had the good grace to blush, but shrugged like she couldn’t help it. “I know it sounds weird, but if you’ll just give them a chance—come see for yourself—you’ll know I’m right.”

  Tomorrow.

  Tomorrow was a Saturday.

  “I have to work the desk at the television station.” It came out the same way she’d grapple for a life vest in a cataclysmic flood. She shoved her hands in the front pockets of her jeans and tried not to shift her feet. “Plus, I gotta swing by here tomorrow night and help close.”

  “Well, then, stop by in between. Just for an hour to say hello so I can prove I’m right.”

  An hour.

  That wasn’t too bad. She’d made it nearly six hours on Monday, and despite the fancy digs and clothes, she genuinely had felt comfortable most of the time. Maybe if she went for a little bit Cassie would leave things alone. “Let me think about it.”

  The wry grin Cassie shot her said she knew perfectly well the catch phrase meant there was a 50/50 shot she’d bail, but she nodded anyway. “Fair enough. But I’m telling you—you’ll be shocked. I sure as heck was when I met them. And in the best way possible.”

  She stood and dug around in her purse. “You remember where Sergei’s house is?”

  “That’s kinda like forgetting where the moon is,” Bonnie said. “And if you’re fishing out money for a drink, then you can count me out for tomorrow.”

  Cassie’s head snapped up. “But I got a drink.”

  “And I pretty much run this place even if the owner doesn’t pay me enough to claim the job. If I can’t get a house drink for a friend who bent over backwards for me, then something’s pretty fucked up.” She tipped her head toward Roman and Kir, who had their eyes trained on the assholes slowly standing from their table. “Go. Get those two out of here before a Clash of the Titans remake kicks in at my front door.”

  Cassie zigzagged a look between the two groups and clearly factored the same outcome Bonnie had because she snapped to attention. “Right. I’m on it.” She paused before she headed out. “Promise me you’ll think about it?”

  Oh, she’d think about it. Acting on it was a whole different ballgame, but she owed Cassie some consideration at least. “Promise. Now go. Blood’s a bitch to clean up.”

  With a giggle that was as bright as everything else about her, she hustled to the exit and strong-armed Kir and Roman out the front door.

  They’d come to check on her.

  Why that simple realization rattled her as hard as it did, she couldn’t say, but it left an unfamiliar warmth and comfort in its wake. She’d never met anyone quite like Cassie. Not growing up, or in the friendships she’d tried and failed to make living on her own. But there was something about her—an air that made you feel comfortable enough to be exactly who you were and assured there’d be zero judgment.

  Actually, Evette had been the same.

  So had Emerson and Olga.

  She’d never met Sergei, so he was hard to factor, and Kir was obviously love-struck for his woman, but Roman—Roman was something else entirely. Six-foot-four of rock solid power that probably made everyone he met think twice about stepping inside his sphere.

  So, are you gonna go to their party or what?

  A damned good question. One she wasn’t sure she had an answer for.

  But that wasn’t an answer she needed now. She still had three more hours before closing time and a whole lot of drinks to fill before the quiet of night swooped in and consumed her thoughts.

  She sighed and got back to work. There was plenty of time to mull things over. Or at least come up with a plausible reason why she shouldn’t go.

  Chapter Eight

  Roman exited I-10, made a cursory stop at the red light, then took a right onto Orleans Avenue. At just after three in the morning, the only people milling the streets of Tremé were those staggering home from the bar, overnight workers or troublemakers.

  He loved the night. The quiet of it. Felt more at home beneath the dark skies than he ever did beneath the sun. In the shadows, a person could more easily camouflage their secrets and their pain—much like the dim lighting at Bonnie’s bar hid the stains of alcohol and time.

  Turning onto St. Ann’s, he stretched his neck from side to side, forcing away the tension that had built since seeing Bonnie up close at the bar. He understood the need to work. To survive. But that hovel was beneath her. Was a gloomy pit of drunkenness and despair made tolerable only by the brightness of her spirit.

  But her spirit was dwindling. He’d known of the double shifts she’d worked. Had either followed her comings and goings himself, or assigned one of his men to follow her to and from work. But the distance had hidden the fatigue on her face. The despair and sadness behind her eyes when she’d spoken of accepting whatever fate had befallen her brother and father.

  He should have found them by now. Or at least unearthed some lead as to who might have taken issue with them. He’d lived and breathed the streets of New Orleans for over three years now. Had healthy ties within the NOPD and knew all the major players capable of making two grown men disappear.

  But he’d found nothing.

  That meant they were dead or they were in the hands of someone well outside his family’s territory. Neither made for a message he wa
nted to share with Bonnie.

  His phone rang through the truck’s Bluetooth system and Luke’s name flashed on the display. He pulled into the alley outside Bonnie’s apartment, punched the answer button on the steering wheel and checked his rearview mirror. “Where is she?”

  “Two blocks out.” From the sound of Luke’s labored breathing, Bonnie had kept a brisk pace for the walk home from the bar. “Just crossed Galvez Street. No hanging around the bar when she shut it down, and no signs of anyone on her tail except me.”

  “Good.” All around him, the streets were quiet and empty, the single tired streetlight a block away casting a sorrowful glow on the cracked pavement. “She’ll be in my sights when she reaches the church. I’ll take watch from there.”

  “You got it, boss. Same drill tomorrow?”

  The grim heaviness he’d fought all night pressed harder on his shoulders. Keeping an eye on her thus far had proven unnecessary. Had revealed no signs of danger or people that might prove useful tailing her. Perhaps she was wise to focus on acceptance. To brace for the grim reality that the last of her family was gone.

  But he hated failing. Hated that he couldn’t give her just one bright moment in her otherwise dreary world. Watching her the last four days had only confirmed her indomitable spirit. Her determination to overcome the life she’d been born into.

  She deserved a break.

  A champion.

  And whether it was wise or not, he found himself wanting to be that person.

  “One more day only.” The words felt wrong on his tongue. But avoiding reality wouldn’t change it and wasting resources on unnecessary errands wasn’t good for business. “I will have her car repaired tomorrow. Then we will leave her to her own devices.”

  Luke answered with a sound somewhere between a grunt and a chuckle. “Not gonna say I’ll miss all the exercise, but she’s been easy on the eyes at least.”

  Not the right thing to say.

  Accurate perhaps, but a stab to the protective streak he seemed to have developed and only worsened his mood. “She is not for you to appreciate. She is for you to protect. Do I make myself clear?”