Bosco (Kings of Korruption)

by Geri Glenn

  Frown lines crease Eric’s handsome face as he stares back at me in earnest, clearly berating himself for not being there. I take a deep breath and lift my hand, pressing it to his arm. “I’m fine, really. You were there before it got out of hand. Thank you.”

  His eyes search mine, his jaw set in a hard line before he finally nods. He opens his mouth to reply, but something behind me has him straightening, his face now all business. Turning, my gaze first comes across a young girl wearing a simple pair of jeans and a baggy sweatshirt, her hair hanging limp around her makeup free face.

  It’s not her that has my body turning to stone, though. It’s the man with her, his hand firmly wrapped around hers. “Bosco?”

  The shock on his face surely matches my own. “Sarah?” His eyes dart between me and Eric, and where my hand remains on Eric’s muscled forearm. His jaw ticks and his nostrils flare a little as the silence stretches out between us. He shakes his head slowly, a deep frown furrowing his seamless brow. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

  The girl at his side presses closer, her free hand gripping his arm. Bosco’s gaze never leaves mine as I step away from Eric and force myself to stand tall. My pulse races, and an inexplicable anger burns hot in my belly.

  “I work here now,” I bite out. He blinks at that, his head tilting to one side, his lips pursed. I motion to the girl clinging to his arm. “And who’s this?”

  The jealousy I feel as she presses impossibly closer to him is overwhelming. I want to rip her hair out and smash her face in. I want her to take a giant step away from him and remove her filthy hands from his arm. I’ve never been a violent person—I abhor violence—but this bitch clinging to Bosco right now is about to bring out a whole new, unexplored side of me.

  Bosco looks down at the girl and straightens, his fingers wrapping more firmly around her hand.

  “You know what?” I snap, my heart clenching with pain and anger. “Never mind. I’ve got work to do.” Turning on my heel, I storm away from them, desperate to escape the possessive emotions I thought had died along with my fiancé.

  Bosco

  Sarah’s ass in that short skirt moves farther away from me while my brain’s still trying to figure out exactly what the fuck had just happened. Since when does Sarah work at Chrome? And since when does she get pissy about seeing me with another woman? She’s made it clear several times that she sees me as nothing more than a friend. My gaze slides to the bouncer, who seems just as shocked as I am. And who the fuck is this guy that Sarah looked so cozy with?

  Thin fingers press into my arm, and I look down to see Rachel’s nervous eyes watching me. Right. The reason we came here in the first place.

  “Need to see Pimp,” I say to the beefcake security guy that’d been way too fucking close to Sarah.

  He gives his head a slight shake as he rips his gaze away from Sarah’s retreating form, looking to me. “He expecting you?”

  “Nope. Tell him Bosco’s here.”

  He holds up a finger, telling me to wait as he presses a button on his headset. He relays my message, and then with a nod of his head, he steps aside. “Top of the stairs.”

  “No shit,” I sneer as I brush past him, making sure to bump his chest with my shoulder, knocking him back a step.

  Just before I open the door to Pimp’s office, Rachel tugs on my arm. “Maybe this isn’t such a good idea,” she says. Her brows are pulled in, causing a light crease to form between them.

  My hand is still on the doorknob when I lean down to catch her eyes. “Do you trust me?” She pulls her lip between her teeth, her eyes filled with uncertainty, but after a few moments, she nods.

  As I raise my fist to knock on the door, it swings open. Pimp’s large frame stands on the other side, his eyes going directly to Rachel, who stiffens and steps behind me, using me as her own personal human shield.

  “Bosco,” Pimp greets. He moves away from the door, holding it open for us to come inside. His gaze follows Rachel as we pass.

  Pimp is intimidating—the man is huge. He’s only in his late thirties, but his eyes look like they’ve lived a thousand lifetimes. He’s a man of few words, always listening and assessing. I’ve seen him take down three men at once in a fight, simply because they weren’t respecting one of his waitresses. And that’s why we’re here.

  Club Chrome may belong to the Kings, but it’s all Pimp’s. He runs a tight, extremely profitable business entirely on his own. His staff are thoroughly vetted by a standard only he understands. One thing he’s known for, though, is hiring women who’ve had it rough. He gives them a job, and if needed, a place to stay. A chance at a new life. All of these are things Rachel needs.

  Pimp takes a seat behind his desk and I sit in the chair across from him, pulling Rachel down into the one at my side. “Hey,” I mutter, unsure of where to even start. I don’t want to give too much away. The last thing I need is the club finding out about my own addiction. Not now. The time to tell them was when I started prospecting, but I hadn’t done that. I was too fucking afraid they’d kick me out on my ass, so I improvise. “I was wondering if maybe you might have any job openings for my friend, Rachel.”

  Pimp’s brow lifts in surprise, his eyes darting from me to Rachel as he taps his fingertips on top of his desk. Rachel and I both sit still as statues waiting for his answer. Leaning back in his chair, he chews on his lower lip, his focus completely on the frightened woman at my side.

  “How long you been clean?” he finally asks. “And don’t fuckin’ lie to me. I can see the withdrawal coursing through your veins from here.”

  “Two days,” she says, her voice almost inaudible over the muffled base of the music on the other side of the door.

  “You got a family?”

  Rachel swallows and slowly shakes her head from side to side.

  Pimp nods and continues staring at her. Finally, his gaze turns to me. “How are you involved with her?”

  “Long story, man,” is all I can think of to say.

  His fingertips drum a short beat on the desktop as he looks back to Rachel. “This ain’t a fuckin’ halfway house. I help women out of bad situations, but I ain’t responsible for keeping needles outta their veins. They gotta do that themselves.”

  Rachel’s head drops forward, and I can feel the wave of shame wafting from her tiny form.

  “You want a job here?” he asks, leaning forward as she looks up. She nods, her eyes showing a faint flicker of hope. “Get yourself clean. Two weeks, that’s all I ask. Clean yourself up, prove to me you can do this shit, and I’ll help you out. Deal?”

  Her eyes light up. “Deal.”

  Pimp’s face transforms with a smile I’ve never seen on him before; one he never shows us at the clubhouse. It’s warm and welcoming, and full of understanding. A smile, I now realize, he reserves for the women in his care.

  “And you,” he says, turning to me. “I’m gonna want to hear that fuckin’ story. And soon.”

  “Deal,” I reply, knowing that I can’t hide my truth forever.

  I watch with narrowed eyes as he smirks. “That all you wanted to ask me?”

  Fucker. He knows it’s not. “How long’s Sarah been working here?”

  Pimp cocks a brow in my direction. “Shouldn’t you already know the answer to that?”

  Pinching my lips together, I curse under my breath. I was with Sarah just a couple days ago. How much can one woman’s life fucking change in two days? “How long?”

  Pimp chuckles. “This is her second shift. The men are lovin’ her too.” My gut hardens at the thought of any other men “loving” Sarah in any way. As he watches my reaction, his chuckle turns to an all-out belly laugh. “Don’t worry, lover boy. We’ll take good care of your girl.”

  Sarah

  I stumble through the darkness toward Millie’s bedroom. This schedule is going to take some getting used to. It’s five thirty in the morning, and I’ve officially gotten about two and a half hours’ worth of sleep. If Millie’s waili
ng cry is any indicator of how my day is going to go, I’m doomed.

  As I walk into my daughter’s bedroom, the first thing I notice is the overwhelming odor of urine, and I know without turning on the light that she’s wet the bed again. With a tired groan, I flick on the small bedside lamp and instantly stop in my tracks.

  My daughter’s cheeks are shiny and red, her face tear free, regardless of her cries. “Oh, baby,” I whisper, pulling her to me and scooping her out of the bed. Her skin is as hot as the sun is dry. The lack of perspiration accompanying her fever scares the hell out of me.

  After digging through the top drawer of her dresser, I pull out the thermometer Bosco had bought during Millie’s last fever, just a few days ago. As I place the tip in her ear, I sway gently from side to side, humming a melody and stroking her back. The thermometer beeps, indicating it’s finished reading, and as I look at the small backlit screen, fear grips my spine with an icy grip.

  One hundred and five point two degrees. I’d read once that if a child’s fever is over one hundred and four, they need emergency intervention, and as a mother, I’ve always dreaded seeing that number on the screen. This number is higher.

  Clutching her scalding body to mine, I hurry down to the kitchen in search of her Tylenol. After pulling the correct dosage into a syringe, I whisper softly to her as she sucks it back. Her innocent brown eyes stare up at me, her pupils impossibly large.

  Knowing her lack of tears and perspiration is likely due to dehydration, I quickly fill a sippy cup with water, encouraging her to drink. She gulps the water down in loud gulps, her tiny finger coming up to twirl in her dark curls, like she’s done since she was born.

  Upstairs, I lay her down on my own bed and pull off her sodden pajamas. After locating a crumpled pull-up diaper at the bottom of an old diaper bag, I slide that onto her and help her slide her arms into a thin, cotton nightgown. “There you go, baby girl. Does that feel better?”

  Millie whimpers quietly, her legs curling up into her body until she’s in the fetal position. I quickly change my own clothes and slip into bed beside her, my phone in my hand, desperately googling toddler fevers and trying to decide if I should call a taxi and take her to the hospital.

  As I read the conflicting views and online horror stories, Millie’s breathing slows and deepens, her body pressing heavier against my side as she falls back to sleep. My mind works overtime as I try to decide whether to take her to the hospital or not. So many times I’ve gone in the past and waited for hours to see a doctor, only for them to tell me I’m overreacting and to give her fever a chance to break. Not for the first time, I curse my mother for not being here for me.

  Fuck it. If I’m overreacting, I’m overreacting. This has gone on long enough.

  My phone still in my hand, I flip through my contacts and call a taxi. Thank God for the tips I’d made last night; otherwise, I wouldn’t have been able to afford to even get us to the hospital, let alone back home again.

  Slipping out of bed, I quickly pack a bag with a change of clothes for Millie, some story books and her favorite stuffed elephant. I pull an oversized hoodie over my pajama shirt, and then scoop Millie up, blanket and all, and carry her down the stairs.

  Bosco

  Though the meeting with Pimp hadn’t gone exactly as I’d hoped, the outcome hadn’t been too terrible. The knowledge that Rachel would have a place to go once she got herself clean, eased both of our minds. The issue was, what were we supposed to do between now and then?

  “Do you really think he’ll help me?” Rachel asks, settling back on the bed in her hotel room. I’d paid up until the end of next week, putting a huge dent in my meager savings, which had been depleted quite a bit when I’d helped Sarah pay her bills. There was no other option, though. I wasn’t about to abandon her now.

  “Pimp?” I take a seat on the hard, wooden chair beside the small round table on the other side of the room. “I know he will. He might seem rough, but he’s got a soft spot for a woman in need. He’s private as hell, so I don’t really know much about him, but I do know that just about every girl in that bar is one he’s saved from one shit situation or another.”

  Rachel nibbles on her bottom lip, considering what I’d said.

  Leaning my head back against the wall, I close my eyes. I’ve spent the last couple nights in this room, sitting in this hard fucking chair. It wasn’t exactly comfortable, but there was no way in hell I was sharing that bed with Rachel, and I couldn’t exactly leave her that long. She needed someone with her while the drugs left her system.

  In all honesty, she’s done pretty well. I’ve seen people in withdrawal that screamed in pain and would cut your damned eye out if it meant they could get by you and find their next fix. Rachel’s discomfort was obvious, but she also seemed mostly just sad. Determined, but sad.

  “Who was the girl?”

  Her question breaks through my thoughts and I open my eyes, lifting my head to look at her. “Girl?”

  “The Latino one...the waitress.”

  I let out a deep breath and sit forward in my seat. “That was Sarah. A friend.”

  Rachel cocks a brow and smiles. “She’s pretty.”

  “She’s gorgeous.”

  Her eyes drift over my face, and I can almost see the wheels spinning in her mind. “Did you used to date her?”

  I can’t help but chuckle at that. “No. Never dated her.” Leaning back, I rest my head against the wall and close my eyes once more, but I keep talking. “Sarah was engaged to a buddy of mine. He died, leaving her on her own. I’ve kinda been...taking care of her since then.”

  Silence fills the room, and I can feel sleep’s siren call, sucking me into oblivion.

  “I think she assumed we were together.” Her inflection on that last word clearly meant together in more ways than just being present in the same room as one another.

  My heart stutters in my chest. Sarah had seemed pretty pissed tonight. Actually, it was the first time Sarah has ever really been pissed at me at all. But we’re friends. We’ve only ever been friends. And Sarah’s still in love with Mouse. I’ve never stood a chance. How could I compete with a dead man? “You’re wrong,” I finally say, deciding that this is going to be the end of this conversation.

  “I’m not,” she says. I watch as she turns and fluffs her pillows, arranging them around herself like some sort of weird, puffy cocoon. Once she’s settled, she reaches over and turns off the light, plunging us into darkness.

  Sarah

  It’s almost ten o’clock in the morning by the time Millie and I get home from the hospital. Her fever’s gone, but she’s sound asleep, not even waking as I took her from the taxi to the bed. After tucking her in, I slide into the shower, making it quick in case she wakes up.

  A cold—that was the official diagnosis. As I’d suspected, the doctor had told me that the cold was a common virus. He’d said that unless her fever lasted more than a consecutive two days, or she seemed delirious with her fever, it was just her body’s way of fighting off the bug.

  As the hot water splashes over me, I find my mind desperate for a distraction. I allow my mind to wander back to last night when I ran into Bosco. Who was that girl with him? Does he have a girlfriend I don’t know about?

  For the first time, it dawns on me that we’ve never really talked about him. These last few years, Bosco comes and goes from this house, always keeping a finger on the pulse of what’s going on with me and Millie, but I’ve never done the same with him. I know where he lives and how to get in touch with him, but beyond that, our conversations have always revolved around us girls.

  I don’t know about his family, or if he even has one. I know nothing about his past or his dreams for the future. Since losing Mouse, Bosco has always just kind of been there in the wings, waiting to swoop in and save us from anything and everything he can.

  As I step out of the shower and dry myself off, I think of the girl and the way her fingers had dug into his arm. The familiarity she’
d seemed to have with him ate at me. My reaction to seeing them had thrown me for a loop too. I’d wanted to rip that bitch’s hair out. Since when did I feel possessive over him?

  Since you saw him with another woman glued to his arm.

  Huffing out a breath, I flip my head forward and wrap a towel around my hair, turban style. Bosco’s love life is none of my damn business. Marching out of the bathroom, I ignore the burning jealousy in my chest at the thought of Bosco having a love life at all.

  I’m walking back to my bedroom wearing nothing but a towel when the doorbell rings. A quick peek in the bed shows me that Millie’s still sound asleep. Snatching up my robe from the hook in my closet, I rush down the stairs to get the door before whoever it is wakes her up.

  Shoving my arms into my robe, I struggle to tie up the silky sash as I run down the stairs. At the bottom, I fumble with the deadbolt and yank the door open. Bosco stands on the other side, a tray with two cups of coffee and a smoothie in his hand.

  His eyes land on my towel-turban hair and his lips tip up on one side. Thrusting the tray toward me, he says, “Mornin’, sunshine.”

  A man after my own heart. The smell of hot coffee wafts around me in a beautiful caffeine cloud as I take the drinks from him and step aside. “Not that I’m complaining, but how did you know I was even here?”

  Bosco chuckles as he follows me inside. “I’m fine, thank you for asking.”

  I flip the tab open on one of the coffees and place the steaming cup to my lips. Heaven. Lifting my gaze to Bosco’s smiling face, my belly does a little dip. I’ve always thought Bosco was hot; there’s no denying that.

  His dark hair is always effortlessly messy, giving off the vibe that he doesn’t give a shit how he looks one way or the other, but I know it’s because he runs his fingers through it when he’s thinking. His brown eyes are deep and caring, and his lips...God, his lips. His lips are masculine and full, and perfect.