Unwrapped

by Jax Hart

  The doorman greets me by name as I enter the revolving glass doors to my building. I nod, walking briskly as I pass.

  I have shit to do today. Starting with changing a little girl’s life around.

  I’m glad I dumped Isabella. She never cracked my heart. Not once. But that little sprite in the street…all it took was one look and I was a goner.

  It doesn’t take long to shower, shave and pack my shit. I throw in my leather cut, bike boots and jeans. A few tight Henley sweaters and even a fuckin’ plaid flannel shirt. Then I remember how cold and drafty the houses can be up there. I add a few expensive wool sweaters and my favorite pair of butter-soft Armani loafers. My Tom Ford suits will get my ass-kicked outta Rog’s bar. The boys in the club will laugh their asses off. But I take one off the hanger and put it on. I can’t wear my cut to the office. I flip off the light switch, lock up and carry my duffel bag over one shoulder. My heart hammers in my chest. It’ll be good to see the boys but more importantly, I need to face my past and put the ghosts of Christmases past to bed—for good.

  “Ladies and Gentlemen, please fasten your seat belts. We are beginning our final descent into Medford. Please stow all electronic devices at this time.”

  Through the gray streaks of clouds, tops of tall evergreens break through. I spent the entire flight reading the Foster Parent applications and information Claudia emailed me. I’ll sign electronically when I arrive in Springdale and use Rog, my college professor whom I’m still in touch with, and a few local Chicago politicians as references. Hell, if it comes down to it—I’ll call Roque Salvatore. I’ll owe him a favor, but there will be no doubt I’ll get Freddie. Saving her is important to me. One look in her eyes and I knew I had to do it. Save her the way Rog saved me.

  I’ve never been arrested; my records are clean, and I make a shit-ton of money. So, what if I’m a single guy in his thirties? I’m a damn good one. For the most part anyway. I smirk as the stewardess “accidentally” bumps her ass into my shoulder for the fifth time as she checks that everyone’s buckled in. Her eyes linger a little too long on the bulge between my thighs. I’m bigger than most men, even when I’m not ready to go.

  Ignoring her, I avert my eyes, gazing down at the tall pines peeking through the low gray clouds.

  Home.

  The tightness in my chest constricts even more. Choking on old memories isn’t how I want to live anymore. Coming back to see Rog and the boys from Creed will be good for me. They are into that sappy holiday shit. But they always made it their own. I smile faintly remembering Christmases past, where we’d sit around the clubhouse passing a bottle of JD while someone strummed a few chords on the guitar while piles of steaming pancakes coated in thick homemade maple syrup sat in front of me.

  After the plane lands, I’m rolling my carry on straight to the rental car area and press the bell on the counter. The airport is practically deserted just like I had predicated so it’s no surprise the rental counter isn’t manned.

  I clear my throat loudly.

  Nothing.

  I slam my fist down on the bell so hard it breaks. Then I scroll through my texts from Claudia concerning Freddie. She found the group home the girl’s in and ordered the doll in the window. But hit a snag regarding the forms for me to become a foster. A flounce of fur catches the corner of my eye but I’m too engrossed in my messages to care. That is until it cuts right in front of me and starts talking the employee who finally saunters to the counter.

  “Excuse me. I was here first.”

  I’m ignored.

  My eyes travel up her floor length ball of hideous fur to her perfectly waved hair hanging down her back. My nose wrinkles at the smell of her designer store bought perfume. A three-thousand-dollar purse hangs from her dainty shoulder.

  Annoyance claws at my insides. I’m done playing nice with women like her. Entitled women who think their shit don’t stink. But usually theirs smells the worse.

  She’s Isabella’s clone. But worse. I peer at the back of fugly fur boots resembling something you’d wear snowshoeing Iceland or some shit. My mouth opens ready to give this woman a piece of my dirty mind when my cell rings. It’s Claudia. Frowning, I turn my back and take the call.

  “Darren. Everything is ready to go…”

  “But?” I ask for her.

  “…your background. You have nothing to hide? A single man adopting a girl approaching puberty could raise eyebrows.”

  “What the fuck, Claudia? I’m no pervert.”

  “I know. But still. The state will dig deep and you have enemies.”

  I snort. “No one gives two shits about the girl. She’s in the system getting bullied and is barely eating. I’m ready to give her the world and I’m the suspect? This shit is fucked up and exactly why I need to get her out of there. If Blackwood tries to get in the way of this, I’ll bury him,” I growl so loud, heads turn. “There’s no chance I can get her by Christmas is there?” I ask softer.

  “No.”

  “I figured. Fuck. I guess it’s time to phone a friend.”

  “What?”

  “Never mind. Thank you, Claudia. You’ve done well. Merry Christmas and all that bullshit.” I gesture with my hand even though she can’t see it.

  My eyes narrow, following the tapping if her nails on the counter. They’re the color of a Christmas bow. Red Satin. I really hate this chic now. “Excuse me.” Using my broad shoulders to bump her a few inches out of the way. “I was here first. The Yeti will have to wait.”

  She gasps.

  The balding man across the counter’s eyes bulge from the other side of his thick glasses.

  “Did…did you just call me a Yeti?”

  My cool gaze takes her in. From the tips of her fur lined boots to the top of her chestnut hair tucked into a messy bun at the top of her head. I can’t see her eyes that hide behind oversized black lenses. Maybe she drank too much on the plane. Her body is tight with curves in just the right places, but from my impassive poker face you’d think I was looking over produce at the supermarket. “My bad. Miss Sasquatch over here will have to wait. Reservation is under Prescott.”

  Honey cakes tried to shoulder me out of the way but ends up bouncing off me. Looking down my nose at her, I pick pieces of white fur off my Tom Ford peacoat.

  “You’re shedding.” I deadpan before, tapping my long fingers in the counter.

  “You’ve got some nerve.”

  “No actually, you do. The world doesn’t revolve around you, sweetheart. Wait your turn. Women like you always think they can skip the line.” She’s so much liked the woman I dumped two days ago.

  “Women like me?”

  Her index finger pokes me in the chest, “Arrogant, businessman like you are the ones who run people right over in their haste to make a buck. Chill. Your deal will wait. I was almost done.” She grabs a pen and signs her name on the paper sitting on the counter. The worker hands her a fob key.

  I roll my eyes at her. “Damn. You’ve got a lot of baggage, sweetheart. Too much for any man to carry,” I smirk as she only rolls one medium size suitcase.

  “Asshole,” she mutters walking away.

  “Merry Christmas,” I call after her, just to be a jerk.

  An hour or so later, I’m cursing Christmas. Snow. And the lousy icy mic covering the road. I should’ve had one of the guys from the MC pick me up. But my stubborn ass pride wouldn’t let me. They already call me “pretty boy.” And call me a bunch of pussy ass nicknames since I’m one of the few with a college degree coupled with a high-powered job behind a desk.

  Shit. I bite the inside of my cheek picturing the look on Rog or Smith’s face if I end up in a snowbank and need them to get me out.

  One look at the sorry as shit car waiting for me at the airport rental and the nerve under my right eye started to twitch. I opened up my Italian leather wallet, took at out black AMEX card and asked for the most expensive SUV on the lot not even blinking at the price it was to rent per day. But then I was informed
Ms. Line jumper took it. Right before me. I settled for a pickup, knowing the empty bed in the back would make shit slip so I stopped off at Agway and piled it high with bags of road salt to give the truck some weight. I glance at the clock knowing I’ve put off the call I need to make long enough. Tine is something Freddie doesn’t have. I need to get the girl out of the system before she turns from a girl to a teenage girl growing curves and shit the pervs won’t hesitate to put their hands on. My fingers clench the wheel. If I’m too late and some fuck already has—I’ll fucking skin them alive. The girl provokes a protective instinct in me. Her eyes were so full of both jaded edges but yet innocence was there too.

  After enabling the Bluetooth, I call the last man on earth I want to ask for help. But he fucking rules the underworld of Chicago a place where Freddie needs help.

  “Dare?”

  “No. It wasn’t a butt dial. I meant to call,” I sigh.

  “Do we have a problem?”

  I take one hand off the wheel and pinch the bridge of my nose.”

  “No. I need a favor.”

  His sharp intake of breath doesn’t escape me. No one willingly gives out favors to Roque Salvatore because they come with a price so high sometimes the only way to pay is with a life. He might take it. You might take one for him or end up owing him yours. None of those options work for me. But it is what it is. “There’s a girl. I want her and I need your help.”

  “Are you serious? I don’t have time…”

  “Fuck. Not like that.” My curled fist pound the dash of the truck. “She’s twelve. In the system. She doesn’t have much time until bad people get their hooks into her. You know that. You’re outfit supplies the drugs they need.

  “Careful,” he warns.

  I breath through my nose hard. “I’m applying to be a foster. I forged basically everything. I never went to private schools outside of Seattle. I cheated on my SAT’s. Lied my way into the college admission process. You know my ties to the MC aren’t severed… there’s no way anyone would approve me.”

  “Why do you want her?”

  “Because no one else does. She’s like me. How I was. But unlike me—there’s a chance she can be saved. Besides, it’ll look good to the Board if I’m a foster parent. I’m up to be voted on as a permanent director with a lifetime vote. So far they haven’t been impressed by how many socialites have shown up with streaked mascara demanding to see me at the office.”

  Truthfully, I didn’t want Freddie for any financial or work gain. But I’d be damned if Roque knew just how important it suddenly was to have the girl come live with me. All the shit I’ve stuffed down and buried was bubbling to the surface. Years of memories better off left alone won’t stop invading my to thoughts.

  “Text me the details. I’ll handle it. But you’ll owe me, and you know my favors aren’t simple errands.”

  “I know.”

  “I’ll be in touch.”

  A wintry mix slowly starts to fall. But I’ve driven these back-country roads a thousand times in worse conditions and in shit cars. I sigh, shit’s about to go down. Roque and I have been better off avoiding one another. But now I have no choice. Our worlds are going to collide.

  On paper, I’m just a clean-cut CEO with a thick bank account and a closet full of designer suits. But underneath thousand-dollar threads are the truth: inked all over my skin and where invisible threads bind the scare tissue in my heart are all the dark deeds I’ve done. I was Creed MC’s boogie man. The member they’d send when shit needed to be handled quietly. I was an assassin. A murderer. A man who has no business fostering a child. Especially as girl. But for all things I am…one thing I’m not is a pervert. She’d be safer with me than anyone else in Chicago.

  This was about Freddie, but it was also about the girl I couldn’t save. Jenny. She was pure. Sweet. Her smile lit up the darkest night. And I wasn’t the only one who noticed. She was fostered by old man Harrington and his wife back in Springdale. They took in the max amount of foster kids the state would allow. Back in the nineties that was five. Instead of using the state money for food and clothes they burned it on Newport Lights and cheap beer. Jenny…I swallow thickly. Old man Harrington was my second kill. Rog and the boys from Creed helped me hide his body. I’ve never thought of it or spoke of it since that night back in ninety-eight when I buried my switch blade in his left kidney then choked the son of a bitch with my bare hands.

  I killed that sadistic, child predator in cold blood and I’d do it all again. Jenny was never the same after his filthy hands defiled what should have been her choice to give.

  In Freddie’s eyes I saw the same light Jenny had even though Freddie tried to hide it with her tough tomboy act. For some reason, I want to save her more than I want anything else. It’s probably Christmas. The season of hope and all that. Hope’s lost for me. But not for her. If anyone can pull of a Christmas miracle, it’s Roque fucking Salvatore. He has every city and state official in his dirty, deep pocket.

  My bunched muscles start to relax. Roque will get it done. But what will he demand in return? He could ask for anything and he knows it. I’d probably have to kill someone. A life for a life. He’d give me hers to save but I’ll probably have to end one of his enemies.

  The icy mix turns to thick flakes the further the road turns into the deep woods of Oregon. My fingers press the FM radio buttons. “Fuck no.” Christmas song after Christmas song plays for an instant as I keep punishing the button by jamming the damn thing with my index finger. But nothing else comes on.

  My fist punches the center of the wheel. The truck’s horn toots. Yep friggin’ toots.

  I suppose the thick evergreens covered in snow causing the branches to hang low, combined with the curling woodsmoke coming from log cabins with glowing candles in their windows would be considered romantic if I was a romantic sort of man.

  “What in the hell was I thinking coming back here now?” I ask the empty seat next to me.

  My eyes go wide and I curse like the best of them as the truck takes the next curve.

  Fuck.

  Me.

  It’s my fire-breathing yeti. She’s standing in a foot of snow wearing that full length-fur coat. Her tall boots are tucked into skinny white jeans. Her hair falls around her. Crystals of snow clinging to it and the tips of her long lashes as I pull up and lower my window.

  She’s beautiful. At the airport, her face was hidden by dark designer sunglasses the kind that are so large they cover half a woman’s face.

  But now her eyes are huge pools of worry, sucking me in. She’s a snow queen. Bewitchingly bitchy and haughty in her stunning beauty.

  And my worst fucking nightmare. Dressed in designer clothes that are meant to look warm and practical but in reality, are anything but. I slow and roll down my window.

  “You lost?”

  She bites her lip, probably debating whether or not to tell me to “fuck off.” Instead she gestured to the SUV. “My rental went off the road. It’s stuck.”

  “No shit,” I mutter, eyeing her car with the blinking hazard’s. The entire hood is buried in a snowbank. I raise my brow noticing the back door hanging open. “How did you do that?” The escalade is one of the heaviest SUV’s on the road. That vehicle doesn’t end up in a snowbank unless you’re a damn idiot. But I keep that thought to myself.

  “I had to crawl into the back seat to get out. I don’t understand. I put the car in reverse and a low gear then hit the gas, but it only burrowed forward more.”

  “No, shit, sweetheart. There’s no traction. The snow sucked it under.” I put the truck in park and climb out. She smells expensive. Looks like a lost snow bunny looking for her next kill. And I’m not it.

  “What are you doing alone out here anyway? Hunting?”

  “Hunting?”

  “Yeah,” I smirk. “In that get-up…the closest ski resort is an hour south. But I should warn you—you won’t find anyone there that’ll be able to bank roll what you’re looking for.”
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br />   “Excuse me?” Her face is red and I know it isn’t from frostbite or windburn.

  Ignoring the fury rolling off this little lost bunny, I open the trunk and take out the heavy chains.

  “Don’t hurt yourself,” she hisses, as I bend down and secure the chains under the car.

  I smirk.

  She flips me the bird.

  Damn, it’s cold as the arctic during the ice age but damn if my cock doesn’t stir just a tiny bit.

  My lips twitch, “Did you kill a leopard?” My eyes run over her coat and stop on her ridiculous boots.

  “These,” she lifts a foot, kicking some powdery snow in my face, “ARE UGGS! They’re very warm while also providing excellent grip.”

  “Is that so?” I sneer, wiping the snow from my face. “Grip is only fifty percent.”

  Smoke comes from her ears.

  “Killing animals for fashion is a crime.”

  “It’s the best faux-fur money can buy.” Her gloved hands smooth down over the “fur.”

  “Oh yeah? Was it a parting gift from you sugar daddy? Because he has shit taste. You look hideous…fur ball.”

  Her gloved hands ball into fists. Smirking, I turn my back and uncurl the long tow chain. I can’t stand women like her. And I disgust myself that I used to spend so much time bedding women exactly like her. It’s all I did when I first landed in Chicago. Me; the unwanted street rat with grease under my nails and the only ink that told my story was the ink on my back. All I wanted was a fine piece of tail. That smelled expensive, felt soft and helped me believe I was worthy of fucking them. But now I realize they weren’t worthy of me. None of them were. I was slumming it with socialite after socialite. Their fake-ass world was all smoke and mirrors and I was trying to get lost in it. I shake the snow from my hair and get to work.