by B. B. Hamel
“Come on. Now shower.”
“Shower?” She cocked her head. “Why?”
“Trust me. You’ll feel better.” I gestured at my arm. “I’ll do the bandage.” I took the kit from her and stepped back.
She watched me and I couldn’t read the look on her face, but I got to work cleaning the stitched wound one more time and bandaging it up.
Then she stood and stripped off her shirt.
I didn’t bother looking away. She knew I wasn’t going to and I didn’t feel like pretending like I didn’t want her. Her breasts barely fell an inch when she took off her bra and her eyes roamed over to me, giving me this strange, almost shy look as she bent down and took off her jeans.
Her smooth, creamy pale skin drove me wild. I was hard the instant I saw her pink nipples. Her long, gorgeous legs only made my self-control start to wither away. She stood for a moment in just her panties, then took those off, her gorgeous pussy bare for me, just a hint of black hair. She covered herself with her hands, but left her breasts naked for me, elbows pushing them together.
We locked eyes. Then she turned, supple ass firm, and stepped into the water. She pulled the curtain shut behind her.
I let out a frustrated breath.
One flimsy curtain separated me from the woman I wanted. All I needed to do was shove it aside and take her. I didn’t care if the wound got wet and it fucked up the stitches. I didn’t care if she was in shock.
I saw the look she gave me. I saw the desire in her eyes.
She wanted me to take her.
I took a step toward the shower but my buzzing phone stopped me. I let an annoyed grunt escape my lips but I had to get it. If my guys were having trouble, I’d need to take care of it whether I was in the middle of the tightest, sweetest pussy of my life or not.
I tore myself from the shower and stomped into her room before answering.
“What?” I said.
“Hello, old friend. Been a while.”
I felt a pulse run through my body.
I hadn’t heard Clifton’s voice in years.
It brought back a lot of memories. The two of us down by the train tracks throwing rocks at boxcars. Running from cops and ditching them in an abandoned house. Stealing bikes and laughing as we got so drunk we couldn’t even ride them home. Fights and girls and late nights.
My old best friend.
“What the fuck do you want?”
“Ah, come on, Owain. You’re still holding a grudge?”
“Not really. But five of your dead guys probably are.”
He laughed. “No need to go there already.”
“What do you want?”
“I thought we should talk. You know, about what’s happening.”
“What’s happening is, you sent some guys down to try and fuck with my new business. I killed them. Now you’re here to grovel.”
“That’s not how I see it.”
“How do you see it then?”
“Let’s meet and talk, shall we? No need to have this conversation over the phone. Let’s be civilized about it.”
I clenched my jaw. Fucking Clifton hadn’t changed at all. He pretended to be all literature and intelligence when he as just as much a thug as I was. The bastard wanted to be better than he was, wanted to be enlightened or some crap, but really, he broke skulls and sold drugs like everyone else.
“See, you must think I’m a moron. You came at me twice now, completely unprovoked. I have no reason to trust you. No reason to meet with you. Far as I’m concerned, this is open war.”
“Pick the ground. I’ll be there.”
I took a breath and slowly let it out. I heard the curtain open and a few seconds later, Leigh appeared in the bathroom door with a towel wrapped around her middle, her hair dripping wet. She frowned at me, head tilted to one side. She must’ve heard my growing anger and wanted to find out what was happening.
I held up a hand to her.
“There’s a warehouse across from a storage unit place in the northeast. I’ll text you the address. Meet me there tomorrow morning.”
“Morning? You know I hate getting up early.”
“Seven sharp. Be there or fuck you.” I hung up the phone.
“Who was that?”
“Clifton.” I opened a new text and sent him the address. “Mother fucker wants a meeting.”
“You’re doing it?”
“I’m picking the ground.”
She frowned. “Are you going to ambush him?”
“Maybe. Haven’t decided.” I stared at her and felt my blood rush to my head. I wanted her, god damn it, but I had other shit to do now. “I have to talk to the guys and figure out our next move.”
“Is there anything I can do?”
“Nothing with that towel on.”
She looked away. “Right.”
I felt almost guilty. Almost.
“I’ll be back in a bit. Don’t worry, you’re safe here.” I left her standing there nearly naked and hated myself for it.
But business came first, always had to come first.
She passed my test though. That was important. She held her shit together during a stressful situation and stitched up my arm even though she wanted to fall apart and puke her guts out. She stepped up and I was damn proud of her.
My little diamond.
I grinned to myself as I found a clean shirt in my room, applied a fresh bandage, then left the house to meet with Rolan and the others.
14
Leigh
Owain parked the car in front of an empty warehouse. Across the street a storage unit place dominated the block. The neighborhood looked empty and weeds grew in the cracks between the sidewalk slabs. He looked at me for a second and I couldn’t read his expression.
I kept thinking about the day before, about stitching his arm shut, about taking off my clothes while he watched. I wanted him to watch, wanted him to think about my body. I knew he wanted me, he made that clear. And he knew I wanted him just as bad.
But I didn’t get what I wanted.
He was so damn hard to understand sometimes. I practically threw myself at him. All he had to do was come in the shower with me, touch my body once, and I was all his. He would’ve felt me dripping wet, saw my hard nipples, the goosebumps on my skin. He would’ve known.
Instead, he left me angry and confused.
“We need to be careful here.” He stared out the windshield at the building. The windows were boarded up. Graffiti covered the doorways—gang tags in black and purple and green.
“Are you sure this is a good idea?”
“No,” he said. “But my guys have been inside for a few hours already. They’ll keep an eye on things.”
“Really? They’ve been here that long?”
“Got to get in first, set the stage for things. Make sure Clifton’s not going to try anything.”
“Why does he want to talk now?” I looked out the window and slid further down the seat. “I mean, he just attacked twice. Seems like it doesn’t matter what he says at this point.”
“Clifton thinks he’s some kind of tactical genius. He probably thinks attacking without provocation was his way of knocking me off my game. Now he’ll try and negotiate for something.”
“Seems insane.”
“He’s not as smart as he thinks he is.” He opened his door. “Come on, you’re coming with me.”
I didn’t argue, even though it scared the hell out of me. I knew this was a dangerous situation no matter how much time he had to prep. Things went wrong with guys like this as I’d already found out twice now.
But I’d come this far. I was in it now, deep in it. I’d seen men killed in front of me and I was pissed off at that. Nobody had to get hurt, and yet Clifton and his stupid gang thought they were bad asses and kept attacking like morons. I wanted that shit to end so I could sell my stupid pills and move on with my life.
I followed him around the side of the building. A boarded-up doorway stood facing a field
strewn with rocks, weeds, and rotting wood. He yanked a board and pried it free, revealing an opening inside.
“After you.”
I sniffed the air. It was moldy and damp. I slipped in through the gap in the wood. He came in a moment later, leaving the board slightly ajar.
“What was this place?”
“Used to store tiles and other shit here.” He walked past me down a short hallway. Several rooms lined the left side but most of the doors were shut. Black mold bloomed on the ceiling and used condoms, syringes, empty alcohol bottles, and other garbage covered the ground.
I couldn’t imagine spending any amount of time in a place like this, and yet sings of humanity were all over the place. One of the rooms had a mattress in it and a shopping cart filled with cans parked next to it.
Owain turned right at the end of the hall and pushed open a set of double doors that led into a huge, wide open space. It must’ve been the main storage area at one point. High windows let shafts of light down onto a wet floor. Stacks of rock and some old, shattered tiles were left over from the building’s original use. I didn’t see anyone around, but Owain strode into the middle of the space and spread his hands.
“Welcome,” he said, “to paradise.”
I made a face. “This is paradise?”
“Nah, it’s a shit hole.” He picked up a rock and threw it up at the broken windows. It flew through, just barely missing a bit of the leftover glass.
“Easy there,” a voice said. I jerked around as Rolan walked over with Viktor smoking on his heels.
“You see anyone?” Owain asked.
“Quiet all night.” Rolan stretched and yawned. “I hate this place. You now that, right? All this fucking mold’s bad for the lungs.”
“Definitely,” Viktor said, taking a long drag.
Owain laughed. “You two sound like such babies. Now get in position. Clifton’s going to show up soon.”
“Roger that, boss.” Rolan motioned and Viktor followed them. They disappeared through side doors.
I walked around the outside of the warehouse space and lingered down near the docking area. A big gap in the floor was cut out for trucks to pull up. I imagined men loading them up, straining to lift heavy bundles of tile. This place used to have a life, used to have a purpose, and now it was a crumbling wreck of a building, populated by the homeless and by addicts with nowhere else to go. It was filled with memory and tragedy. I wished someone would buy it and bring it back to life.
“What are you thinking about?”
I shook my head. “Nothing.”
Owain joined me near the loading bay. “Come on. You’re thinking.”
“Just about this place. All the people that used to be here. And the people that still show up.”
“Not pretty, is it? When an economy falls apart, it leaves a scar behind.”
“I was thinking the same thing.”
“Don’t worry too much about it. One scar appears, but another place flourishes. It’s all a big cycle. Maybe this place will come back sooner or later.”
I gave him an odd look and went to respond— but the sound of motorcycle engines sputtering and roaring in the near distance cut me off.
Owain grinned big and took a breath. He turned to face the hallway we came in through and adjusted the gun in his waistband.
“Almost showtime,” he said. “Stand a little behind me, please. If anything happens, jump down into the loading bay and hide.”
“Right.” I took a few steps ack. The loading bay was the height of a truck, so only a few feet down to the concrete floor. I saw an empty Coke can covered in dust and decay.
The motorcycles got louder then stopped as they parked. We waited in silence together and heard them push their way inside. Footsteps echoed as three men stepped in through the far door.
The first man looked like a cannonball. He was tan, completely bald, and as wide as he was tall. His denim jacket clung to him like tinfoil. The man behind him was thin, tall, with a patchy beard and dark, dangerous eyes.
The third man was the biggest of the three. He had a wide smile, light blue eyes, boyishly messy hair. He was handsome, and he walked with a confidence that suggested he’d done this once or twice before. I was instantly repulsed by him.
“Clifton,” Owain said.
The third man held up a hand. “Owain. I wasn’t sure you’d be here.”
“I wanted to see how much you’d grovel.”
Cannonball grunted and looked annoyed, but Clifton laughed. They stopped twenty feet away, close enough to talk, but far enough away they didn’t feel like a threat.
I knew Rolan and Viktor waited, hiding somewhere close. I didn’t know if this was going to be another ambush, or if Owain really did plan on having a conversation.
“I’m not here to apologize, if that’s what you want.”
“No, I didn’t think you would. Truth be told, you’re the one with the dead men.”
Clifton’s smile slipped, just a little bit. “That’s true. I do have five dead men.”
“Five’s a lot of bodies.” Owain grinned and looked like he was genuinely enjoying himself. He adjusted the cuffs of his dark shirt and spread his arms out. “Have your guys started to rebel yet?”
“I wouldn’t worry about that.” Clifton gestured toward me. “Is this your new salesgirl? I keep hearing about her.”
“Don’t worry about her,” Owain said. “She’s just my backup. I figured I’d bring her instead of muscle, since I wouldn’t need it.”
“Mother fucker,” Cannonball growled.
“Easy,” Clifton said, his voice soft and low. “If you think he doesn’t have us covered right now, you’re stupid.”
Cannonball glared up at Clifton, but took a step back. Patchybeard looked around with a scowl but said nothing.
“Maybe you’re not so dumb.” Owain scratched the back of his head. “Come on now. You got me all the way out here. What the fuck do you want?”
“There’s already been to much blood between us. I want to make sure this doesn’t turn into something it doesn’t need to be.”
I saw Owain tense. “I will remind you— again—that you’re the one who started this.”
“And I will remind you that I don’t give a damn.”
Cannonball smirked and let out a low rumble of a laugh.
“Give me a reason not to kill you three now and save myself the trouble of having to do it later.”
“I’m moving into the pill business.” Clifton looked at his fingernails then brushed them up against his shirt. “And I need you to back out.”
Owain laughed. It was a surprised laugh, the sort of laugh you do when nothing’s funny. It only made me more tense, and I took an involuntary step away. He seemed almost unhinged, and I worried about what he was about to do.
I could see he was restraining himself. It was written all over his body: tense muscles, tight smile. I wondered if Clifton and the others could see it too, or if I’d somehow gotten an insight into the inner workings of Owain in the last few weeks.
“You want me to stop selling my pills? Not very capitalist of you.”
“I don’t give a shit about that. I’ve been working my way into the market for months, and suddenly you appear and start undercutting all my god damn corners. You know how much that pisses me off, right?”
I stared at Owain. I hadn’t known about that. He didn’t tell me that he’d been undercutting Clifton this whole time and stealing his customers. That explained a lot. Clifton hadn’t attacked out of nowhere—as far as he was concerned, he probably thought he was responding to an attack.
Not that it made it any better.
“That’s how the market works. I come up with a better product for cheaper, and everyone flocks to me. If you can’t handle that shit then you’d better go fuck off somewhere else.”
It was Clifton’s turn to look tense. His face twitched as his teeth clenched together.
“I’m asking for an understanding,” he
said, speaking slowly and carefully. “You take certain territory, I take certain territory. No more crossing over. No more stealing customers. The city’s big enough for everyone if we can play by some simple rules.”
Owain shook his head. “We’re fucking killers and thieves. You want rules?”
“Doesn’t have to be this way.”
“Yes, it does. You came into my store and tried to hurt my people. You burned down Leigh’s shop. You fucked with me.”
“You killed five of my guys.”
“And I’ll kill more if you don’t back the fuck off. I’m going to sell my pills however I want, wherever I want, at whatever prices I want.”
“If we can at least agree to fix prices, we’ll both profit.” Clifton spread his hands. “Think about it Owain. You raise your prices to match mine and—”
“And I lose half my customers. I’ll lose money.”
“You’ll make it up on the higher pricing.”
“Bullshit.”
I made a face. Even I saw that wouldn’t happen. If the prices were all the same across the city, then people would go where it was most convenient—which meant they wouldn’t have to travel across the city to a specific bodega in Fishtown anymore, they could find their local Jackal.
Clifton didn’t seem to understand that facet of human behavior. His men were inherently mobile, whereas I was stuck in one place. That gave him the advantage. Owain could only compete if he sold cheaper.
I wasn’t sure if Clifton was dumb or if he thought Owain was.
“Come on. This’ll be good for the city and good for both of us. We can avoid an unnecessary war. No more blood, only money. That’s what we’re both in this for anyway, isn’t it?”
“That’s where you’re wrong.” Owain’s face turned dark as he stepped closer toward the trio. Patchybeard’s eyes narrowed and his hand drifted toward his waistband, but Owain didn’t seem to notice. He gazed at Clifton like a man appraising a piece of meat hanging in a butcher’s window.
There was a hunger in his eyes.
“Don’t tell me you’re still going on about that testing shit.”
“I like the bloodshed. I like the fighting. You used to know me, you small dicked cocksucker. You know this sort of shit gets my blood going. I love a god damn war more than anyone else in this city. You think I’m going to step down to avoid a fight?” He laughed, sharp and unhinged. “You lost a step.”
