by Nikki Wild
"Schoonerville is Horseman territory," Hoff piped up from the back of the room. "You wanna risk our skins dealing on their turf?"
"Not our skins," Army pointed out with a smirk.
"They're Prospects, not condoms," I snapped, making eye contact with Army. He was barely patched in himself, so he shouldn't be so blase about the well-being of our recruits. "I know a few Horsemen. I'll talk to 'em. They might wanna buy, wholesale."
Train snapped and pointed at me, nodding.
"Good," he said. "We need more shit like that. Anyone?"
"How much blow do you think we'd need to plant on that fuckin' DA lawyer to get him in trouble?" Tusk asked.
"The one who put Leaf away? Not much. I like it," Pony said.
"Plus, we could probably dump a lot of it on our boy behind bars," I suggested, then turned to look at Spit. "You still got that friendly prison guard’s number?"
"Yup," he said. "I'll make a call."
"Daddy?"
A tiny voice cut through the huge room, and every eye turned towards the door - none quicker than mine.
Amy rubbed her eyes, holding her blankie against her like a shield, looking like a Norman Rockwell picture with her tousled blond hair and pouty lips. I was on my feet in a second, rushing to sweep her into my arms.
"What's wrong, baby? Did you have a bad dream?"
The minute I felt her body, though, I knew it wasn't a dream that woke her. She was a little bundle of heat. Not burning up - but definitely hot enough for a fever. I nodded to my brothers, who shared looks of patient sympathy, and went out into the hallway. I wouldn't be missed, and they knew that my daughter came first. Hell, she came first for them, too. I think most of them liked Amy more than they liked me, to be honest. And why wouldn't they? My daughter was fucking adorable.
Normally, she didn't stay at the clubhouse. There was a wing for old ladies and kids, but it was rarely used - no matter how many dolls we shoved into that closet we called a playroom, the place would never be too kid-friendly. But Danielle, Amy's mother and my longest one-night-stand, had dropped her off in a big fuckin' rush that night, some excuse on her lips as she drove away.
Danielle had nearly full custody of Amy, which I both hated and understood. After all, I wasn't in a position to give my daughter the kind of Sesame Street life she deserved. Being with the Rogue Tide meant I’d never want for money, or protection for my girl if I needed it, but it almost meant I was a straight-up criminal. I could never provide the white picket fence, the golden retriever, the stay-at-home mom with ants on a log waiting when Amy got home. Not that Danielle was much better, but at least she’d never killed a person (that I know of.)
But I did the best I could for Amy, nonetheless. With no babysitter on call and most of the club mamas indisposed, I'd stayed up with her until she fell asleep, then tucked her into bed. I wasn't afraid to leave her alone in my room; like I said, she was pretty damn beloved. No one would touch a hair on her head, or let anything bad happen to her. If they tried, it'd be the last thing they ever did.
"Feel bad," Amy murmured, wrapping her little arms around my neck. I patted her back, striding down the hall back to my bedroom. Shit. Did we even have a thermometer in this place? I had some baby aspirin - should I take her to the hospital? It was too late for her pediatrician, and if her fever was high enough...
"Sinner," a slurred voice called from a doorway just as I was about to enter my own room. I turned to see a swaying redhead coming my way. I sneered; didn't the bitch see I was busy? But I shouldn't have been so quick to judge. The girl, no more than twenty, was holding a small thermometer. She crashed against a wall, laughed, and held it out. She was wasted, but she was also helpful. I grabbed the thermometer.
"Heard she wa' cryin', an' - hic - seemed a l'il sick," she slurred, waving sloppily at Amy, who hid her face in my shoulder. "Wen' to get a 'mom'ter. Hic - gonna be 'kay?"
"Yeah," I grunted. "Thanks."
I closed the door behind me. I'd prefer not to have drunk women taking care of my daughter, but it was better than nothing. I didn't know the redhead, but I figured I owed her something - if I saw her again, she'd get a free ride. That was payment enough, in my opinion. Without sounding too cocky, my dick was prime territory around the clubhouse, and all those lollipops knew it. But I wasn't even starting to think about that, not with my little girl sick and crying.
"Daddy," she whimpered. She wasn't sweating or shaking, which was good. Hopefully this was just a little fever. I popped the thermometer into her mouth and held the back of her head in my hand. She squirmed and moaned a complaint.
"Sorry, baby," I said, holding the thermometer in place. "I know it's uncomfortable, but Daddy needs you to stay still, okay?"
She sniffled, but then shrugged and went limp, accepting what I said. Amy was a good kid. The best, in my opinion, but even without my prejudice, she was straight-up good. I loved when I got to pick her up from kindergarten. Her teacher always had something good to say. The same boy who grabbed a toy out of her hand at playtime would be reading a story with her before nap time. When a kid spilled his crackers on the floor, Amy was the first to give him half of her snack. I don't know where she got it. Certainly not from me, and sure as hell not from her mother.
"Okay, rice cake," I said, pulling out the thermometer. The year Amy turned 4, when I asked her what kind of cake she wanted for her birthday, she asked for a rice cake. The name kind of stuck. "Thank you for being good."
She leaned into my side, holding my bicep, barely able to reach her arms around it. The thermometer read a little below 100 degrees. A low fever. Wouldn't warrant a trip to the hospital, but I'd be making an appointment first thing in the morning.
"Do you hurt anywhere, rice cake?" I asked, detaching her from my side just long enough to grab the baby aspirin from the bathroom. Again, she grimaced and fought me, but when I gave her my no-nonsense face she sighed and swallowed the pills, following them with the glass of water I'd put at her bedside.
"Troat," she said, holding her neck, croaking the word out. I hoped it was just strep, which she'd had before.
"Want a popsicle?" I smoothed a hand over her forehead, still concerned by the warmth radiating from it, pushing her golden hair back on her head. She nodded, yawning, sleepy again. I grabbed one from the mini-fridge beside my bed, which usually only contained beer, and unwrapped it for her. "Do you think you can go back to bed, baby?"
"Story?" She asked, hopeful but not expectant. That always damn near broke my heart. My little girl should have expected the whole damn world to bow to her - because it would, if I had anything to say about it - but she always asked for things like she'd be lucky to get a yes.
I hoped, when she got older, she'd get a little tougher, but still keep some of that sweetness inside her. Not enough for anything to hurt her, but enough that I could always recognize my baby girl. That's why I didn't fight for more custody. I knew that if it was up to me to raise her, with my life the way it was, she'd get too hard too quick. Like I had.
I hoped her mother might offer her something better, but I couldn't deny that Danielle was far from ideal as a parent. She didn't live the club life anymore, but she was still a crazy bitch on most accounts.
"Of course, baby," I said, reaching into her overnight bag. The book I pulled out was a book I knew well enough to recite by heart. Sam, Bangs, and Moonshine was a weird book. Old, too. I thought the pictures were ugly, but Amy loved them. And she loved the weird story, about the little girl who was a compulsive liar, and her friend who believed it all. The landscape, I guess, was like our own New England city, all windy and cold on the seaside. And it was a story about a girl who lived alone with her father - just her father.
That detail didn't escape me.
She was asleep minutes into the reading, but I stretched out next to her and kept going until the end. Just in case she woke up again. I'd intended to rouse her after church and bring her back to my apartment, which was marginally more kid-friend
ly, but now that she was sick I didn't dare. Instead, I watched her sleep, listening to her breath.
I would rather be sick myself than watch her suffer through even the slightest illness. The popsicle had mostly gotten into her stomach, but a generous amount of sugary residue coated her face. That could wait until morning, too. Eventually, I fell asleep at her side, which I feel no shame admitting was one of my favorite places to be.
Chapter 2
Lucya
By the way she was banging on the door, you'd think the house was burning down.
My alarm hadn't even gone off yet. Groaning, I grabbed the covers from over my head and shoved them down to my feet. I may or may not have indulged in a small temper tantrum about waking up before 5 on a March day, which meant it was dark as hell outside and cold as a witch's tit. I rolled over to turn on my bedside lamp.
"Lu," my sister's voice came through the door. At least she'd stopped banging. "I really need your help!"
"Give me a minute," I said, reaching for the big fuzzy robe I always slept in, and always woke up without. At some point during the night, it would always become too hot for comfort, and I'd wrestle myself out of it, kicking it to the bottom of the bed.
The bottom of the bed also happened to be the black hole into which all the detritus of my life wound up. My floor was immaculate, because everything that would normally end up down there ended up at my feet. I took a bleary moment to examine this treasure trove of consumer crap, which currently included a hair straightener (my hair is naturally straight), a single Ugg boot (hadn't worn Uggs since high school), a binder of study material from nursing school (only three years old), a purse turned inside-out (needed to be washed), and an empty box of Cheez-its (and I mean empty, I even sucked up the crumbs).
Like I said, at least my floor was clean.
Somewhat dressed, I shuffled into some pink fuzzy slippers, already feeling an ache in my feet. As a pediatric nurse, it came with the territory. Even in the sleepy city of Vernon, at a private practice, most of my day was spent on my feet. Actually, the whole private practice thing was a huge step up from working at Vernon Methodist. It had only been a few weeks, but I was already feeling a little more like the 27-year-old woman I was, instead of the 43-year-old woman my job was turning me into.
"Alright," I sighed, opening the door and grimacing in the bright hallway light. "What is it today? Wheel? Shoulder?"
"Full-on handstand," Alyona said, turning around. Her little yoga outfit made her already-perky 21-year-old body seem even perkier. If I were a terrible sister, I would hate her for it. But I'm a wonderful sister. So wonderful that I didn't even mind when Aly woke me up at 4:45 to help her do a goddamn handstand.
As far as I knew, Aly didn't sleep. She hadn't slept as a baby, or a toddler, or a kid, or a teenager. I have no idea what she did with all those extra hours she wrung out of a day. Mostly watched TV, I supposed. Maybe studied for her degree in English. Probably not, given the fact that she wasn't only well-figured and beautiful, she was also smart as hell.
Walking into her room was like walking into a mirror universe. Aly was no neater than me - you'd think all those extra waking hours would give her time to clean - but she chose to live her life through the mess rather than sleep in it. A path carved through her room, ending in the extra-wide clear space reserved for her yoga mat. Like my room, the furnishings didn't match the modernity of the mess. Everything we owned was antique, from our matching vanities to Aly's Empire-style bed to my 18th-century armoire.
Add in the lace curtains, the deep red rugs, and the portraits of dead people, and you'd think there shouldn't even be outlets for our curlers and humidifiers.
Aly got herself into some sort of position, her whole body went stiff, she grunted, and I was treated to a face-full of feet. I grabbed her ankles, helping her legs steady out as she pushed up onto her palms.
"How long are you going to hold this?"
"As long as I can," she said. Not even finding it hard to breathe. I rolled my eyes and waited.
"Alexei is downstairs," Aly offered by way of conversation.
"Is that so," I said. I shared the large house on Montgomery with my younger sister and older brother. Our Uncle and his father lived a block away, in a mansion even more lavish and antiquated than ours. The whole neighborhood was made up of the Bratva, our family by blood or by association. It wasn't uncommon to wake up and find your living room was being used as a meeting room. "Talking to Daniil?"
"And Deda," Aly offered. Our grandfather was the former Vor of the Russian mafia in New England. The Bratva, as we were called, extended from the bottom of Massachusetts to the top of Maine. Four different cells operated across the coast, with our family in the center. Alexei, the current Vor, commanded an army of brigadiers, boyeviks, and shestyorkas. That's like generals, soldiers, and henchman, respectively.
"About...?"
"What do you think," Aly grunted, finally sounding like she was struggling a little. She still managed to do a pretty good Pinky and the Brain voice. "Same thing we talk about every night, Lucy. How to take over the Rogue Tide."
"Huh," I said, rolling my eyes. Aly's legs began to shake. "Ready to come down?"
"Not...yet," she said. "Try to let go."
"You'll fall on your face!"
"So?"
"So, I'm your sister, I like your face too much to watch you fall on it."
"Let me go, Lucya," Aly said, daring to kick her legs a little. I didn't want to let her go. She could really hurt herself. Maybe I babied Alyona, but only because she was my baby sister. Besides, this was the girl who rode with training wheels until she was twelve. And if I let go, and she hurt herself, it would be my fault. I would never forgive myself. Ever since our parents died, I tried to be the mother we needed. To Daniil too, but mostly to Aly. She even called me little mother, usually sarcastically.
"Aly, I really..."
"Let me go!" Aly gave one big kick and I released her ankles. She tottered for a moment, standing on her hands. I could see her torso clenching as she worked her core to its limit. She lasted for one...two...three...fou...
Three and a half.
"Ugh!" Aly's feet slammed onto the mat with a force that sounded painful. She rolled back into a seated position, and gave me a sarcastic bit of flourish. "Ta da."
"So impressed," I said, ruffling her hair as I walked past her, down the cleared aisle, out into the hallway. "I'm taking a shower."
"You know, you can't always worry so much about other people hurting themselves," Aly pointed out as I was halfway out the door. "It's not up to you to decide when to let go. You don't get to make those decisions for people."
"Tell that to your pretty nose, which is still intact and unbroken," I said with a wave of my hand.
After my shower and simple make-up routine, combing out my black hair and adding a little bit of blush to my pale cheeks, brown mascara for my blue eyes, I felt nearly ready to join the human race.
The last piece of the puzzle: coffee. As much of it as my stomach could take. I could worry about my bladder later. Alyona had gotten into the shower after me, so I didn't have to deal with any more sage advice on my way downstairs.
Coffee was already made. Thank god for early morning Bratva business. I poured a hearty mug, leaned against the marble countertop, and listened to the voices drifting down the hall. As usual, I took exactly half a sip of coffee before spilling some on my pink scrubs. But it wasn't enough to warrant a change of clothes. It's not worth it to get dolled up before work, I've learned. Not when work mostly involves vomit, snot, blood, dirt, finger-paint, drool, and opened, half-sucked lollipops.
"They stole from us," Alexei barked. My brother sat across from him in the study; I shouldn't have been listening, but the kitchen was close enough to the study for me to hear anyway, and my curiosity was strong enough. I only had a few minutes, anyway, before I had to leave for work.
"Because you left the car unlocked and unguarded for three hours," Daniil
pointed out. "On their side of town!"
Good point, Daniil, I thought. If the circumstances were a little less dire, I'd be laughing at it all. Leave it to dear old Uncle Alexei to get distracted in a strip club in the middle of a drug deal. Moron didn't deserve his place at the head of the family. He didn't even deserve his place at the head of the table.
But fuck if I'd ever say any of that out loud. I cared way too much about keeping my head and neck attached to the rest of my body.
"That is not the point," Alexei yelled, and something smashed in conjunction with his outburst. The man was a goddamn boar. "They knew who they were stealing from, and they did it anyway. I want to show them what happens when they do that. Disrespect us!"
"And we will," Daniil pressed. "Of course we will, Uncle Alexei. But I cannot sit by and watch you parade our family to their deaths, like lemmings!"
"It's not your call," Alexei growled.
"Daniil is right," Deda said, in Russian. My grandpa's voice was frail and husky from years of smoking and drinking and generally living hard. But it was also stronger than Alexei's, or even Daniil's, when it came to effect. He may have retired from the post Alexei now held, but his word held weight. A lot of weight. Enough for the silence after his words to feel final, even if Alexei was the one who really had the final say. "It is too soon. We want them to put their guards down before we go to them."
"You're gonna be late," Aly said from the stairway. "And you know you shouldn't be..."
"Hey," I said, shooting a finger up to her face. "You don't tell your older sister what she should or shouldn't do."
