by Fobes, Tracy
“During prayer, we can give thanks for our own relative tranquility, and ask for the gifts of the Holy Spirit to fall on all who have the power to save others from further torment.”
Jake barely prevented himself from snorting. Prayer wasn’t going to change a damned thing. Nevertheless, he somehow managed to nod instead. “Thank you, Father, for your words of wisdom.”
“My pleasure, boys. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to go talk with Luke.” The priest stood up, and he and Alex watched him head over to the bar, where Luke was talking with his relatives and the townsfolk who had stopped by.
Alex shook his head. “Father Al lives in a different plane of existence than we do.”
“Yeah, he’s up there with the angels.” Jake shook his head. “But the question remains: what are we going to do, back down here on Earth?”
“Chew bubblegum and kick some ass?”
Jake surprised himself by chuckling. Alex joined in, and suddenly the moment between them wasn’t so dark. They both took another gulp of beer, and Jake emptied his.
“Something tells me it’s not going to be that easy,” Jake muttered as he put his cup down. “You said you knew who’s responsible for Ray’s death. Well—tell me. Who is it?”
His friend quickly glanced around the bar, and then lowered his voice so much that Jake had to lean closer to hear him. “We need to watch out for a guy named Simon Koschei. He’s the head of the local organization, the bratva that reports in to Brighton Beach.”
“Bratva?”
“It’s a Russian word. It means brotherhood.”
“From Russia with Love,” Jake muttered.
“Yeah, the Russkaya Mafiya.”
“How do you know this?”
“The Guardians talk about it a lot. My mom, too.”
Jake nodded thoughtfully. He could understand the Guardians obsessing over organized crime, given that his Uncle Martin was a Guardians member and now apparently considered himself responsible for his mom’s safety. But why Sophia’s mother? A disturbing thought occurred to him. “Don’t tell me that your mom’s in debt to them, too.”
“No, thank God.” Alex took a swig of beer before continuing. “She talks about it because my uncle—her brother--was an avtoritet for an organization that was active about twenty years ago, in New York City. He and my mom had a falling out, and we moved here to Rockport Grove a little while later. She’s refused all contact with him since that day, but she knows enough about the life to realize what’s going on here, in town.”
Jake clenched his hands into fists. “Well...guess what. My mom owes them money, and they’ve already paid her a few visits. They even gave her a black eye.”
“Shiiiiit,” Alex breathed.
“Luke said that Ray owed them money, too. My guess is, when he refused to pay up or cooperate, they killed him,” Jake added, a fresh rush of anxiety leaving him light-headed.
His friend stared at him for a moment, wide-eyed. “So, you think—”
“My mom could be next.”
“Have you gone to the police?”
Jake nodded. “A waste of my time. The police didn’t want to hear anything about it.”
“Why?”
“I didn’t witness ‘the incident,’ so I can’t file a report. Only my mother can file, and she won’t go down to the station. She thinks they’re all in the mafia’s pocket.”
“What are you going to do, then?”
Jake finished his beer and then crumbled the plastic cup in his fist. “I’m thinking about getting my Ruger out of the lockbox in my bedroom, finding the goons who roughed up my mom and blowing them the fuck away.”
Alex sucked in a breath. “No, you can’t do that.”
“Do you have a better idea?”
“I’m just saying, if you blow the tail end off a snake, you won’t kill it. You have to cut off its head.”
“Simon Koschei,” Jake said. “He’s the head.”
“That’s what I’ve heard.”
Jake nodded slowly. At least he had a name, now.
“Why don’t you join the Guardians?” his friend asked suddenly.
At the name Guardians, Jake stiffened. “If I had a dime for every time someone’s asked me to join the Guardians over the last few weeks, I could go out and buy myself dinner. What the hell are the Guardians going to do about it?”
“You might be surprised,” Alex replied, his tone giving away nothing.
“So surprise me. Give me some details. Something I can hang on to.”
“Let me talk to a few guys in the club.” Alex cut his gaze abruptly to the left, then frowned. “Sophia, you creeper. I didn’t even notice you there.”
Jake spun around, and there she was. Standing right behind him, with a guilty expression on her face and a plastic cup in her hand.
She shrugged. “It’s not my problem that you can’t see what’s right in front of you.”
“You were hiding behind that post,” Alex accused, referring to a floor-to-ceiling column that stood just a few feet away from their booth.
“I wasn’t hiding.”
Jake shook his head. “Forget it. It doesn’t matter.” He turned to Sophia. “Good to see you. Sit down, we could use the company.”
“I fully planned to,” she said, earning an annoyed look from her brother. She slipped into the seat next to Jake and looked at both of them. “I know you guys think you were talking quietly, but I overheard everything you said.”
“What do you have...bionic ears?” Alex asked.
She smiled. “Just about. Remember that, Alex, next time you talk smack about me to mom.”
“Jesus.” Alex gave Jake a pained look. “You really want her sitting here with us?”
Jake didn’t allow himself to smile—he knew Alex wouldn’t appreciate it. Still, inside he laughed at her ball-busting attitude. “I don’t think we could stop her if we tried.”
“At least one of you has some sense.” She glanced around the room, then lowered both her head and her voice. “So...Jake...I heard something about a Ruger and you planning to ‘blow them the fuck away.’”
A rose fragrance drifted toward Jake, and even though a foot or separated him from Sophia, he could still feel the heat from her body. All at once, he had trouble thinking. “Like Alex said...you shouldn’t have been eavesdropping on us.”
“Don’t worry, I won’t say anything to anyone. Still...your idea sucks. You don’t fuck with the mob and get away with it.”
Alex gave his sister a stern look, and some silent communication passed between them, one that Jake couldn’t interpret. Sophia raised her chin defiantly, and her green eyes sparkled with rebellion.
“What do you know about it?” Jake asked, curious.
“You don’t know what you’re dealing with,” she insisted.
“And you do?”
“I know enough.”
“How?”
“Our uncle,” Alex said quickly, cutting in. “We just talked about him.”
Jake nodded slowly. “The one with the ties to the mafia in Brighton Beach.”
Sophia shot a glance toward her brother, then turned to Jake. She put one warm palm on top of his hand, and the touch of her hand drove the rest of the questions he’d been planning to ask her right from his head. “Please, Jake, just listen to me, and leave this alone. Don’t go to the police, and for God’s sake, don’t try shooting anyone.”
“What am I supposed to do, then?” Jake asked. He fought the urge to turn his hand over and enfold hers in his own. “Just wait for them to show up on my doorstep and bash my mom’s skull in?”
“Let the Guardians work on it for a bit,” she urged.
He pulled his hand away. “Bullshit. What are a bunch of old men going to do? And what do you know about it, anyway?”
“I’m serious, Jake. You need to back off,” she insisted.
He shook his head. “I’m going to take care of my own.”
She sat back and stared at him, frow
ning. “Why do you have to be so damned stubborn?”
“I might ask the same of you,” he replied. He was frowning now, too.
“Hey, take it easy,” Alex interjected, but neither of them heard him.
Sophia narrowed her eyes. She looked Jake up and down, and then lifted an eyebrow. “Wanna make a bet?”
“What kind of bet?”
She ducked her head toward the pool table at the back of the bar. “We play a game of Eight Ball. If I win, you lay low. If you win—”
“If I win,” Jake cut in, “I do what I think is best, without anyone trying to stop me.”
Alex stood up abruptly. “I’m not sticking around to watch this. I’m going to go talk to Luke.”
“Bye, bro,” Sophia said with a smile, as Alex walked away.
Jake stood up and walked over to the pool table. She was flirting with him hard-core and, while it excited the hell out of him, he wondered where her boyfriend Steve was. “Let’s get this over with.”
She stood as well and they both picked out cue sticks.
“So, you think you’re pretty good,” he remarked.
“Good enough to beat you.”
“We’ll see.” Jake racked the balls in a triangle. He placed the black eight ball in the center of the other balls, then picked up his cue stick. “Ladies before gentlemen.”
“Fine.” She grasped her cue stick expertly and leaned forward to aim it toward the racked balls. For a moment, she remained still, bent over the table with her gaze fixed on the target, her silky hair draping on the table and down her back, and the curves of her breasts teasing the sweater dress neckline. He felt frozen in time, staring at the beautiful, sexy picture she made; and then she tapped her cue stick sharply against the cue ball.
The cue ball smartly hit the racked balls and they spread apart. Two striped balls sunk into different pockets on the table. “I call stripes,” she announced.
He nodded.
Her full lips pressed together in concentration, she circled around the table. Jake watched, entranced by the way she moved, by the way her nose wrinkled when she concentrated, at the way her hair flowed around her body like a silken waterfall. Her skin was a perfect ivory, her chin had a cute little cleft in it...
Deep, unrelieved yearning for her burned in his gut. With a start, he realized his cock was rock-hard. He stepped closer to the table, to hide it.
She tossed her head, called various balls and pockets, and effortlessly sank them in said pockets. He shook himself and tried to watch her more closely. At first, he thought she was just getting lucky at first. By the fourth ball, which she bounced off the back bumper before sinking it in a side pocket, he realized he was up against a player of considerable skill.
But he had skills, too. Skills that she didn’t necessarily know about.
When she fouled her fifth ball, he staggered back in mock worry. “You’re killing me, here. I’m in trouble.”
Clearly pleased with herself, she shrugged. “Once I’ve won, you’d better stick to our bet.”
He circled around the table, his gaze measuring the distances between the balls and pockets, and the various configurations he could shoot. “You’re that sure you’re going to win?”
“I’m pretty sure,” she confirmed with a sweet smile.
He settled a warm gaze on her. “In that case, I want a slight change to our bet.”
“What kind of change?”
“Nothing that will bother you, since you’re so certain you’re going to win,” he replied. “If you win, I lay low. If I win, I get a kiss.”
Her eyes widened. She swallowed visibly. Then she smiled, revealing even white teeth that had once nipped at his earlobes as he’d driven himself into the sweet warmth between her thighs. “Why not? You might try harder, and give me a better game.”
He smiled widely, and his heart beat harder at the thought of her plush lips beneath his. “Maybe.”
Now that it was his turn, he went to work on the solid balls. One by one, he knocked them off, sinking them almost as effortlessly as she had into the chosen pockets. She watched him closely, and as he put a fifth ball into the pocket, he could tell she was becoming agitated by the way she chewed her lower lip. He fouled his sixth ball and stepped back, certain the game was won. He had only two balls to go, and he’d left her with nothing but difficult shots.
“Finally,” she muttered.
He chuckled. “Your turn.”
An eyebrow lifted in challenge, settled that bright green gaze of hers on him long enough to heat his blood some more. “Okay, wise guy. You’re going down.”
“I can’t wait.” He saw what he thought was the best shot, and he waited for her to position herself in front of the cue ball to take it. But she went to the other side of the table. A frown of concentration on her face, she lifted one leg, drawing her hemline up with it and revealing a long, slender calf and thigh. She bent her leg and set it on the table, then leaned way, way forward until she was stretching across half the table’s surface. With a flick of her arm, she tapped the cue ball, and it sent the ball straight into the pocket she’d called.
He gave a low whistle. “Hey, is that legal?”
“You bet it is,” she told him, and effortlessly sunk another. “How did you like that?”
“Impressive,” he admitted, as she moved to take another shot. She had only one striped ball left before she’d have to sink the eight ball, and he could tell by the way she was smiling that she thought the game was hers.
He watched as she tried to position herself reasonably next to the table, but realized she’d be jammed up against the cue ball if she did so. With another frown of intense concentration, she turned around and pressed her firm, squeezable ass against the table, then slipped her cue stick behind her. From that awkward, behind-the-back position, she grasped the cue stick and tapped the striped ball into the pocket.
“Damn, girl. You’re good. But maybe a little too cocky,” he observed, as the white ball went into the pocket right behind the striped one.
She pouted.
“My turn,” he informed her. He pulled the cue ball out of the pocket and positioned it so he’d have an easy shot. He had only two balls left to sink before the eight ball, and he couldn’t imagine blowing it at this point. Smiling, he leaned over the pool table, and was just about to knock the ball in when a movement caught his eye. Sophia was straightening her dress out, and in doing so pulling it down and revealing a lush landscape of creamy white cleavage almost to her nipples. He flicked his arm forward but his aim was off and his cue stick made a mark in the felt table covering. The cue ball went nowhere.
A laugh bubbled out of her.
“That’s cheating,” he told her with mock outrage.
“You ought to keep your eyes to yourself.” She circled around the table with her chin raised. Satisfaction exuded from her every pore. “Get ready to lose, sucka.”
Like they were nothing, she sank the remaining striped ball, then began to circle around the black eight ball. Aware that more than a few people in the bar were watching them, he put his cue stick down, leaned back against the wall, crossed his arms over his chest and waited for her to sink it. She provided him with a sexy eyeful as she leaned over the table, her breasts dangling temptingly as she measured the distance between the ball and several different pockets with her gaze.
After a few moments, she made her choice and cozied up against the pool table. She pulled her elbow back in a graceful move and tapped the cue ball. Resigned to lose at this point, he watched as the cue ball sailed across the green felt and knocked against the eight ball. Even before it hit, though, he could see her angle was slightly off. Much to his delight, the ball missed the pocket by an inch or so.
“Ha,” he crowed, and sidled up to the pool table.
“Make it good,” she warned, as he was lining his cue stick up. “The next time you foul, you lose.”
“I don’t lose,” he murmured. He had one tough shot, and one that
looked slightly easier, so he decided on the easier one: a banking shot that would require him to aim carefully and send the cue ball across the table with just the right amount of speed. Taking a deep breath, he called a pocket and tapped the cue ball smartly. His solid ball rolled right into the pocket he’d wanted.
“Nice,” she murmured.
He nodded to acknowledge the compliment, and then focused on the final solid ball. He mentally took some measurements, considered speed and angle, determined the right configuration and then sent the ball directly into a pocket. “Just the eight ball now,” he observed.
Chewing her lower lip, she nodded. “Don’t choke.”
“I’m not going to,” he promised her as set up the eight ball hit, and then tapped the cue ball. He was smiling as he straightened up, but his smile quickly turned to a frown as he saw that he’d hit the cue ball too softly. The eight ball stopped far short of the pocket. Even worse, he’d lined the cue ball up right behind the eight ball, so all she’d have to do was tap it in.
“Nice job,” she said with a big smile, and sank the eight ball. “Thanks.”
He chuckled good-naturedly and tried not to grit his teeth. “You’re good, Sophia.”
She put her cue stick down and moved closer to him, a teasing smile on her lips. “So are you, hot stuff. But I won. That means...”
“I know what it means.” His hands on his hips, he let his gaze rove from the tips of her toes to the top of her head, his attention lingering on her breasts before settling on her face. “Still, I’m not sure what I regret more: having to ‘back off,’ or not being able to claim that kiss from you.”
“You can have that kiss.” Her voice was pleasant, even playful, but had a serious edge to it.
“And your boyfriend? How would he feel about that?” Jake asked, his voice husky.
“He isn’t here now, is he?”
She stood beneath a pendant lamp, and its dusky glow created shadows that played about her lean, beautiful face, creating hollows beneath her high cheekbones and darkening her eyes. She looked mysterious at the moment, beckoning, a woman he could neither resist nor understand. He gave in to the pull between them and stepped closer to her, then put his arms around her and drew her close, his fingers gently squeezing around her waist.
