by Lily Harlem
“For a while.” Damn, she still regretted letting that information slip.
“You got a big family?” he asked.
“Nope.” Not anymore.
“I could take that two ways. You had a big family, but they’re all dead, either literally or just to you, or you genuinely haven’t got many relatives.”
“I’ve got quite a few cousins, but there’s only me. I’m an only child.” She resumed eating and tried not to think of Tommy, her younger brother, who’d drowned in the lake with the help of concrete shoes two years ago. “You said you had a brother?”
“Yeah.” He faced the TV. “Only one now. Used to have three. Two got unlucky.” He tapped his arm. “With bullets.”
“Shit. I’m sorry.” Losing two brothers…that was hard.
“Not your fault, but thanks. Family is important, probably the most important thing. Whatever shit we used to pull on each other, we’d always forgive. Always be there when stuff got real.” He sighed heavily. “But they took their eyes off the ball. You’ve got to stay sane to stay alive.”
“Which you do? Stay sane, that is.”
“Try to.”
“So the finger, the message to Kusso. You call that something a man on the right side of sanity would do? Why not just pick up the phone? Take him out for a drink and find a solution.”
“What planet are you on?” He shook his head. “You saw him. He’s a thug with an ego, and he’s messing with our business in New York.”
“How so?”
“He’s creeping into territory that ain’t his and not paying his rent.”
“Ah, I see.”
He gave her a look that told her he didn’t think she had any idea.
But she actually did. Her father had owned areas that his dealers patrolled. Any outside sellers came under attack damn quickly and they either coughed up rent or they took a hike. It was non-negotiable and not complying led to things like fingers getting chopped off, or worse if her cousin Samuel was involved.
Roper scraped up the last of his dinner, then clattered his fork into the bowl. He put it on the table atop a pile of newspapers. “I feel better for that.”
“Yeah, it’s delicious.” Beth was savoring it. So many times in the last months she’d dreamed of a hot homemade meal and now she had one. Plus she didn’t want to give herself belly cramps. It had been a while since she’d eaten anything so rich.
“I’m going out for a bit,” he said, standing. “Feel free to kick around.”
“What? Where are you going?”
“You ain’t my old lady, baby, so I ain’t got to tell you anything.” He put on his boots. “Though, since it don’t matter, I’m only gonna see my brother. He’s in town for a few days wrapping something up.”
“Oh, okay.” She hesitated. “And are you sure? I’ll leave if you want me to.”
“If you want to leave, leave. I’m not holding you prisoner.” He ruffled her hair. “But if you’re here when I get back, then that’s okay with me.”
A strange feeling of warmth went through her that had nothing to do being out of the cold and the elements. Roper appeared quite happy with her being in his home. As if maybe he actually liked her.
“Oh, okay, thanks then,” she said, watching as he pulled on his leather jacket. Like his sweater, it had a gash in the arm where the bullet had ripped it. But far from ruining the appearance, it just served to make him look more like the mobster he clearly was.
Within seconds, he was gone, and she stared at the space he’d just occupied on the sofa.
Roper was of the same stock as her. Dead brothers. Messing around with turf patches, dealing and chasing up non-rent payers. As for the severed finger—she pulled a face at the memory of it—that was a trick she’d heard of before. A classic don’t-fuck-me-off-again-or-next-time-it’ll-be-your-head trick. She’d even heard of hacked off fingers and other body parts being traded to use as warnings amongst gangs. She wondered who the poor people were who’d lost their fingers and if that was all they’d lost.
A sudden shudder wended its way up her spine. She hoped her father was okay. Much as she was furious with him, now she wasn’t fighting the cold and hunger or running for her life, she had a smattering of concern for his wellbeing.
Maybe she didn’t hope that ravens were pecking his eyes out in the desert after all. Perhaps she just hoped he’d been as cold and hungry as she had been over the last few months.
After finishing her meal, she stood, gathered Roper’s bowl and headed into the kitchen.
She filled the sink with hot water and set about cleaning up not just the mess he’d made from cooking the last meal, but from several previous ones. She cleaned and dried and put away as best she could, humming an upbeat tune as she worked. She then went around the apartment and gathered up all the other mugs she could find and washed them, too.
There were a plethora of empty beer bottles, and she dropped them in the trash on top of her jeans and sweater, which she’d deemed unsalvageable since they were ingrained with filth and completely threadbare. The thought of ever wearing them again turned her stomach.
She set out to find a sewing kit. She didn’t hold out much hope as she rooted through the one dresser in the bedroom.
The top drawer was a tangled mess of black boxers and socks. The next held a few t-shirts. Beneath that was drawer containing an assortment of tins, a brown leather holster and several boxes of bullets. There was also a faded red fabric photograph album.
As she was reaching for it, her heart rate sped up. She knew she shouldn’t snoop. Roper had trusted her to wait in the apartment, to sit and watch TV, nothing more.
But would he have left her, a woman he barely knew, if he had anything to hide?
She sat on the bed and flipped to the first page. A picture of a woman and four teenage boys, all smiling. They stood before a house with a white veranda and a trailing basket of flowers by the front door. Beth wondered which boy was Roper. She guessed second from the left was him, pre-scar, but they were all similar looking.
The next page was a picture of a large dog with the name Rufus handwritten beneath it. Opposite was a man in a trilby with a cigar hanging from his hand. He was smiling and had a thin moustache. Was it Roper’s father?
She turned the page. This photograph was more recent—the colors denser and the image sharper. It was of two men—one was Roper, the other probably his remaining brother owing to the likeness. As she studied it, a realization came over her. The picture was taken in Chicago. She recognized the skyline with Sears Tower in the background.
Roper was from Chicago? Damn it, she’d presumed he was a New Yorker.
A strange fluttery feeling attacked her belly. Did he know of her family? Did his turf border her fathers?
Quickly, she shut the album and put it away.
No, it couldn’t be. She’d have heard his name before now if the families were acquaintances, even loosely connected. Roper was hardly an everyday name in Chicago. And if they were enemies, she’d have heard it shouted in anger, bellowed out as her father stormed through the house kicking things and slamming doors.
But he’d said it was a Batiste who’d given him the scar. They operated in the same city as her family so…
She frowned, reached for one of the tins and pulled off the lid. In it sat what she’d been really looking for. A small sewing kit, one that likely came from a motel. “Good.” Fixing the sweater would take her mind off the tumbling thoughts she had about Roper.
He was hot, sexy and damn good at delivering what he said he was going to. He was also an enigma and a man she wouldn’t want to get on the wrong side of.
She could only imagine what her mother would say about him? Too old? Too unreliable? Too damn dangerous to be around.
While threading the needle, a stab of pain hit her heart. Her mother was high-energy, bordering on manic, and she always said exactly what she thought with no glitter on the words. She could also be distracted by her work in the
hotel industry for days and nights at a time, but Beth loved her mother and wished she’d been able to go with her on the night their house was stormed.
“Go without me,” her mother had said. “We’re safer apart.”
So, with those words and six thousand bucks in her purse—that had been stolen from her pocket four days into her arrival in New York—Beth had abandoned everything and everyone she’d known and loved. Ended up on the streets with only the clothes she wore to her name.
If she had to guess, she’d say her mother was in Toronto. She had a stepsister there, Jolie, whom she’d stayed in touch with even when their parents had divorced—in case of emergencies she’d always said, a distant enough relative not to be traceable, but close enough to do her a favor.
Toronto.
Would Roper lend her some cash? If so, she could get a Greyhound across the border and maybe start repairing some of the damage to her life the way she was stitching up the bullet holes in Roper’s sweater.
Yes, that’s what she’d do. Now she’d eaten, cleaned up and slept in a warm bed she was able to think straight, see the future.
Canada was in that future.
Chapter Six
“I fixed your sweater.” Beth held the repaired garment up as Roper strode into the apartment. “It’s not an invisible mend, but it’s the best I can do.”
“Thanks.” He barely glanced at it.
“What’s up?”
“I have to go away.”
“Where to?”
“Quit with the questions, baby?” He didn’t look at her.
“But—”
“You can crash here. I don’t want you on the streets. There’s food in the refrigerator.” He flicked his hand in the direction of the kitchen as he went into the bedroom.
“When will you be back?” she called.
“A few days.”
She stood and followed him. “Is it business?”
“Yeah.”
“Chicago?”
He glanced at her and frowned. “No.”
“Canada? Like in the snowstorm?”
“Yeah, as it happens, I gotta go over the border and deliver something personally.”
“Can I come?”
“No.” He rolled his eyes as he put a box of bullets into his jacket pocket. “You can’t.”
“My mother’s there. I want to see her.”
He stilled and looked at her. “You been thinking on what I said about family, huh?”
“Kind of.”
He drew in a deep breath and frowned. “Where in Canada?”
“Toronto. She’s staying with my aunt, I think.”
He stared at her, a muscle flexing in his jaw line. “You gonna pull any crazy chick shit on me?”
“Have I so far?” She held out her palms.
He bit on his bottom lip.
“No crazy chick shit, I promise.”
“Okay then, but you do as I say, right?”
“Don’t I always?” She grinned. A lovely big smile that held hope and relief. Perhaps she’d find her mother safe and well. Maybe it would all be okay after all. Her mother might even meet Roper and like him?
No, that was pushing it too far.
“Pack up your stuff,” he said. “We’re leaving now.”
“Pack up? I own nothing, not even the clothes I’m standing in. I have nothing to pack up.”
He chuckled. “There’s a pair of your panties and a bra in the bathroom.”
Thirty minutes later, they were heading north out of the city. For this trip, Roper had given her a black helmet to wear, and with her boots and clean jacket, she felt every inch a biker chick.
The clear skies of earlier had been replaced by ominous clouds sitting fat-bellied on the horizon. Beth hoped it wouldn’t rain. Riding pillion in bad weather was grim, and they had a lot of miles to cover.
But when she reached her destination, the address carefully memorized, maybe, just maybe she’d see her mother and find out what kind of a state her father was in. If he was still alive that was.
Did she care? For a long time she didn’t think she did, but…
He was her daddy.
As the tires tore up the tarmac and left a trail of dust in their wake, she settled against Roper and thought of happy family times. Something she hadn’t allowed herself to do for so long.
When Tommy was alive, they’d enjoyed wonderfully extravagant Christmases and family holidays in expensive hotels in Vegas, LA and Hawaii. Nothing had been too much trouble, laughs were plentiful and, although Tommy and her father had worked hard keeping the business running smoothly, ducking and diving where necessary, life had been as good as could be expected for a mobster family in Chicago.
She’d enjoyed gifts from Tiffany’s, ballet lessons at a top dance school, a pony kept at a boarding barn just out of the city that she could ride whenever she wanted. Nothing was too much trouble…if it was what she wanted and could be bought, her parents saw to it that she had it.
Beth had always considered herself lucky and privileged. She had lots of school friends and was never bullied—who the hell would pick on a Rammada? And her birthday parties were the stuff of legends, no expense spared, her mother hiring a top party planner every year and making sure the theme wowed Beth’s guests.
How different life was now. One mistake and it had turned upside down.
Not that she hated being up close and personal with Roper. His leather jacket was cool but soft pressing on her cheek, and the heat of his big body radiated onto hers as they whizzed along the highway.
The houses turned to fields and hills. The clouds lifted and, much to her relief, blue sky broke through. She tightened her hold around Roper’s waist and enjoyed a lovely freeing sensation. New York had dragged her down, been the worst experience of her life, but now…now she was going somewhere. Breaking free of the chains hunger and cold that had tied her down.
They drove for several hours, before just south of Syracuse, Roper pulled into a three-story motel with a red sign announcing vacancies. He drew up at the far end of the parking lot, farthest from the reception, then shut down the bike.
Beth groaned as she straightened. Her spine ached and her arms were stiff. She stretched them over her head, linked her fingers and arched her back.
“We’re here for the night,” he said, over his shoulder.
“Fine with me.” She climbed off and removed her helmet.
He did the same, stamping his boots and rolling out his shoulders. He, too, removed his helmet, looping it over his left arm “Come with me to get a room. Looks better if I have a woman with me.” He paused and studied her. “But fuck, you barely look legal.”
“I am legal.” She tutted.
“Just as well after what we did earlier and what I might do to you again later.” He slung his arm around her neck and pulled her close with the crook of his elbow as he set off at a lazy walk. “I might be many things I ain’t proud of, baby, but I ain’t into kids.”
She wondered just what he meant by many things? If his family was like hers, if the men got up to the same shit the guys in her family did, he could attach many labels to himself, all of which would ensure he did time if the cops caught up with him.
That should worry her—she knew it should—but it didn’t. It was what she was used to. It was a comfort-zone thing to have the males in her life dodging in and out of trouble.
They paid for a room, fifty-three dollars, and booked in with a sweaty, red-faced receptionist who stank of whisky. He didn’t give directions to their room, simply shoved the keycard across the desk, barely taking his eyes from the Yankees game on TV.
Beth knew that would suit Roper well, since staying under the radar was clearly the way he liked to roll.
Their first-floor room was sparse. Anything that could be stuck down was, from the television to a bottle opener hanging over the edge of the desk. The walls were in need of a fresh coat of paint, the current magnolia having more than its fair share of
scuffmarks.
But Beth wasn’t disappointed. It was shelter, it had a working bathroom and a soft bed, plus Roper was with her.
She watched him as he pulled off his boots and kicked them to one side, then shrugged out of his jacket.
Damn, was she falling for him? This rough, tough, mean-looking old guy who’d taken her under his rather dubious wing.
It was hard to know. He was the first person who’d shown her kindness in so long it could just be that. He was also unlike any other man she’d ever crushed on, kissed or dated because that was it…he was a man, all man, not a boy, not a fumbling teenager who had no idea where to put it or how to please her.
She touched her neck. But fuck, that stranglehold. It had been scary as hell, but she hadn’t fought it. Was she crazy to have let it happen? Not only let it happen, but to have gotten off on it? That orgasm and the dizziness that went with it had just about blown her mind. Her body had been his, her pleasure completely owned. Was there something wrong with her that it had felt so good?
No, there was nothing wrong with feeling good. That’s what Tommy had always said. So why should she feel guilty? She’d surrendered to one heck of a guy, who’d given her what she’d needed as he’d taken what he’d wanted. She didn’t regret it for a moment.
“I’m gonna shower,” he said. “Call and order pizza or something.” He nodded at a pile of takeout menus.
“Yeah, okay. What do you like?”
“Anything as long as there’s no anchovies.”
“Got you.”
He went into the bathroom and shut the door. She wondered if his arm was aching and made a mental note to check it for infection if he’d let her.
She opted for two large pizzas, one meat feast and one cheese and veg. She added garlic bread, a bottle of cola and pack of doughnuts to the order. She didn’t think he’d mind. He seemed to have plenty of cash.
She kicked off her boots, ran her fingers through her hair and checked her reflection. Her skin was pale and her eyes had bags under them, but she was okay, considering that in her previous life she’d forgotten what she even looked like without makeup.
But Roper was right. She did look young, barely even her nineteen years.
