by Lane Hart
“Yeah, yeah, I will,” he agrees with his brow furrowed. “I appreciate the heads-up.”
“Sure,” I reply with a nod. When no one says anything else, I start toward the door. “So, I guess I’ll leave you to it.”
“Thanks, Lucy,” the woman whose name I don’t even know says to me.
“You’re welcome,” I reply before I head outside, glad that he’s someone else’s problem now because this is all too much for me to handle on my own.
Chapter Three
Nash
* * *
A loud banging causes the pulsing of my headache to double, and it takes me a few seconds to realize it’s coming from my apartment door.
Fuck it. Fuck them. I’m not expecting anyone. Eventually they’ll give up and go away.
Or so I thought before I hear the key in the lock turning. From my prone position stretched out on the sofa, I watch as the door flies open and then Malcolm is filling it.
“Sort of regretting giving you a spare key,” I mutter.
“So this is where you’ve fucking been for the past two weeks?” Malcolm growls as he stomps over to me. Nostrils flaring, he adds, “You look and smell like shit. What the fuck is going on, Nash?”
“Nothing. Not a damn thing. I just needed some time away from everything, everyone.”
“Are you breaking up with us?” he asks, making me roll my eyes at his weak attempt at making a joke. He glances around my apartment. “When was the last time you cleaned this fucking place? It’s a pigsty even by my low standards.”
“Fuck off.”
Heading to the kitchen, he tosses some old take-out containers and empty beer bottles in the trash bin and then comes to a stop beside the small metal, four-person dining table.
“What’s this?” Malcolm leans over to read the papers spread out on top of the table before the asshole picks them up. “Divorce papers? Ellie finally pulled the fucking trigger, huh?” he asks, making me grit my teeth until the ache in my temple throbs even harder.
“Yeah,” I reply through my clenched teeth while pressing my finger and thumb to my temple to try and tamper down the ache. “Apparently, they don’t need my signature to make if official.”
“No shit, Sherlock. You think you’re the first bastard to try and avoid putting your John Hancock down to delay a divorce?” he asks, tossing the paper back down. “Courts will eventually grant it as long as you’ve been served. Should’ve gone MIA if you wanted to outrun it.”
“Whatever. It’s done and over. You would think she could’ve at least had the goddamn decency to warn me it was coming,” I mutter.
“I think up and leaving you without a word for three years was all the warning you needed, brother.”
“Oh, fuck you,” I tell him.
“It was stupid of you to keep waiting around for her, but I get it,” he says when he strolls back over and sits on the edge of the coffee table near my feet. “Now, though, it’s time for you to finally go out and get laid. Going too long without a woman makes men go insane. Trust me, I know from experience. I only endured a few months, so I have no clue how you’ve lasted fucking years.”
“I don’t need a woman. I can get myself off just fine without the bullshit drama.”
“That has to be the hangover talking. We both know your hand ain’t half as good as a woman’s tight wet pussy or mouth. Besides, it’s about more than the release. All of us need that closeness, the connection to another human being.”
“God, you are so fucking pussy whipped. It’s seriously pathetic.”
“No, man. You’re pathetic lying here in your own filth and pity, drinking your life away! You’re better than this, Nash. So, get your ass up, get a shower, find your dick while you’re in there and then use the damn thing! You’re legally single again. There’s no more of that ball and chain holding you back.”
“I’m good right here on my own.”
“No, you’re not. That’s what I’m trying to get through your thick skull! You need a woman, the sooner the better. Hell, I bet that bubbly new neighbor of yours would be happy to come up here and suck your dick for you.”
“My new neighbor?” I say with my brow furrowing in thought before I realize who he’s talking about. The little girl on the roof? “For fuck’s sake, Malcolm. She’s a child!”
“Newsflash — she’s twenty-five, almost twenty-six.”
“Really?” I say in disbelief and shock. From what I remember of her silhouette, she was so tiny I had her pegged for eighteen at most. “Wait. How the hell do you know about the new girl and how old she is?” I ask.
“She’s kind of cute with her glasses and freckles, right?” Malcolm asks with a smirk while dodging my question. I had no idea she had either since I didn’t get a look at her face.
“There’s nothing ‘cute’ about jailbait.”
“Lucy is perfectly legal, and not nearly as sweet and innocent as she looks...”
“Wow, you know her name too. I’m not even gonna ask,” I huff while scrubbing my palms down my scruffy face that hasn’t been shaven in weeks. Although, now there is a tiny, curious part of me that is wondering what he means about her not being sweet and innocent.
“Lucy and I got to know each other this morning when she came to tell me about your little stunt on the roof, asshole!”
Now it all makes sense, why Malcolm came barging in and won’t leave me the hell alone.
“I don’t know what the fuck she told you, but whatever it was, she was probably exaggerating.”
“So you weren’t standing up on the goddamn roof drunk as fuck contemplating throwing yourself over the edge or using the gun you dropped?”
“I was just drunk and messing around. She came out of nowhere and scared the shit out of me. That’s it.”
“Well, it must have looked really fucking bad for the girl to seek me out at the pool hall. I just checked, and there’s a fucking combination lock on the door to the roof. She must have added that after catching you ‘messing around’.”
“What the fuck?” I mutter. “How did she find you?”
“Not entirely sure. But my guess is that she saw your cut and then did a little online research. Apparently, she’s really good with computer shit.”
“The next time I see her, I’m gonna tell her to research how to mind her own goddamn business.”
“You do that,” Malcolm agrees when he stands up. “And your ass better stay off the goddamn roof! That’s an order! Now, where the hell are the rest of your guns?”
“My guns? What about them?”
“I’m taking them with me, even if I have to search every nook and cranny in this filthy hellhole.”
“Help yourself, asshole,” I say. I’m not going to help him find a damn thing.
Chapter Four
Lucy
* * *
For the past few hours, I’ve turned my car and apartment upside down looking for my cell phone, knowing it has to be here somewhere. I had it with me for turn-by-turn directions to the pool hall earlier today, and then it just disappeared. Using my laptop to track it hasn’t been much help either since it must have died. The last location it pinged was here in the apartment building around thirty minutes ago. I even dumped my purse on the floor to sort through each and every item, thinking I somehow overlooked the thick brick, but it wasn’t in there either.
The sudden banging on my door sounds ominous, and not just because I was watching Sinister on Netflix.
I haven’t made any friends in town yet and didn’t place any orders in for food tonight, so I have no idea who could be outside my apartment.
Tiptoeing over quietly while barefoot in my strawberry print cami and pajama shorts, I put my eye up to the peephole and then blow out a breath when I recognize the bearded man with long brown hair. But what the heck is Malcolm doing here? He must have made good on his promise to check on Nash, but how did he know which apartment was mine?
Since he didn’t give off any psycho vibes earli
er today when he was holding a baby girl, I unlock the chain and deadbolt to pull the door open and find out.
“How’s your grumpy friend doing? Still breathing?” I ask, concerned for the poor, depressed soul.
“For now,” he grumbles while running his fingers through his wavy locks, still wearing his leather vest and jeans.
“Has anyone ever told you that you look like Jesus?” I blurt out while leaning my shoulder on the door frame. That’s always been a problem of mine, saying whatever I happen to be thinking without a filter. Malcolm’s lips frown underneath his facial hair.
“Looks can be deceiving, can’t they?” he replies with an eyebrow arched.
“Sure they can,” I agree offhandedly.
“Take you, for instance,” he says. “You look like a goody-two shoes that’s young enough to sell girl scout cookies. When, in fact, you’re a troublemaker.”
“I don’t think I know what you mean,” I respond innocently around an audible gulp.
“Maybe this will refresh your memory,” Malcolm replies. Reaching behind his back, he pulls out a cellphone in a bright pink case. I’m about to make a comment about the odd color choice for such a tough-looking man when I realize it’s not his phone but my phone in his hand.
“You found my phone!” I exclaim in relief.
“Found. Borrowed. Browsed. Possibly all of the above,” he says with a smirk.
“What? Without my face or code, you couldn’t have unlocked it,” I reply defensively.
Like a magician, he reaches behind him again, this time pulling out my cloth, floral wallet that matches my purse from his pocket.
“Jesus! What the hell!” I exclaim since I didn’t even realize it was missing. “You stole my wallet too?” I jerk both items out of his hands and use my elbow to try and slam the door in the thief’s face before he blocks it with the toe of his boot.
“Not so fast,” he warns, pushing the door open a few more inches. “A girl as smart and technically savvy as you really should come up with a better passcode. I mean, using your birthday month and date is just child’s play.”
Great. So, he figured out my passcode, getting my birthdate from my driver’s license and went through my phone.
“The things you’ve done.” Malcolm lets loose a low whistle. “I bet all those men would love to find out where you live. If they could find you before law enforcement got their hands on you…” he trails off, making it an obvious threat.
“I tracked you down because I was worried about your friend, and this is how you repay my good deed, by intimidating me?” I snap at him.
“Don’t even pretend you’re the innocent little girl here. I ain’t buying it. I saw the screenshots. You’re savage as shit, ruining men’s lives.”
Rather than continue to argue that they deserved it, I sigh and cave. “What do you want?”
“You mean in exchange for me not making your life hell?”
“Yes.”
“Well, I’m glad you asked, girly. I’ve got just the job for you.”
“Who do you want me to hack? I’m not stealing anyone’s money,” I tell him. That’s one line I won’t cross. What I do may be considered cyber-bullying, but it isn’t the type of crime I would ever go to jail for.
“Nothing like that. In fact, you won’t have to do anything illegal.”
“I won’t?” I ask in surprise.
“Nope.”
“Then what is it? You need a baby-sitter? If so, that’s a hard pass for me too,” I reply. It would be impossible to see an adorable baby every day knowing I can never have my own.
“Something along those lines actually. Except he’s a grown-ass man, not a baby.”
“Huh?” I ask with my brow bunched in confusion.
“My boy Nash is going through some shit, as you witnessed for yourself last night. By the way, I appreciate you shutting down the roof access.”
“Okay?” I reply.
“But it’s going to take a helluva lot more than a combination lock to keep him in line. If I didn’t have businesses to run or a wife and kid at home, I would crash with him myself until he comes out the other side of this. The same goes for the rest of his MC brothers. Everyone is busy with their own shit, though. That’s where you come in.”
“Me?” I repeat.
“You’re going to watch out for Nash, clean his apartment, get him eating and showering again, you know, take care of him in any way he needs.”
“He needs professional help! You can’t expect me to be some depressed guy’s maid, cook, and his what, personal cheerleader for free?” I scoff.
“No, not for free.” This time, Malcolm reaches inside his leather cut and pulls out a wad of green bills and offers them to me. “I’ll pay you five hundred a week. Your bank account’s low, so I’m guessing being a troublemaker doesn’t pay all that well.”
“I do it because those assholes deserve it, not to make money off the people they hurt!”
“Either way, you can use the cash, and I think my offer is more than generous. I’m not exactly known for being charitable, but I’ve got a soft spot for my boy.”
“Nash, right?”
“Don’t do that. Don’t act like you just learned his name. I know Nash is what brought you here in the first fucking place!”
Holy. Shit. “How did you…”
“I have a damn good private investigator. It took him all of about ten minutes to find out everything there is to know about you, girl scout.”
“Wow,” I mutter.
“Take care of him, and I’ll keep all your secrets. Not only will I keep my mouth shut, but the MC will have your back if you ever need the muscle thanks to your extracurricular activities.”
“Really?” I say in surprise.
“If nothing else, I’m a man of my word,” he tells me.
“I’m not a great cook,” I mutter.
“Then use the cash to order in. I don’t give a shit. Just check in on him at least once a day. Getting something in him other than alcohol once in a while would be a good start. He needs to sober up and get some perspective.”
“And how long exactly do I have to watch out for him? He really does need to see a professional.”
“Nash would never willingly see a shrink. So, you’re going to keep an eye on him until I say so,” Malcolm grumbles while shoving the cash toward me.
“I can’t babysit your friend forever or keep him from hurting himself!” I exclaim when I back away from the money.
“Unfortunately, you’re all I’ve got right now. I can’t throw him in a mental ward, and I don’t think that’s even what he needs right now, or I would do it. He just needs time to come to terms with everything. A feminine distraction would be nice, too. That’s you.”
“How long am I supposed to distract?”
“We’ll start with two months, or until he fucks you, whichever comes first.”
“Excuse me?” I gasp indignantly. “I don’t care what dirt you have on me! I’m not a whore you can just pimp out!”
With his free hand, Malcolm shoves his fingers through his hair and mutters something about difficult women. “Look, I’m not paying you to try and screw him, but if it happens, it happens. Nash needs to let off some steam. The sooner, the better. The man’s been celibate for three goddamn years.”
“No way. Three years? You’re exaggerating,” I accuse him through narrowed eyes.
“I wish I was, girl scout. Trust me, if I knew a clean hooker, I would hire her over you in a heartbeat to go bang some sense into him.”
“I thought men couldn’t go a few days without humping someone or they’ll explode.”
“We can’t, usually,” Malcolm agrees. “Nash is loyal to a fucking fault. His head is all messed up, and I don’t know what else to do for him.”
“So, you’re recruiting me to be his servant-slash-whore because that’ll make him feel better?”
“How about you start by just trying to be his friend and go from there, ye
ah? And keep this and the real reason you’re here to yourself. No need to give him another reason to spiral.”
“Fine,” I agree, jerking the cash from his hand. “Not like I really have a choice unless I want to move again, right?”
“I think we’re finally on the same page,” he replies. “Since he probably won’t open up if you knock, I’ll give you my spare key to his apartment.”
I look at the gold key in his hand in complete disbelief. “You want me to just barge into his place without his permission?”
“Yes,” Malcolm agrees. “Don’t worry. I took all of his guns and big knives, so he probably won’t attack you. It’s not like he has the energy to put up a fight.”
“He ‘probably’ won’t attack me? Seriously?”
“Just say I hired you to clean and cook for him. Tell him that I’ll come kick his ass if he has a problem with it.”
“This is going to be a train wreck,” I mutter to myself.
“Like you’ve got anything better to do?” Malcolm huffs before he starts to walk away. “I’ll be calling you or dropping by once a week to see if you’re making progress. My phone number is in your contacts if he gets worse or you need anything.”
“Being a blackmailing dick while looking like Jesus really should be a crime!” I yell at his back.
“Good thing it’s not or I would be serving a life sentence!” is his gruff response.
Chapter Five
Nash
* * *
The smell of smoke hits my nose seconds before the screeching of the fire alarm goes off.
What the fuck? Is someone trying to burn down the apartment complex?
I actually made it to my bed before I passed out last night, so I push myself up to a sitting position. After the room stops spinning, I throw my legs over the side to stand up and stagger out of the bedroom in nothing but the navy-blue sweats I’ve had on for so many days I’ve lost count to try and find the source of the smoke.
