His Brother's Wife

by Mia Ford

  “That son of a bitch.”

  I jerked when someone pounded on my door. Swallowing hard, I ran my hands over my face to remove tearstains and then down my shorts to remove the sweat. I suddenly felt faint, and every dream I’d had in the last five years simply vanished like a puff of smoke.

  “Open the goddamned door, Hannah,” Butch shouted. “Richie wants to see you.”

  Richie, the stealer of dreams, the magic man who could take away hope, happiness, and ambition with a sweep of his manicured hand over a work order.

  Oh yes. I was going to pay. The knock on the door had signaled the when. Now it was just a matter of how.

  Chapter Eighteen: Richie

  “Come in.”

  Butch stepped into the room and stood to the side of the opened door. My sister strode in, giving Butch a wide berth, chin up, shoulders back, not at all the meek little mouse I’d counted on. Well, that shit stopped now because this little tigress needed to know who ran this zoo. I waved her to a chair. Butch closed the door and stood against it. Hannah gave him a side-glance and then parked her ass in the chair like a good little girl.

  “I’m disappointed in you, Hannah.”

  “What’s this about, Richie? I have a busy day tomorrow, and I need to get to bed. It’s almost midnight.”

  “Oh, yes, I can imagine your busy day…what with all the secrets and lies and things going on behind my back.”

  She flinched for a split second, but to give her credit, she rallied well. Her face went back to stone.

  I opened my drawer, scooped out the flash drives, and dumped them on my desk.

  “Care to explain?”

  “I assume you already know what they are,” she snapped.

  “I do.”

  “So why am I sitting here?” She leaned forward. “It’s coursework. I’m trying to better myself.”

  “You don’t need to better yourself. I take care of you.”

  “Did you expect me to just manage this club until it was time to throw me into a home like Nana?”

  “How is Nana?” I asked with a tight smile.

  She leapt up. Butch moved from the door, but I waved him back as Hannah stabbed her finger toward my face.

  “Shut the fuck up,” Hannah snarled, and then she began to pace. “You don’t care, and you have no right to even talk about her.”

  “You’re right. I don’t care, and talking about her bores me. Let’s forget about that old woman. I’ll assume she’s still alive and send next month’s check.”

  She whirled around and pointed to the flash drives. “Those are mine, and I want them back.”

  I swept them back into my drawer, and Hannah’s mouth dropped open. “Sit.” When she stood there staring at me, I added, “Now.”

  She slumped back into the chair and glared at me.

  “Let’s talk about you,” I said easily. There was no point in losing my temper unless I had to. I preferred Hannah complacent, not spitting mad.

  She was still angry, but she was calmer. Things were looking brighter for me now that she’d lost that righteousness and knew things weren’t going to be easy. As for her, things were starting to look gloomier, and she recognized that.

  “What about me?” she muttered.

  “I can’t have you making these sorts of decisions on your own, Hannah. It’s my job to take care of you, and I will do that.”

  She shook her head. “No, I need to have a future, Richie, a future that belongs to me, that I make for myself. I can’t depend on you for everything I need or want in life.” She glanced around and sneered. “I certainly want more than this dump.”

  “And Danny O’Shea?” I asked. “Is he part of this grand scheme of yours?”

  “Danny and I barely know one another,” she said quietly.

  “That may be, though I don’t quite believe it.” I pulled my phone toward me. “I want you to hear something.” I pressed a button, and Steve’s voice came through the speaker.

  “Just a heads-up, boss. Hannah asked for O’Shea’s help with something tonight. He was gone about an hour. After that, it was back to business, but something seemed off to me.”

  The message ended, and I tossed the phone back to the desk. Hannah had paled a bit, and she folded her hands in her lap, but not before I saw the tremble.

  “Care to explain that?”

  “I gave that fucking prick all my tip money to keep his goddamned mouth shut. Rat bastard.”

  “Steve’s my man, Hannah, not yours.”

  “Jesus.” She raked her hair back from her face, drawing in a long breath, and then gestured toward my desk. “I needed help with some of that course work. Danny mentioned once he took some accounting in junior college.”

  “That’s a lie, little sis,” I said softly.

  She shook her head, and Butch moved across the room to stand by the desk.

  I leaned back in my chair. “It’s a lie because on Friday evening there was no course work in your apartment,” I said, feeling greatly satisfied she was so easy to trip up. Hannah couldn’t lie her way out of a paper bag. It was one of the reasons I’d kept her clear of the business. The other was I thought she just might be good at it, and I couldn’t have that.

  She blew out a breath. “That explains why Carmen looked so unhappy on Friday. He gave someone the keys, didn’t he? What did you threaten him with?”

  “The usual,” I said. “But Carmen only played a small role in my little caper. Don’t be too hard on him.”

  “I don’t blame him at all. Carmen’s first loyalty is to his family. But you? You have no loyalty to anyone or anything, especially family.” She leaned forward. “Why are you so threatened by the fact that I might get an education, that I might actually be good at something?”

  “You’re good at a lot of things, Hannah.” I studied her. “I just don’t want you too good. Now”—I gestured to the phone—“what are we going to do about your little interlude with O’Shea?”

  “Stay the fuck out of my life, Richie.”

  I shook my head sadly. “I can’t do that. I’m afraid both of you are going to have to pay—in one way or another.”

  “You’re a complete and utter fuck.”

  “I am,” I said with a nod. “I’ll deal with O’Shea later. First, I have to deal with you.”

  Hannah gulped, but she kept her eyes on me.

  “I’ll let you keep your flash drives.” Her eyes widened, and for one moment, she looked hopeful. “But you’ll have to do something for me.”

  There was that look of hopelessness I wanted. It fell over her face like a dark veil. She cast a glance toward Butch. “Not that.”

  I smiled. “No, not that. Not yet. You can have your course work, even get your silly degree if it matters all that much. Might even work in my favor here at the club. But you’re going to have to make a trade, Hannah. I’m a businessman after all. If I’m going to subsidize your education and give you marketable skills, I have to ensure those skills work toward my best interests.”

  “What do you want?” she ground out.

  “I’ve been making some plans, doing some groundwork of my own. Money is good, and I have plenty of it, but more money is better. Let’s just say I’m doing a favor for a friend. The future consequences will make it well worth my while, and the favor involves a bit of adventure. I’ll need you to be my liaison while we work out the details.”

  “Liaison? In what capacity?” She was a hard bargainer. I could take the credit for that. Always thinking that sister of mine.

  “Courier. Just dropping things off and bringing them back to me.” I held up her hand when she opened her mouth. “Nothing illegal. It’s just communication.”

  “And you’ll let me continue with school?”

  I opened the drawer and returned the flash drives to the desk. “Yes.”

  “And Danny?”

  “I will chalk that up to your own adventurous spirit and assume it won’t happen again—whatever it was. I will chalk up his mi
stake to your charming and persuasive personality and assume you will ensure you’re not in the same place at the same time again.”

  “Can I leave now?” Hannah said, standing.

  “When I have my answer.”

  “I’ll do what you asked. Just give me back my property, and I’ll need your word that you’ll never send someone into my personal space again.”

  “You have my word—as long as you don’t give me a reason to do so.”

  Hannah swept the flash drives into her hands and whirled around, stomping to the door.

  “Open the fucking door, Butch,” she snarled.

  Butch gave me a look and rolled his eyes. He strolled over and opened the door, and Hannah disappeared into the hallway. Butch continued to watch until I assumed she turned the corner.

  “Want me to handle O’Shea?” Butch asked, turning around.

  “No. Leave O’Shea to me. I want to handle that prick personally.”

  Chapter Nineteen: Danny

  Five fucking days.

  I hadn’t seen Hannah in five fucking days. I’d tried calling the club several times during the day, but each time she hung up on me. I’d made a bit of progress because now when she answered she’d say she was too busy to talk before she hung up. The last call I’d made she’d said, “Leave me alone, Danny. Stay out of my business.”

  Like hell. I debated about going in early just to talk, but if she was avoiding for a reason, I didn’t want to jeopardize her wellbeing. I thought seriously about just going upstairs and demanding some answers, but I couldn’t risk it.

  My cock protested each morning, and though the thought crossed my mind that I could have virtually any woman I approached, something about Hannah had me taking care of business myself. I’d stand under the spray of my lukewarm shower, take my cock in my hand, and let the fantasies of that amazing late afternoon fuckfest fill my head with images and my cock with cum. It never took long. After a few tugs, my cock spewed out all my frustration, and cum splattered on the busted tile.

  Jesus. I wanted that girl.

  My shifts had gone pretty well. After Steve had cast a few speculative glances at me when I returned to my post that evening—which seemed like it had taken place in another time and galaxy now—he had pretty much left me alone to do my job. I watched, I bounced, and I waited. For what I wasn’t quite sure, but something hovered in the air, some sort of anticipatory vibe that made my Spidey senses tingle. A cop has these senses, but a cop under cover feels it bone deep. Something was going to happen—and soon.

  Pussy Whipped saw an abundance of low-life scum on a daily basis. In the last week, though, the scum level had taken a marked swing, though I’d yet to figure out if it was up or down. The men coming through the door, strolling through the neon-filled haze and heading into Richie’s office, weren’t the usual enforcers and dealers. These men stunk with an air of hardcore violence. If you wanted a job done—murder, armed robbery, complete and utter mayhem—these were the men you called. Real dicks.

  They chatted with Steve like long-lost friends. They ran their hands over the girls with carte blanche, and when I tried to intervene, I was slapped on the wrist by the head bouncer and told to mind my own fucking business. I tried to be helpful by pointing out I was minding my fucking business because the girls were my business, but when Dougie gave me a stare-down, I shrugged and turned a blind eye—at least from the bouncer’s standpoint.

  My cop radar was tuned in. I’d checked in with Pops several times, and he verified that my radar was working just fine. Apparently, Stan had tuned into a few idle chats while he took a piss in the back alley. After what Stan called “a mind-blowing orgasm,” one of the muscle-bound bruisers had told Charity that they’d be around and he looked forward to more. When Charity asked why and went in for round two, the goon let it slip he’d been hired for “something big.”

  I figured at some point I’d owe that girl another drink—though not for the reason she’d hoped. She must have gotten the hint because she’d moved on. I guess that was because every day I asked her how Hannah was. The word “fine” never reassured me. I wanted to see her for myself. I intended to do that today.

  At five minutes till six, I parked my car across from Pussy Whipped. I jumped out and headed to the corner. Before the light could change, Hannah came out the door of club and started up the street. She wore nice dark jeans, and her glossy hair slid easily across the silky blue top she wore. My cock jumped just looking at her.

  She got into a green Chevy Malibu, and the car re-entered traffic, going north, the opposite direction.

  Fuck.

  I ran back to the shit-mobile, started it up, and waited a grueling thirty seconds for traffic to clear. When fate conspired against me, I took a chance. I pulled out into the first large gap and did a U-turn in the street to the sounds of blaring horns and “Fuck you!”

  Traffic sucked at six o’clock, but that worked in my favor because the Malibu couldn’t get too far ahead of me. The few times the lights changed, I was able to catch up almost immediately.

  “Where the hell is she going?”

  We drove for a solid hour, sitting in traffic for most of that time. Finally, the Malibu pulled up in front of a parking lot right outside the Loop on South Wabash. I glanced around. I didn’t think she’d come all this way for the Starbucks. When Hannah got out of the car and started walking, I swung into the lot. It belonged to a grocery store, but I didn’t give a fuck.

  A guy pushing carts back into the building gave me the finger when he saw me leaving the area. I gave it right back along with, “Have a nice day.”

  Hannah walked past the bank, past a couple of restaurants, and I suddenly had a sickening thought. I stopped dead on the street, ignoring the woman who plowed into my back.

  “What if she’s going on a date?”

  “Stalker much?” the woman said.

  I shook my head and started to say something, but she gave me that hard stare women give when they think they’re looking at a real douche. So instead of being nice, I said, “Fuck off,” and she scurried on her merry way.

  My girl finally stopped in front of an innocuous-looking seven-story building with one of those hideous re-paneled fronts, probably done in the sixties when the collective conscience said, “out with the old, in with the new.” The people in the sixties were full of horseshit. Chicago’s history was a living thing, and I was happy to see some barricades. Maybe someone was tearing that front down to let that building breathe.

  Hannah smoothed her hair, pulled open the door, and vanished inside.

  What to do, what to do.

  Cop logic dictated I follow her, but Danny O’Shea wasn’t a cop, and I didn’t think Hannah would be happy being stalked, even if she liked me.

  Screw it. I gave her a minute to find an elevator, and then I went inside.

  Typical office building. Some attorneys. A couple of dentists. Insurance companies up the ass. I supposed she could have a dentist appointment, but as I perused the building directory, my gaze snapped to something on the fourth floor.

  Armor Security.

  The tagline attached to the logo said, Armored Security Services—Your Valuables, Our Guarantee.

  “Bingo.”

  I took the elevator to the fourth floor, planted my carcass against the wall outside of the door, and waited. I might look like a total schmuck when I found out later she had a dentist appointment, but that was a risk I was willing to take.

  Chapter Twenty: Hannah

  After I stuffed the flash drive into my purse, I headed to the ladies’ room to splash water on my face. Every time I came to this office I got a case of the flop-sweats. The owner never spoke to me, though his eyes said volumes. Now, like I’d done for the past three deliveries, I’d walk down that hot sidewalk and head to Starbucks for a coffee I didn’t want. I’d gag it down, trying to look like a woman relaxing after work but really trying to calm my nerves, and then call for an Uber to take me back to the club.
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  Such a small assuming thing nestled among the tissues and makeup in my purse, but to me it felt like a cement block pulling me deeper and deeper into dark waters. I knew what it held, and my seemingly insignificant part in whatever my brother had planned with this legitimate thug seemed incredibly significant to me.

  No amount of education was worth what these trips did to my sanity. I might not be a criminal, but my involvement brought me closer and closer to that fine line between innocent bystander and conspirator.

  I stared at myself in the mirror above the sink, hating the girl who stared back. I’d chewed off all the lipstick while waiting for the man to give me the latest message, and my lips looked raw and ragged. Like my nerves. Like my thought process. Like my life.

  “You’re losing it,” I whispered.

  I tried shaking out my hands to remove the pinpricks of anxiety. I splashed some more water on my hot cheeks. Finally, I reapplied the lipstick, but nothing could cover the damaged skin.

  “Fuck it. Get your coffee, relax, and get home.”

  I slung my purse on my shoulder, yanked open the door, and made my way to the office door. Just as I stepped out into the hallway, an arm snaked around my waist and spun me toward the wall. Someone grabbed my hands and lifted them over my head. I tried to cry out, but a mouth slammed over mine, and I would have slumped to the floor if he hadn’t pressed his body against mine to hold me up.

  Danny…

  He kissed me thoroughly, his tongue sweeping into my mouth, and I reveled in the taste of him again. I’d missed it. I’d miss the smell of him, that cool musky scent that seemed to belong to only him. His tongue touched every corner of my mouth, slid over my teeth, and then he sucked my tongue into his mouth. With each suck of his mouth, my cunt clamped hard on emptiness. His fingers tightened on mine, and his hard cock pressed against my body, so warm, throbbing with the same need I felt.