Beautiful Thief (Omertà Law #2)

by M. N. Forgy

  Thirty minutes later, Henry is calling my apartment informing me of Kieran’s arrival. Leaving the blonde mute in the bedroom, I go unlock the door and greet him.

  He’s dressed in a fucking suit, Jesus Christ, is he ever not dressed in designer clothes? His ball and chain close behind. Leona has on a fur coat, and white dress underneath, her hair piled onto her head. They look like a celebrity couple ready for the cameras instead of heading over to a family member’s house in the middle of the night.

  “Tell me why I’m here at five in the morning, Romeo?” His voice irritated, beady dark eyes staring at me with frustration. I can’t tell him out here, someone might hear.

  “Come in,” I growl, holding my door open, the smell of perfume strong as Leona passes by. Shutting and locking the door, I notice I don’t stop and inhale the scent like I usually do. In fact, the obsession with Leona seems dull compared to the woman harboring herself in my apartment right now. I lead them into my room and find it empty.

  “Shit, where’d she go?” My heart starts beating faster, a cool sweat on the nape of my neck.

  “Who?” Leona asks, looking around. Pushing open the bathroom door, it’s empty. She’s not in here. Quickly I leave my room and head to the guest room, turning the lights on, I find her sitting in a corner on the floor, her knees to her chest, her blonde hair concealing her face and most of her body.

  Kieran steps up next to me and I hear him inhale.

  “What the fuck happened?” he breathes heavily.

  I tell him everything. How father met some man in a van, I went rogue, and the woman was forced upon me or she would have been killed.

  He shakes his head. “Wow, I didn’t know anything about this,” he whispers, rubbing his chin with his thumb and forefinger. “Father dipped his fingers in some sour shit, but this has got to be a new low for him.”

  “I’ve told her she can go. I’ve offered her money even, but she won’t say a word,” I explain further. It’s like she can’t hear me or doesn’t want to be free. I don’t understand what’s wrong with her.

  The strange woman finally looks up, her eyes hitting me in the most unknown places in my chest. I don’t know her, yet I feel an invisible string pulling me toward her. Why? Is it because I feel sorry for her?

  Leona suddenly sashays over to her and squats down in front of her.

  “Hey, sweetheart, do you have someone we can call?”

  The woman says nothing, and Leona looks over her shoulder at me.

  I wave my hand out in a “I told you” manner, I shrug.

  Kieran turns his back, both of us face to face now. “Do yourself a favor and just get her out.” His tone is sharp. “Either way you put it, this woman has been kidnapped. She needs to go.”

  Exhaling sharply, I slide my hands in my pockets. “You’re right…” I really don’t want to drag her out of here, she’s obviously terrified as it is, but I can barely take care of myself, let alone someone else.

  Taking a step toward the woman, I say, “Come on, let’s get you a cab.” I don’t ask, I tell her.

  “No.”

  We freeze. She spoke. She finally said something. Her tone of voice was sharp and direct, her eyes staring back at me like she’d fight me if I tried to touch her.

  “What?” I ask confused. Doesn’t she want to go home?

  “You don’t want to leave?” Leona clarifies.

  The blonde beauty shakes her head, confirming she wants to stay in my house.

  Leona stands, adjusting her fur coat. Her shoulders lifting as she takes a deep breath.

  “Well, if she verbally said she doesn’t want to leave, then she’s not here against her will. You’re not a thief.” She winks along with a sly smile pulling at her face before walking back over to us.

  I don’t see the humor in this situation, why is she smiling like that? This woman has to go. This is no place for her, and I’m certainly not the best company for someone who has been through a traumatic experience. I’ll screw her up more than she already is.

  “So what the fuck do I do with her?” To keep myself in control at all times, I keep everyone at a certain distance I’m comfortable with and having this strange woman in my house has everything scrambling to uncertainty. I won’t have control, I won’t be able to promise her safety or my own, and I can’t guarantee the man I’ll become on the other side of this situation. She’ll see I’m not right and I’ll make my dad look like a fucking angel compared to the angry god I want to become in my weakest moments. Doctors label me as bipolar but it’s just a fancy word for being insane. Not knowing one feeling from the next or how to control them, I can’t take care of someone as fragile as her.

  Wrinkles form across Kieran’s forehead. Using his finger, he gestures me to follow him into the hall just outside the guestroom, Kieran runs both of his hands through his hair before slipping them into his pockets. His tongue darting out to lick his lips before leaning into me closer.

  “You can’t just set her outside, she’s obviously troubled,” Kieran states, pulling one of his hands from his pocket, he gestures to the woman. “What if her body is found around the corner tomorrow, you want that on your conscience?”

  Biting my tongue, I glare at him. Now we suddenly have a conscience after all the shit we’ve done together, this is when we start thinking like a normal civilized person?

  “What about a shelter?” I suggest. They can take her in and get her the help she needs.

  Kieran begins to walk to the front door, shaking his head, Leona right behind him.

  “Getting her out of that room is going to be like putting a cat into a bath. There’s something out there far worse than you, my brother, and I hate to say it but… good luck.” He gives me a sympathetic look.

  “I can’t have her here!” I shout, my anger and emotions beginning to take over. I’m not safe either, doesn’t anyone see that?

  “Forget trying to get her out.” Leona laughs. “By the looks of it, you won’t forget a woman like her, not easily anyway,” Leona says with a smile.

  Kieran opens the door, letting Leona go first. Their parting just as cryptic as his fucking help.

  My back against the wall, I slide to the floor, hands in my hair. My heart is beating so hard I can hear it in my own ears. I’m frustrated and dare I say, scared, to have her here. I don’t trust myself. My anger comes out of nowhere and I can’t control it, what if she pisses me off? What if I hurt her? Usually I channel my emotions through working with Kieran, beating people who owe us money, killing even. But with Kieran gone, and my position unknown in the DeAngelo crew… I have no outlet for the storm that is surely to come.

  5

  Romeo

  Waking up this morning, I slide my watch on my wrist and nearly trip over the security box I put my gun in last night. Yawning, I look around the room, it’s quiet but I don’t see the girl. Standing, I raise my arms above my head and stretch. Walking to my dresser, I put my cross necklace on, silently praying God helps me become a better person today, and walk out of the room, past my chair and the kitchen, and I crack open the guest bedroom door.

  She sits on the bed, her legs crossed, back toward me and stares out the window in a trance. Her hair is parted and braided, reminding me of Sailor Moon from when Kieran and I were kids. She was my first crush. How could she not with that short skirt, long braided pigtails, and driven courage.

  “Did you get any sleep?” I ask, and her back tenses. She doesn’t reply. This silence shit is getting really annoying. “Are you hungry?”

  Her head moves to the side just slightly, but not enough to where her eyes meet mine. Having to read her through her body language I’m assuming that small movement means she is hungry. I wish she would just talk to me, it’d make shit easier. Shutting the door, I head to the kitchen and start pulling out ingredients for eggs and pancakes.

  Putting the skillet on the stove, I try not to think about what I’m going to do with her today, or if I’m still taking the positio
n as underboss. I want to walk away but even I know it’s sucide. The uncertainty has my anxiety rising, making my muscles flex. I’m overwhelmed and want to lash out, break something.

  I’m going to focus on making these pancakes and eggs, and take it one step at a time. Right. You got this. Calm your shit.

  Blowing out a frustrated breath, I get to work.

  The Girl

  Sitting on the bed, my heart beats so fast I feel light-headed. Swallowing, I stare at the sun high in the sky, daylight, something I didn’t get to see much of. I want to feel it on my skin, maybe get a sunburn. I haven’t had the sun kiss my cheeks since I was a kid. Staring into the hard sun, I remember that day well.

  Swinging as high as I can, I pump my legs back and forth, back and forth. My mom’s boyfriend, Poppy, pushing me. That’s not his real name, but that’s what he told me to call him when I first met him. “Higher, Poppy!” I giggle.

  “You go any higher, you’re going to land on the sun!” He chuckles. A family walks by, a little boy looking at me and Poppy. He looks just like the man following him, his daddy. I don’t have a daddy, but Poppy is as close to one.

  “Okay guys, we’ve been here for hours, I’m exhausted,” my mom says, walking across the pavement in her heels. She’s the prettiest mom here, always wearing a shiny dress, red lipstick, and curly hair.

  Poppy grabs the chains of the swings, slowing me to a full stop. When I get off, I still feel as if I’m in the swing, flying.

  “Hey Mom, can Poppy be my dad?”

  My mother’s face goes pale as she looks at him. He smiles and rubs my head of blonde curls. His suit nice and silky, I can’t help but run my hand down the side of it before holding his hand, his large ring on his pinky cutting into my finger.

  “Come on, I’ll buy my girls some ice cream.”

  The sound of metal pots and pans clashing has me jumping out of my memory. The smell of food cooking has my stomach growl and ache. I don’t know when I ate last, but it wasn’t warm food. The handlers handed out a package of silver wrapping, inside were crackers and dried meat. I remember them being very dry and hard to swallow. I can’t tell what the man in the kitchen is cooking, but it’s making my mouth water, whatever it is.

  Grabbing the end of one of my braided pigtails, I begin to softly sing.

  “He’s got the whole world in his hands. He’s got the whole world in his hands—”

  The bedroom door opens and I still, my fingers pressing into my split ends while I wait for him to speak.

  “If you want to eat, you have to join me in the kitchen.”

  My neck nearly snaps I turn around so fast, his ultimatum not welcomed. He sounds like one of the men I was sold to a couple years ago. If I wanted to eat, I had to sleep with his brother. It didn’t happen of course because I puked from anxiety. My weak gag reflex is what had me unsold or traded for so many years.

  My brows furrow, my fingers now digging into the soft comforter of the bed. He’s shirtless again, but he wears a big cross on a chain that almost distracts from his muscles. He might wear a religious piece of jewelry but he’s not fooling me. I tear my eyes away from that and glare at him. I do not want to go in there with him. He’ll ask questions I don’t want to answer. I’ll have to leave this room, which I feel safe in, for the first time in a long time!

  I shake my head, telling him no. His face reddens, he doesn’t seem to like that answer.

  “Then starve,” he clips, shutting the door.

  My mouth parts, butterflies dying off one by one in the pit of my stomach as it pleads for just a taste of food.

  Dropping my head into my hands, my eyes fill with tears. I just want to stay in here, can’t he see that I’m going through something? What does he want from me? I wish he’d just do it already.

  Rubbing my hands over my face, I uncross my legs and slide off the bed. I’m instantly light-headed and feel like I may puke. I’m so thirsty and hungry it’s overtaking my fear, I need to go out there. It’s just in the kitchen, he’s not asking me to go outside. He’s not asking me to leave. Opening the door slowly, I peek my head out and find him sitting at the kitchen counter on a stool slipping a fork full of food into his mouth. That sickly feeling that was in my stomach takes over my whole body, I’m starving. Taking a step out, my fingers fidgeting with one another, I carefully walk to the other stool, finding a plate of eggs and pancakes soaked in thick syrup. Keeping my eyes on him, I slide onto the leather stool, the warmth of his body radiating around my own as I ignore how close we’re sitting, and grab the fork and dive in. Shoveling in a mouthful of pancakes, my eyes nearly roll into the back of my head. Butter, warmth, sweetness, it coats my tongue in a deliciousness that can only be a dream. I swallow, barely even chewing, and go in for another bite, proving to myself this is reality. Stabbing the eggs and the fluffy pancakes, I eat and eat, my eyes darting over to the strange man ever so often just in case he tries something, but he just calmly eats, not paying any mind to me eating like a savage dog at his counter.

  “Seeing as how you won’t tell me your name, I guess I’ll call you Cindy? Sailor Moon?” he asks, reaching for a glass of milk in front of his plate. I pause mid-chew.

  Where did he come up with Sailor Moon? I don’t reply, I continue to eat.

  “Really, nothing?”

  He’s getting angry that I won’t talk, but I’m scared to. When he’s around me it’s like his presence has a vise-grip around my throat keeping the words locked away. In my experience with men, the keepers, even as a child, it’s better to be seen than heard. It baffles me he wants me to talk so badly. Besides, I take another bite, he’s just going to take me to a shelter where the keepers will come for me, so what’s the point. I’ve seen it done before. They have someone working the shelters so when a woman checks in, they look for a chip and call the handlers. First chance I get… I’m cutting mine out. It’ll hurt, but I don’t care. It’ll save me in the end.

  After eating, I drink some of the thick milk, the liquid sitting heavy in my stomach. I only drink a couple of sips before putting the glass down. Feeling full, which is an odd sensation, I’ve never felt like this before. I drop my hands to my lap and look at the man, whose name I don’t know either. He looks back at me and his lips pull into a small smirk.

  “You have a little.” He swipes his thumb over his top lip, indicating I have something on mine. Lifting my finger, I touch the skin above my lip and feel milk. I have a milk mustache. Licking it, I bite back a smile and look down. I’m suddenly tired, maybe from the food, maybe from being too scared to sleep last night.

  Standing on shaky knees, I begin to walk back to the room, looking over my shoulder once, then twice, to make sure he’s not following me. He hasn’t moved, he watches me with a chilly gaze while drinking his glass of milk with no shirt on.

  Romeo

  Sitting on my couch, the coffee table in front of me, I have my laptop open, a notebook, and phone. I gotta find this woman’s next of kin or something. Opening my browser, I look at the missing person’s which seems to go on forever and ever. So many people are missing, mostly children and women. It takes me almost an hour to get through them all, but none are the woman in my guest room. Sitting back defeated, I bite my lip with rising frustration. Her defiance is maddening by the second.

  How can someone just disappear and not be missed by anyone? Standing with my phone in my hand, I go to my wet bar and pour a drink, the smooth whiskey coating my throat and filling my stomach. I wonder if someone filed a missing report? Pulling my phone up, I call one of the men at the police station I happen to know; Marcowsky. He’s not on our payroll but he and I have a relationship based on if he scratches my back, I scratch his. He usually asks about break-ins around the area or sloppy robberies at the corner gas station, nothing to do with what DeAngelos do. Dialing his number, he picks up on the second ring.

  “Yep.” He already knows who’s calling.

  “I need a favor,” I tell him, taking another sip, my ey
es focusing on the amber liquid in the glass.

  “Shoot.”

  “Do you have any missing persons reports on a short female with really long blonde hair, green eyes, mid-twenties?”

  “That all you got? Any tattoos, piercings? What about a name?”

  I try to think if I saw anything, but her skin was pure, not a spot of ink or jewelry on it.

  “No, that’s all I got,” I tell him flatly.

  “I’ll look through recent reports, but with that bland description, we will either find a bunch or none,” he states.

  “Just let me know what you find.”

  I hang up, ending the conversation. Setting the cup down, my eyes glance in the direction of her room, she’s been in there since breakfast which was hours ago. Tucking my phone in my sweats pocket, I go to the guest bedroom and press my fingertips gently on the door to push it open, not wanting her to know I’m peeking in on her. I don’t see her. She’s not sitting on the bed.

  Frowning, I push the door open a little bit more and find her in the damn corner again, re-braiding her hair and singing to herself. She’s still wearing my clothes that are way too big for her. Pulling the door almost all the way closed, I rub my face in deep thought. Should I buy her some clothes? Doesn’t she need girl shit?

  Turning around, I sit at the counter and pull my phone out. I don’t want to call Leona for help on getting me a few things for her, knowing her, she’ll show up with Chanel and Coach shit, trying to give the girl a makeover.

  Exhaustion pulls on my eyelids, the need to sleep making me just want to forget the whole idea and crawl back into bed. Shit, I haven’t had my meds today. Standing, I open a cabinet and take the orange pill bottle out and pop the couple of pills into my palm before tossing them into my mouth. Here’s to feeling numb and questioning everything I do for the next twenty-four hours. Turning the sink on, I lean down and sip some of the running water into my mouth to wash them down. Exhaling, I lean against the fridge and open my contacts. Denise.