Loaded

by Max Henry

  Steph giggled at her poor impersonation, but her heart ached a little for the girl. She couldn’t have been in the game for long, and it seemed Pete was expecting more of her than her years allowed. “He’s not the most tolerant person, so I guess it makes him a pretty hard to be around sometimes.” Janie nodded at her observation. “But you have to remember,” Steph continued, “that he’s got good reasons for what he does. He only pushes so hard because he wants you to learn your potential.”

  “He goes a pretty backward way about doing it.”

  “That he does.”

  ***

  He could feel who came through the staff-only door before he looked around. Her presence licked the length of him like an adoring puppy, waiting to be petted. And sweet Jesus, the ways he would pet her if they weren’t in such a crowded place.

  “Where do I start?” Steph asked, edging her hip into the work-top.

  He grunted, and looked about the place as his hands stuffed short straws in drinks on autopilot. What the hell was Cutie playing at? Did she think Janie needed saving? Was the girl that incompetent? Or was it Steph knew what he’d do if he lost his shit again tonight?

  “I guess you know the difference between a shot glass, and a schooner?”

  She smirked, one-sided and sexy. “What do you think?”

  “You’ve just surpassed Janie at level one.”

  “She can’t be that bad?”

  He gave her a raised brow as he shoved the drinks over the counter to a couple of giggling women.

  “Right. Conversation for later,” Steph remarked flatly. “Show me where to go, Boss.”

  Pete took a moment to look at the kind-hearted, selfless woman before him. How did he ever get so lucky to find a girl who’d do anything for a stranger? She didn’t know Janie from the next short blonde on the street, so why did she feel so compelled to step in?

  “Ya weren’t actually that bored, were ya?”

  She shrugged. “A little. Also couldn’t be assed watching you berate the poor girl again.”

  He scowled at her assumption that the grilling he gave Janie was purely from spite, and nothing to do with the continual lack-lustre job she did. “Well, since you don’t have a licence, I’ll have to get you to do the cash, and odd jobs.”

  “I’m all yours.” She stood to attention, waiting for him to speak.

  All he could do was eyeball her, stuck on ‘all yours’.

  He managed to turn from Steph’s expectant stare, and leant over the counter for the next order. A bearded guy shouted a list of drinks in his ear, and immediately he dissected the menu into those Steph could prepare, and those he had to handle. The effortless way she picked up his instructions and ran with them left him seriously impressed—and a little turned on. A dozen orders later she had memorised where each of the glasses were kept, how the till worked, and which order he liked to pour his spirits. The woman exceled at everything she touched.

  Even him.

  “How am I doing?” she quizzed between influxes of thirsty drunks.

  “Legendary.” He ran a knuckle along the length of her jaw. “What’s Janie doing?”

  “She was doing inventory when I went in a moment ago.”

  He nodded, fully aware Janie had run a full stock-take only two nights ago. The girl was slacking … and playing Steph for a fool.

  “So,” Steph smirked, leaning a hip into the low fridges. “You got any flashy cocktail moves you can show me?”

  “Ya askin’ me if I can sling a bottle, Love?”

  She nodded, pure amusement making her eyes sparkle.

  “Take a seat—” He nodded toward the empty stools at the bar-top. “—and I’ll show ya a thing or two.”

  Steph rounded the bar in record time, slipping in on a stool with her hands clasped before her, a huge grin over her face. His gaze lingered a second on her cleavage which had gained a healthy boost from her position, and he picked up a cocktail glass.

  “Fruity? Sweet? Tart?”

  “Are you calling me a tart, Mr O’Malley?”

  “I’m only statin’ the obvious.”

  He willed the rush of blood back to the rest of his body as she leant over the top to smack him on the arm. Her blouse bunched as she moved, giving him clear view of the girls.

  “Fruity it is then.” He smirked.

  She laughed as he prepared the drink, tossing the bottle every which way, showing his finesse as he poured the liquids into the vessel. He added the final touch right as Gary fell onto the stool next to Steph.

  “Getting quiet, Boss.”

  “Thank fuck. My wrists are killin’ me.”

  “Old man,” Gary teased as Pete slid the drink to Steph.

  She clapped with delight, and drew a long pull of the colourful beverage. “Mmm,” she moaned. “That is divine. What is it?”

  Pete shrugged. “Don’t know if it has a name. I made it up for you.”

  Appreciation showed in the casual slouch of her shoulder, and the lazy smile she threw his way. “Thank you. It’s lovely.”

  “Where’s Janie?”

  Pete glanced at Gary. “Where do ya think?”

  “Hiding out back?”

  He nodded.

  “Does she do this a lot?” Steph twirled the straw in her drink, looking between the two of them.

  “Near on every night,” Gary filled in. “She doesn’t handle stress well; can’t take the pressure when the numbers get high.”

  “What did she do before to make you have a go at her?”

  Pete looked at Steph, staring so sweetly innocent at him. So now she wanted to know what the argument was about? “She was handing out free drinks to anybody who paid her a fuckin’ compliment.”

  “I’m sure you’ve done the same.”

  Gary snorted at Steph’s statement. He laid the man with a glare. Not now, mate.

  “They were footy boys, Love. They only way they know how to talk to women is by using lame one-liners.”

  “So, how many drinks are we talking about?”

  He paused while her lips wrapped about the straw, wishing it were something else she had in her mouth. Pull it together. “Eleven.”

  Candy coloured liquid dribbled from Steph’s nose as she choked on the drink. “Excuse me?” She swiped at the drops with the back of her hand.

  “See ma point?”

  “Yeah, I guess so.”

  “You should give her a final warning, bro.” Gary frowned at the latest.

  “Ya know I can’t.” He’d lost count of the warnings she’d earned, but as much as he despised the woman, it didn’t mean those who were dependant on her needed to suffer.

  “It’s not your problem, Pete.”

  He narrowed his gaze on the big guy, shooting warning flares his way. Now wasn’t the time to be talking about his proclivity to get too involved. “She needs the income.”

  “You can’t keep covering the losses in the till with your own money, man. Sooner or later Phil’s going to find out.”

  “Who’s Phil?” Steph asked around the straw.

  “My boss.”

  “Why are you hiding what she’s doing then if it’s so bad? Am I missing something here?”

  “Only the real reason why he can’t sack Janie,” Gary ribbed. “He’s too soft.”

  “For good reason,” he felt compelled to add.

  Steph looked between the two of them, waiting on an explanation. Gary glanced over, and lifted a thick eyebrow. “You going to tell her?”

  He sighed, rubbing his temples. “She has a kid; she’s a single mother. This job is all she can get.”

  “Oh.” He could make out the cogs working in Steph’s head as she aligned the facts. “So you don’t want to fire her in case she can’t get more work, and her child suffers for it.”

  He nodded. No way would he be the reason a kid starved.

  “Gary’s right, Babe. It’s not your problem.”

  He shook his head side-to-side. “Still don’t want it on my con
science.”

  “You can’t fix everyone’s issues,” she soothed.

  He locked his gaze with those beautiful eyes, willing her to realise what she’d said. “No. Ya can’t.”

  ***

  Steph watched Pete as he walked to the far end of the bar to serve a group of newcomers. She’d realised the faux pas the minute the damn words left her mouth, but it was too late to fix it now. In that moment she’d voiced the exact thing that had underpinned what they’d been through the last few weeks—she was still trying to solve his problems for him.

  Time to admit when you can’t do it, Steph.

  She didn’t want to give up on him though, not yet. He had too much going on with his mother, and she could put money on the fact he would crack sooner rather than later. Nobody was impenetrable when it came to the betrayal of your family. Didn’t matter how angry blood relations made a person, it still hurt like a bitch when they spat on your trust.

  “Cass talks about you a lot.”

  She turned to find Gary studying her in her moment of reflection. “That’s nice.”

  He sighed, and shook his head. “It’s none of my business—“

  “You’re right, it’s not,” she interjected.

  “But,” he stared her down. “Cass is torn up about it. She realises she was pushing her opinions on you.”

  “So why hasn’t she bothered to say sorry, Gary? Tell me that. Because so far all I have is a never-ending list of reasons why she doesn’t like Pete.”

  He curled the corner of his lips. “She has a reason to, don’t you think?”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Wasn’t this guy meant to be his friend? Knives came out in record time around here.

  “Put yourself in her shoes, Steph. Pete is a dangerous guy—if you’re on his wrong side. She doesn’t see what you and I do because he doesn’t let many people close to the real Pete. All she sees is the danger, and she’s worried about you.”

  Steph swallowed a thick gulp of the not-so-sweet tasting drink. The turn of conversation had soured her taste buds … along with her mood. “I’d still like an apology from her first. She didn’t exactly go about showing her concern with the greatest tact.”

  Gary smiled. “She’s never been one for sparing others feelings.” He stared off at nothing in particular with a whimsical vacancy.

  “How do you guys know each other?”

  He chuckled. “I’m not going to be crucified for telling you before her.” The big guy spun on his stool so he sat facing her, his knees brushing the side of her thigh. “What you girls need is a locked room, with you two in it.”

  Steph snorted. “Sounds life threatening for at least one of us.”

  “At least you women would get past your damn egos, and sort shit out.”

  He slid from the seat, and walked with a casual swagger towards the entrance. Steph eyed him from her seat, feeling remarkably smaller than she had a few minutes ago.

  “Ya look like you’ve sucked a lemon, woman. What did the mug say to ya?”

  She shook her head at Pete’s concern. “Nothing I didn’t need to hear.”

  Pistol opened the door for Steph, and stood back to give her enough room to swing her legs from the low ride-height of the rod. He held out his hand, feeling that familiar rush of endorphins as she took hold and lifted herself to stand. She caught his gaze, and gave a slow smirk.

  “What would you be thinking, Mr. O’Malley?”

  He hummed as his eyes ran the length of her; delicious in her blouse, skirt, and oh-so enticing heels. “That takin’ ya to work with me is going to be the slowest, yet sweetest torture.”

  “Whatever do you mean?” she taunted, turning back to the rod, and purposefully bending at the waist to grab her bag.

  He laid a flat palm on her backside, relishing the squeal he earned in response.

  “Pete!”

  “Sir,” he growled.

  She squeaked in surprise when he bent at the knees to scoop her over his shoulder, and carry the delicious length of her body toward the front door. He turned his head to look down at his hand as he dug around on the ring for the key. A glint off the hood of a charcoal sedan caught his eye.

  That same car.

  He pretended to struggle with the keys to buy time, and by the noise Steph made she completely bought his act. Pistol’s gaze roamed over the car parked across the street, four houses down, but not far enough away to avoid detection.

  Too familiar.

  Sure, there were a hundred cars of the same model in this area, but what were the odds of more than one, with the same scratch in the front left, being in two areas he’d been tonight? His knotted gut told him what his brain wanted to say, but failed.

  They were followed.

  Fuckin’ mother. The bitch wouldn’t live to see another sunset if this was to do with her. He placed Steph down with a pat on the ass, and ushered her inside. “Go get ready to get sweaty, Love. I’ll be in shortly.”

  “Where are you going?” she asked, understandably confused.

  “Left something in the car.” He nodded toward the rod.

  “I can wait,” she purred, fingers trailing a blaze down his front.

  He grabbed her wrist before she found the waist of his denim, and kissed her knuckles. “I’d rather you saved me the time of undressing ya.”

  Her eyes sparked, and he mentally sagged with relief. Steph turned, and headed through the house as he quietly pulled the door shut behind her. One last job before he sunk himself into all that was pure.

  The cars headlights switched on as he rounded the end of the driveway. A vain attempt to disguise whoever was inside. Pistol increased his pace across the road to a jog, and opened the passenger door as the engine turned over. “Going somewhere?” he asked as he dropped into the seat, and shut the door.

  “Fuck you, O’Malley.”

  He sat in stunned silence. A face he never thought he’d see again stared back.

  ***

  Steph faltered at the click of the lock. If he was only popping out to the car, then why did he feel the need to close the door? Surely he’d only be a minute at most. She spun repeatedly on the spot like an agitating washer, trying to decide if she should carry-on to the bedroom as he asked, or go after him.

  Decisions, decisions.

  Her hands flew into the air as she sighed, and landed at her sides with a thud. Why did the guy have to be such a freaking mystery? One night. One night without complications. Was it too much to ask?

  Apparently so.

  She slumped onto the couch, still caught between her options still, and decided that going nowhere would be as best bet as any. If Pete didn’t show his frustrating face through that door in the next few minutes she’d be sure to grill him the minute he did walk in.

  Steph crossed her legs; her foot tapped an impatient rhythm as she sat and waited on him like a disappointed parent. If they were to move forward together with all the shit going down in his life, then no more secrets.

  None.

  Nada.

  Zip.

  ***

  “Where the fuck did you drag yerself from?”

  Trevor eyed him with a look that read ‘how the hell do you not know?’

  “Last I heard you were taken down in a bad deal.”

  “Being dead has its advantages.”

  No shit. He looked the brute over head-to-toe, and laughed. “Fuck brother, you got bigger when you died.”

  Trevor smiled, and then quickly drew his scowl back into place. “Yeah. Gotta stay tip-top in this line of work, Son.”

  The cockney hard-ass was known to be a scraggy fighter in their younger days, and although he had carried hardly any size, the man was a killer bare-knuckle boxer. One thing led to another, and before long young Trevor had been dragged into the underground boxing circuit along with the promises of cash, and women.

  But as with anything illegal, sooner or later shit caught up with those involved, and last Pistol heard, Trevor h
ad been shot in a raid. The copper’s had set the lot of them up with a false deal, and three kingpins had been taken in for questioning. Supposedly two came back out, and one died—Trevor.

  “What do ya do? Lift a car on ya days off?”

  The big guy chuckled. “Something like that. I see you’re a scrawny little sparrow still.”

  “Hey,” he laughed, doing an over-exaggerated flex. “It’s not the size of the muscles, but the damage you can do with ‘em.”

  “Fancy a wrestle?”

  “As if. You’d bloody well wear me for a sock after a minute.”

  Trevor winked. “Glad ya know your limits, son.”

  “So,” Pistol slouched into the door. “How about you get to tellin’ me why ya here, because I’ve got urgent matters to attend to.”

  “That doll you carried inside?” Trevor asked, looking over at Pistol’s house.

  “My doll, so keep ya filthy mitts to yerself.”

  “Easy on. Only yanking ya chain.” He met Pistol’s scowl with a smile.

  “Out with it, then. Why ya here?”

  Trevor looked out the windscreen again, and stretched his hands over the steering wheel. “Your old man sent me.”

  “Murray? He’s not me Da.”

  “You know about that, then?”

  “Aye.” His knuckles cracked under the pressure of his fisted hands.

  Trevor looked his way, searching his face for any signs of Pistol’s intentions. “He wants ya dead.”

  “Doesn’t everyone.” He held what he hoped was an impassive stare.

  Silence rent the air about them as each man worked through the predicament.

  “Why haven’t ya done it yet?” Pistol kept his line of sight firmly on the streetlight outside his house, while Trevor sighed.

  “Call it a turn of conscience.”

  He scoffed. “That so?”

  “Yeah. I don’t feel right with it. The old bastard hasn’t let me know what it’s all about, but my gut says it can’t be for anything honest.”

  He shook his head. “Nah, it ain’t.”