by Stasia Black
“Suck my cock,” says an older homeless man with a beard sitting on a stoop outside a rundown townhouse. He stands up and grabs his crotch. Then he unzips and just pulls it out, right there in broad daylight in front of God and everybody else on the street. A younger guy in a cut-off muscle shirt throws a can at the flasher.
“Ignore that dirty fuck,” the young guy says. “Let me titty-fuck you and cum all over that angel face and I’ll hook you up.” He gives a head nod toward an alley and turns like I should follow him.
Oh my God. I hurry quicker down the sidewalk, appalled. Then I laugh at myself. What, Scarlet, a whole week and a half of a warm bed and hot showers and you forget what this life’s all about?
I know this area. I know what goes on here.
“Don’t be a tease, puta,” the young guy calls after me. “You know what we do to puta bitches here who think they’re too good for the neighborhood? You learn to eat dick real fast.” He starts cackling, sounding high off his ass, and a couple of his friends who were standing around beside him start cracking up, too.
Damn, damn, damn. Why did I ever agree to meet in this area? What if Francisco just lured me here to screw with me?
I quicken my steps even as logic attempts to fight alarm. No. He needs me. I’m his golden ticket to a hell of a lot of cash and he might be a class A bastard, but he’s not stupid. Well, not that stupid.
Speak of the devil and he appears.
Francisco steps out from the next alleyway, two of his guys flanking him. Francisco is only medium-tall, but he’s broad and built, and he has a meanness about him that you feel at first sight. His eyes are deep set, beady, and calculating. And they’re zeroed in right on me.
I trip a little, taking in a sharp, startled breath.
Crap. Get it together. Don’t show weakness.
“Where’s Enzo?” I look around Francisco and the other two, trying to see my brother.
Francisco smiles lazily. “He couldn’t come.” Then he eyes me up and down. “You two even really related? You don’ look nothing like each other.”
I narrow my eyes at him. Enzo and I have dealt with that BS our whole lives. I’m blonde, pale, and blue-eyed. Enzo’s Italian-Hispanic origins give him completely different coloring.
“Different mothers,” I snap. Neither of them were winners. Enzo’s mom was a fling Dad had right after my mom left. The woman wasn’t interested in being a mother any more than my mom, but she realized it as soon as she got pregnant. My brother always jokes that his bio-mom’s Catholicism is the only reason he actually made it into the world. He wears a cross and would sometimes drag me to Mass because of it.
“I bet your mom was hot,” Francisco says, eyes lingering on my chest.
Speaking of BS. If I don’t keep this an even playing field between us, I’m screwed. “It seems like you’re forgetting who came to you with this prospect in the first place.” I step right up to him. “And who’s about to make you a very rich man. You need me so I’ll thank you to show me a little respect.”
Francisco spits on the ground at my feet. Disgusting.
“I think you’re the one who’s forgetting her place, bitch.” Francisco closes the gap between us and shoves me up against the wall, hand at my throat.
Crap. What the—
“Let me go,” I try to choke out, clawing at his hand. This bastard thinks he can just— I kick at his shins. He growls and his hand goes so tight there’s no air.
Oh God, oh God, he pushes even harder and forces me up on my tiptoes.
I calculated wrong. So wrong. He doesn’t care about revenge. About the plan. About anything. He’s a maniac.
I blink and try to gasp for a breath. My hands grapple at his huge hand. How long since I got a breath? My eyes feel like they’re bulging, and I can see a satisfied grin come across Francisco’s face.
I gag and continue grappling with his hand at my throat.
Need.
To.
Breathe.
Francisco leans in and inhales so hard his nostrils flare.
“Mmm, that’s how I like my bitches. Shut up and smelling like fear.”
He lets go of me so suddenly I drop to the ground. I gulp for breath after breath. Oh God, I don’t even care that my knees are scraped and bloody from hitting the asphalt when he dropped me. I can freaking breathe again.
I glare up at Francisco, still panting for breath. I put a hand to my throat and wince. Damn him, how the hell am I supposed to explain bruises on my neck to Kennedy? I get back to my feet. I’m not kneeling on the shit-smelling blacktop in front of this asshole.
“I got eyes on you, puta. They saw you fucking him right out in the open at his club.”
I feel the flush coming to my cheeks and try to tamp it down. That’s two now that saw us having sex on the dance floor and in spite of everything—this horrible situation, how scary Francisco is and how in over my head I am—I think about eyes on Kennedy and me while we…and I feel both terrified and…pleased.
Because I’m a super screwed up girl like that.
“I gotta say,” Francisco continues, “when you came to me with this plan, I thought you were some crazy bitch, that he’d fuck you a few times and then I’d just have to take it outta you for wastin’ my time.”
Annnnnnnnnnd back to feeling like I’m going to lose my lunch. I feel my eyes widen in spite of my determination not to show this bastard anything. Damn it. How could I have thought getting in bed with a demon like him was a good idea? Even if it meant conquering the devil?
Except, even as I have the thought, my mind rejects the image of Kennedy as the devil. It’s where he fit in the puzzle in my head for so long, but the man I know now? It’s a dissonant image. The Kennedy Benson I spent years hating doesn’t seem like he could be the same gentle, kind, funny guy that I’m getting to know.
Yeah, but that’s just because he wants in your pants, I remind myself. And I’ve only known him two weeks. Anyone can put on an act for two weeks. Just look at me.
“But I seen the video,” Francisco goes on, “and damn bitch, he looked mesmerized by that pussy.” Francisco runs a hand down the side of my face and then around to the back of my neck where he grabs my ponytail and yanks my head sharply backward.
I grit my teeth against the pain. Show him nothing. Show nothing and survive the situation. It’s been my motto the past few years. I force each of my facial features to be blank like a mask. Indifferent. The man holding me is nothing to me. All he wants is power. But with me, he’ll never know if he truly has it.
It’s my best weapon. Never let a man know what you’re thinking. Be elusive, be their dream but never their reality so they’re always guessing. Advice from my supermodel mother when I was six years old as she combed my long blonde hair, the exact color of hers. You can make any man fall in love with you.
Did things with my father get too real? Is that why she left? Still, the advice she gave me always stuck with me. The last words your mother ever says to you before she disappears usually do.
“Look at me, bitch.” Francisco jerks my head around by my ponytail as if trying to force me to look him in the eyes. I keep my gaze just a little to the left or right so that I never meet his eyes directly.
“Like I said last night over the phone,” I say all but robotically. “I’m doing my job. Kennedy’s on the hook. If you saw the video, you’ve witnessed it for yourself. It’s only a matter of time.”
Francisco’s grip on my hair tightens and I tense my jaw not to cry out from the pain. Finally I look him in the eyes. His nostrils flare with some kind of male satisfaction.
“But if you mark me anymore,” I continue, keeping my voice calm and detached. I always thought of my mother as an ice queen, cold and beautiful, and I channel her, “he’ll wonder why I’m coming home from the market covered in bruises. It’ll be difficult to explain.”
Francisco doesn’t ease up on his grip. “He won’t miss a few hairs. I just want to make clear what’s at sta
ke if you fuck this up. Because I did watch the video. And Benson wasn’t the only one who looked like he’d give anything to stay up in that ass. You looked fuckin’ gone on that shit, too.”
I jerk in his grip. “Screw you.” I grab my ponytail and yank and yank until I’ve got it back out of his grasp. He’s left holding a small chunk of hair, but I don’t care. “That bastard stole everything from my family. My father died because of him. For you to insinuate—” I break off with an offended noise of disgust. Dammit, I hate that he made me lose my cool. I breathe out hard.
“For you to even think—” I shake my head. “No. I’m more committed than ever to taking him down.” I glare back up at Francisco.
“You better be.” He folds his thick tattooed forearms over his chest. “We’re getting real fond of Enzo. Be a shame if something happened to him.”
Ice. All through my body. My blood.
He. Did. Not. Just. Threaten. My. Brother.
“How much longer?” he asks, like he didn’t just— just—
“I don’t know,” I say, still not able to compute what came out of his mouth before his question. “It’s only been a little over a week. We’re just getting started.”
Francisco shrugs. “Well, hurry it up. Man at the club also heard Benson’s trying to make another deal and that’d mean millions less we can milk him for. The Chinese are trying to edge in on it.” His face darkens. “We’re gonna fuck ‘em both. Figure out when that deal is going down and contact me when you do. Hurry up your part of it, too.”
I steady my feet shoulder-width apart and don’t flinch in spite of how much bigger than me Francisco is. “Leave my brother out of this. It’s between you and me. And I’ll get it done.”
“I don’t know, big sis.” Francisco shrugs. “Enzo’s really showing some promise with a blade. Was thinkin’ of sending him out as muscle on some smalltime deals.”
Son of a bitch! I should never have come to the 12th Streeters for help. What have I done? Still, I don’t react. I don’t freak out. I don’t give him any of what he’s looking for with that provocation. I’ve already shown him enough. “Leave my brother alone. Please. I’m going to make you a very rich man. There’s no need to involve Enzo.”
Francisco tilts his head, considering me. I know it’s because he can’t figure me out. Just the way I like. Just like Mom taught me.
I’m not quite begging and I don’t look scared anymore. I’m not the typical whore he comes across and I’m not an addict, at least of any kind he’s seen before. I don’t fit in any of the normal categories he can put women of his acquaintance in.
Time to exit the situation while he’s still confounded. It’s the best place to leave men in.
“I’ll report back more regularly. Twice a week.” I turn to go, but he grabs my elbow in a bruising grip.
“We move as soon as you hear that deal’s gonna close. You find out when it goes down.”
I swallow but nod. “Done.”
Then I pull out of his grasp and walk as quickly away as I can without looking like I’m running.
Chapter 12
I walk the last bag of groceries into the kitchen, humming to get my mind off the confrontation with Francisco.
What am I going to make tonight? Cooking always calms me. I’m thinking eggplant parmesan. Usually I try for super classy crap but sometimes you can’t go wrong with the old standbys.
“You were gone awhile.”
I jump so much I almost dump the bag of groceries.
“Whoa, sorry for scaring you.” Kennedy catches the paper bag before it slips from my arms. He sets it on the counter and peeks inside. “Eggplant.” He grins at me and I swat him away from the bag.
“Out of my kitchen.”
He pulls his hand back from the bag with the expression of a naughty schoolboy. That is, he’s got a mischievous glint in his eye and doesn’t look repentant at all. Then his eyebrows drop like he’s curious. “Hey, you were gone a long time.”
I pull the eggplants out of the grocery bag and turn away from him while I lean down to grab a cutting board from one of the bottom cabinets. His question makes the back of my neck prickle. “I went for a walk before I went grocery shopping.”
As I stare into the bottom cabinet, sorting through the boards for the one I like best, a thought hits me. What if he, like, followed me? Or had me followed? I jolt back to my feet without even grabbing a cutting board.
But Kennedy’s just back to nosing in my grocery bags. Clueless. My heart is still racing a thousand beats a minute.
“What else did you get?” he asks.
It takes me a second to recover. Seeing him right now, just an hour after the confrontation with Francisco, God it seems like too much. And Francisco’s parting shot about how I need to find out when that deal goes down… I didn’t expect a ticking clock on this.
Panic stabs me right in the chest. It’s a hard, tight ball that seems to grab at all the air in my lungs. How much time do I have left with Kennedy? There’s an expiration date on the heated gaze he’s shooting my way. The panic squeezes tighter.
Get it together, Scarlet.
I’ve gotta cut the tension in here before he feels it. So I grab a towel and snap it at him. “You know I don’t like anyone in the kitchen while I cook.”
Kennedy props his hip against the counter. “Well it’s a good thing that you’re just putting away groceries and not cooking yet.”
I scoff. “Why do I get the feeling you’ve built your riches off finding loopholes?”
Right. Just keep reminding yourself who Kennedy Benson really is. Beneath the killer smile and the warm hazel eyes.
“Where’d you go walking?” He grabs an apple from one of my bags and tosses it back and forth in his hands like he’s juggling. I expect him to stop and take a bite out of it—I asked him once what his favorite fruits are and he said apples and bananas so I stock up regularly on both.
Him being a world-famous cook, I expected something a little more exotic. But nope, just apples and bananas. I always include one or the other with his lunch but I’ll come into the kitchen from time to time and find more fruit missing. Sometimes an entire bushel of bananas.
Man must like his fruit.
I watch those strong, corded forearms that lead to his hands and those long fingers with blunt square tips. Hands that look used to work. He’s such a mix of contradictions, like he’s a tangle of wires I can’t straighten out.
Which is a problem because I thought I knew everything about Kennedy Benson, my sworn enemy. I don’t want to find him complicated. Real. Confusing.
“Scarlet?”
“What?” I jerk my attention up from his hands where they’ve paused tossing the apple back and forth.
He smiles briefly like he caught me at something—like he knows it’s him my thoughts are all twisted up in. Damn him.
“Your walk?”
“Oh. Just around.” I smile and continue unloading the groceries. I lift out a fresh bunch of basil leaves and bring them to my nose to inhale before putting them in the refrigerator.
“Walking helps me clear my head,” I say.
When I close the fridge door, Kennedy’s standing right there and I let out a little oof of surprise.
Then I smack him on the arm again. “Don’t sneak up on me like that!”
“What’s on your mind that it needs clearing of?” He lifts one eyebrow in a cocky smirk. “Or should I say, who?”
I take the apple he’s holding in his hand and shove it in his mouth, roasted pig style. His eyes widen and for a second, I swear something like panic takes over his features before he takes a bite and calmly puts the apple on the counter beside us.
“You and I have been invited to dinner on Friday.”
I feel my eyebrows hit my hairline. “What? By who?”
“By my newest investor, Jackson Vale. It’s at his house and his fiancé will be there, too.”
Investor. He must be talking about the same deal Fra
ncisco mentioned. I’ll be able to find out the details, surely. I’ll find out when the deal closes…aka, how much time Kennedy and I have left together.
I look up into Kennedy’s eyes. If he’s taking me to this, it means he’s integrating me more into his life. I’m becoming important to him.
Everything is falling into place.
I lean forward and kiss him.
His hands wrap around my waist. He tries to pull me in for more, but I slip out of his grasp.
If everything’s going according to plan, why is that pit of panic in my chest not easing up? I lift a hand and caress Kennedy’s cheek. He leans into my touch and closes his eyes.
God. I feel his trust even in the way he nuzzles my hand.
I pull back. “Why don’t we go jogging?” It comes out as little more than a whisper. The effect is sultry when in reality I’m just having difficulty getting the words out. Still, I push on. “There’s another special place in the park I want to show you.”
Kennedy’s eyes flare. “Yes, ma’am.”
* * *
The sun has set just like I hoped it would by the time we get to the park. I lead Kennedy further into a secluded wooded trail as it gets darker and darker. It means we’ll be extending our run, but the redwoods in the center of the park provide excellent cover.
I break off slightly ahead of Kennedy, squinting to see the narrow path as I go. We’re about three-and-a-half miles into our run and I’m feeling it, sure, but the adrenaline of what we’re about to do is already kicking in. It’s mid-October and I could sort of justify wearing my high-necked jogging coat—it’s made of that thin, breathable jogging material, but it’s still only about seventy degrees out here and I’m sweating like a mother. But I’m sure the bruises Francisco gave me are already showing.
Stupid bastard.
Less than another half mile and we’re into the redwoods. Behind me Kennedy’s using his phone as a flashlight but I know just where I’m going. Police sweeps kick out any homeless who try to camp here at night, but Enzo and I would spend the day here sometimes, hidden away. As long as we were out by eight or nine at night, we were fine.
