by Paula Cox
“We’re sorry boss,” the same man offers meekly. “We just forgot in the rush. We’ll get it fixed. Tony did it last night. I bet he can get it up and running if we give him a call.”
“You better fucking hope he can or all those lost checks out there are coming out of your pay.” Liam raises his hands and walks back towards the office. I scurry inside, afraid he may see me acting interested in his drama. I sit back up on the desk just in time for him to slam the door behind him and take a seat on the one rickety desk chair.
“So... “ I say, trying to break the ice, “What the hell was going on out there?”
“Hacks! Fucking hacks!” Liam rages on, clearly not caring about me knowing. “I hire these inexperienced little punks to run my kitchen, and they fuck it up each and every single night. It’s no wonder why turnout is down.”
“Wait. Your kitchen? This is your restaurant?” He’s really not made that clear to me. Sure, he walked us in like he’s the owner and the guys around him have basically bowed down at his feet, but I thought this was like a mafia thing where he knows the owner, and in exchange for protection or from some blackmail, he gets a meeting space in return.
“No. It’s not mine. It’s my grandma’s. I just run it for her since she’s not up to doing it herself anymore. It’s been in my family for three generations now.” He looks a bit calmer now as he gestures with his eyes towards a picture of an older couple leaned up against an open sign. This man was way more complex than I could even give him credit for.
“So, let me get this straight,” I say, “You’re a criminal of some sort, a leader of a gang, a restaurant manager, and a professional boxer?”
“Amateur boxer,” he says, a small smile crossing his lips. “I haven’t made it up to the pros yet, though my manager, Lucky, thinks it’s going to happen any day now.” He leans back in the seat, obviously enjoying teasing me.
I shrug. “I don’t understand a guy like you,” I reply, smirking.
“You don’t have to, honey. No one asked you to understand me.” Liam stands up and walks towards me, placing his hands on both sides of my body. His breath brushes up against my neck and the curve of my throat. Two green eyes peer down at me as he says slowly and firmly, “All I ask you to do is just obey every single one of my orders. No matter what.”
Oh goodness. I don’t even know how to respond to that command. While I’m speechless, my body is practically crying out to him. The space between my legs warms and rises while the pit in my stomach fills with tiny dancing butterflies trying desperately to escape. One of my legs hitches slightly upwards, rubbing up against his jeans. I can’t control it. I don’t want to control it.
I lick my lips, searching for a voice. When it comes, it doesn’t even belong to me. It belongs to an alternative side of me I’ve suppressed inside for far too long. “So, Liam Murphy… what are you ordering me to do then?”
My lips part, expecting another one of those knee-weakening kisses. But instead of ducking to meet mine, his lips touch my earlobe, brushing a few strands of my messy blonde hair out of his way with his nose. His cheek presses against mine, and I can feel the muscles of his strong jaw flex as he whispers both playfully and seductively, “I am ordering you, Alana Bloom, to have dinner with me tonight.”
Why that sends chills up my spine and makes my hands go numb, I’ll probably never know, but I barely notice him pull away from me and laugh. He holds out a hand, and I take hold, not exactly sure what other choice I have. Despite all my frustrations and conflicted feelings, I know that I can’t say no to Liam.
He brings me back through the kitchen, which is still frantically trying to deal with the burner and then towards the swinging doors to the main dining area. It’s decorated like an authentic Irish bar -- all dark wood from floor to ceiling with soccer scarves and antique emerald green glass everywhere. The bar itself is wood and glass lit up from underneath. Liam lifts his hand towards the bartender who shouts back, “What you drinking, boss?”
He eyes me with a wide, toothy smile, and then announces loud enough so that the rest of the bar and restaurant can hear, “A bottle of champagne and two glasses, Wondo. We’re celebrating tonight.”
Liam points to a table nearby, the chef’s table, closest to the door, and I take the seat across from him. The bartender Wondo follows behind with his order, along with a basket of warm, fresh bread and a handful of menus. Liam pours the bubbly gold champagne as I browse through the offerings. While I feel insanely hungry, I’m not sure if I could eat a bite around Liam. I settle on a summer salad hoping that it will be light enough for me to much on.
We’re not far into our meals, Liam chomping down on some Irish version of a brisket sandwich and me delicately picking at the strawberries in my salad, when the man from outside, the one with the impossibly dark skin, charges towards our table. I try to gesture towards Liam to get his attention, but he’s chowing down too heartily to notice. The man has to actually grab him by his shoulder to gain his attention.
“What the fuck!” Liam shouts over the pounding music. “What do you need that you have to bother me while I’m eating?”
“It’s the truck, boss. We can’t find it.” He points towards the back window towards a truck -- my ice cream truck. My face turns a hot beat red as I try to put everything together. I look back at Liam who is swallowing hard and purposefully looking away from me. Something is up. Something wrong is up.
Liam finally replies, his voice lowered, and his head turned clear from me, “What do you mean you can’t find it? Didn’t I make it clear where to look?” He practically snarls it. This wasn’t part of his plan. I wasn’t supposed to be a factor here. My stomach is turning just watching him seethe in frustration.
Outside, there are at least four or five men dressed in black hovering around my truck. Some are leaning up against the sides, eating wrapped ice cream treats carelessly. One is standing on the back entrance, his head fully hidden in the body of the truck. He has boxes in his hands -- boxes that belong on the inside.
In the meantime, someone inside is tossing things at him or towards the ground. I watch in total helplessness as I see my pristine clean ice cream scoopers and mixers, thermometers, and storage containers being tossed out. The boxes explode when they hit the ground with a crash I was too deaf to hear earlier. Now they sound like little bombs detonating all around me. My eyes actually wince just watching it.
Liam follows my silent, wide mouth. He glares out through the windows and towards the parking lot and then back up to his man. This time he whispers, and it sounds even worse than when he was actually yelling, “What the fuck is going on out there? What are those dumb assholes doing?”
While the two men argue, I reach down into my pants pocket and pull out my cell phone. They’re too blind to see me search through my contacts and find my best friend’s Jana’s name on my favorite’s list. In a fury, I type: Can’t explain what’s going on right now. But I’m at Emerald Pub on Main and 4th with a guy named Liam Murphy. Something’s happening to my ice cream truck. Don’t call the police. But if I don’t call or text you back in one hour, something is wrong. Ok?
With the whoosh sound of the text being sent, I set out to do probably what is one of the stupidest things I’ve ever done in my entire life. I slide myself back out of the booth and past Liam and the perpetually angry man, through the pub (which, thankfully, has become more crowded since we first sat down), and out towards the door. Behind me, I can hear Liam throw himself out of the booth and charge out after me, but I’m too far gone.
I run straight towards the ice cream truck and with my hands clasped around my mouth, I shout, “What the fuck are you doing to my ice cream truck?!” The man standing in the back with the boxes drops all of my gear to the ground with a large crash. He joins the two out front as they slowly walk towards me, each eyeing me like men on a hunting trip marking their prey.
“Who the hell are you?” the largest man asks. His black leather gloved hands are poundi
ng together as if they are warming up. I try to remind myself that I am a five foot three inches tall woman that weighs just about 110 pounds. No way would they hurt me. But as they form a circle around me, I start to doubt everything I know about chivalry. After all, their boss did technically kidnap me at gunpoint.
“I’m -- I’m --” I know that I am stuttering, but I am struggling to find my voice in all the tension. With every second I waste, they take another step towards me. I gulp down the fear and let out a yell, “I am Alana, and that’s my damn ice cream truck you’re tearing through! Now give me my keys and get the hell out of here before I call the cops.” I hold up my phone for emphasis.
However, my threat doesn’t exactly get the reaction I expect. Behind me, one of the men grabs the phone out of my hands and throws it to the ground. His other hand holds tight to my raised wrist, locking me in place. The largest man walks up towards me, pushing his body up against mine. I can smell his sweat and the hint of mint ice cream on his smoky, boozy breath. “There are no po-po here to help you, ice cream princess. And when we want to mess with your truck… or you… we will.”
I watch him grab hold of something in his pocket and pull it out. It briefly shines in the light of the parking lot before the cold blade is pressed up against my neck. The other men stare at me with laughing, light eyes. This is a joke to them -- just another Monday night. My death would be simply a work shift for them.
I close my eyes and concentrate on everything else but the man with the knife and his gang behind him. I just breathe hoping that whatever comes next happens quickly and that Jana will know where to find me when it is.
CHAPTER 6
“Alana! Fuck!” I stomp past Mateo and out towards the parking lot. I can’t believe I have to deal with this. This girl wasn’t part of my plans. I don’t deal with other people. They’re not factors in my plans or decisions. But here I am, chasing after a hell-bent girl concerned about her damn ice cream truck. I knew I should have ditched her when I put a gun to her pretty little head.
From the door, I can hear her scream something. Rodney and the other three make a circle around her, and she disappears in the center, their large bodies blocking her from my view. An arm shoots up. Tyler’s got her. My feet can’t move fast enough to get to her. I scream out, knowing how my boys work, “Don’t fucking touch her, Rodney, or you’ll have me to go through!”
“Are you fucking serious, boss? You’re letting this little pussy walk all over us? Someone needs to teach this Barbie doll bitch who is in charge here.” Despite me, his superior, giving him a direct command, Rodney doesn’t remove the knife from Alana’s throat. This doesn’t surprise me. Both Rodney and Mateo have been testing boundary lines for months now. They’re part of the grumblings around taking over Steel Saints from me.
“I am serious. This girl is an employee of ours, and that is her truck. You don’t think you’d be pissed off if someone were trashing your motorcycle? Who the fuck gave you permission to throw her shit out of her truck?” I know reason isn’t exactly going to work here, but it’s worth a try. I’m not eager to go to the next level tonight, especially with a civilian like Alana around.
She, on the other hand, seems to be caught in her own little world. Her eyes are closed tight, and her lips murmur something silently -- maybe a prayer. Her lean body arches upwards against Tyler’s chest and stomach like a rag doll hanging from a wire. I hate to admit that I’m a bit jealous. I’ve been dying to get her in a position like that since I first spotted her.
Rodney brings me back to reality with his shrill snarls. “An employee?” he snaps. “You’re fucking paying this bitch with our hard earned money? Meanwhile, we can’t even find the stash you say is in there. How do I know that you and this chick ain’t playing us all? You make us go on a wild goose chase in the back of a damn ice cream truck only to run off with the real stuff.” I watch as he takes another step closer to her, the blade actually cuts through Alana’s porcelain white skin just enough that a trickle of red slowly rolls down to her chest and stains the neckline of her white tank top.
Dammit. I really didn’t want to do this. I reach behind me and grab the heavy handgun I’ve been stashing between the waist elastic and my boxers. With a click, I remove the safety and point it squarely at Rodney’s head. “You even think of touching her again with that knife, I will end your life.” I then pivot slightly to Tyler who is already looking back at Rodney for help. “You too. Let her go, and there won’t be trouble. But you both know who I am and what I am capable of. You may wear Steel Saints patches, but I will remove them from your still warm corpses right here in my own parking lot if you think of challenging me again.”
“Whoa. Whoa. Whoa.” Rodney spins the knife in his hand and flicks it close. “Whatever you say, boss. You know we weren’t going to hurt the girl as long as you claimed her.” He snaps his fingers towards Tyler who releases Alana’s wrists. Her eyes burst open as she falls to the pavement, hands first. The men snicker as they walk slowly back to the ice cream truck.
Alana stands up slowly, her eyes are locked on me, and there’s this unannounced, piercing anger boiling in her. “What the hell are they talking about, Liam? What is in my truck?” I don’t owe her an answer. She knew that when she agreed to continue driving for me that this was going to be the way. She wasn’t in on the whole game -- only what I let her see.
“Nothing that concerns you, Alana. That’s it.” I run my hands through my hair nervously. I have no idea why her stare is digging deep within me to pull my stomach out. I turn back towards her ice cream truck, watching as Tyler and Mateo continue to rifle through the insides. This would just be so much easier if I walked in there and pointed out the damn diamonds to them. However, I know that would only make things worse between her and me.
Unfortunately, I don’t have to take a step in any direction. My men do it for me. “Boss!” Tyler calls out from inside the truck. “We found ‘em. Jesus, you know how to hide a stash!” He appears outside the truck and jumps down with the bag held high in his hand. The rest of the men crowd around him as he pulls it open to look inside.
Alana steals a glance at me before darting out towards the men. She’s so fast, I barely register her and neither do my guys. She launches off her feet and grabs at the small bag. I cry out “FUCK! NO! ALANA!” But I’m too late. She manages to surprise the other guys just enough to pull the bag open and peer inside. The diamond bag falls to the floor as her hands shoot up towards her face.
“What the hell are those? Did you use my truck to stash your stolen goods?” Mateo grabs her by the shoulders and roughly shuffles her towards the truck as she continues to scream at me. Tyler and the rest rummage on the ground, looking angrily for any spilled over diamonds. “Why won’t you answer me, Liam!”
“What do you want me to do with this bitch, Liam?” Mateo turns towards me as my thumb glances over the trigger of my gun. “You want me to take her down to the park? I know a couple of guys who could get it done tonight.”
“Down to the park” was our code word for taking a person out of the picture. We had a building, well, more of a shed, down by Raston’s Park where we did all the dirty work. No one but the people I approved ever came back from “the park.”
Alana can read between the lines. Her anger turns to terror as she shouts my name desperately. “Liam! What’s going on? Liam!” The desperation seeps out of her as she claws towards me through Mateo’s sturdy grip around her hips.
“Let. Her. Go.” My words thump like I’ve suddenly become a caveman. I snap, turning the gun’s safety back on and placing it around my back again. “She’ll be fine, and I can handle her from here.” Mateo shoves Alana towards the ground with an audible huff and goes back to the boys who are still marveling at the diamonds. I give them my final orders for the night. “Put them back where you found them.”
“What?” Alana asks as she slowly walks towards me as if she is marching straight to her death. “You can’t use my truck to hold
your stolen goods. I won’t let you.” She looks back at her dad’s ice cream truck mournfully, probably realizing that I wasn’t the person you could exactly turn down. No doubt she was thinking of what her dad would say about the predicament she had gotten herself into just for saying yes to a man like me.
I take a deep breath and put on Steel Saints face. My voice is stern as I command her, “Go inside, Alana.” I point towards the restaurant with an outstretched arm. Her eyes squint and square on me, her arms crossed over her body. She digs one of her feet into the ground before giving up and turning away from me. There isn’t anything she can do here, at least not knowing that I have my gun and those men were certainly not letting her near that truck while they were on duty.
She sulks away, her blond hair swishing with every long stride. At least the picture of her leaving is a sight for me. That round ass in those jeans almost melts away my problems -- almost. I’ve got these jackasses to deal with right now. They’ve cost me any good standing I’ve got with this girl while also trying to assert themselves over me. This was the kind of shit I’ve been dealing with for months now. I have a feeling that, without my gun, that conversation would have ended differently.
