This Life 1

by Cara Dee

  “It’s so remote,” another man mused.

  “I reckon that’s the point.” The oldest guy of them wore a wry smirk. “If anyone wants privacy, it’s that family.”

  I’d say I’d lost my appetite, but I hadn’t eaten anything all day, so I continued scarfing down my burger. Maybe I’d reached my limit for how much I could handle. Maybe I’d lose my mind now. Maybe I’d just surrender and laugh at everything that happened.

  “They’re calling it a compound,” Franny whispered. “The main house—where Shannon and his wife will live—will be ready in a couple weeks.”

  “Okay.” I washed down my food with some soda. “Can we change the topic?”

  “Ugh, you’re just like Sarah. I think she’s avoiding me.”

  Gee, I wondered why.

  No one could escape this, however. Not even Sarah. The town was buzzing, and rumors were flying everywhere. Everyone was sickly fascinated by the O’Sheas’ imminent arrival, and many actually thought it would benefit the town’s economy.

  It was dark when I walked home, and I couldn’t wait to get in the shower. If I got lucky, Dad would be passed out in his chair.

  Then, since when did I get lucky?

  A black sports car parked outside my house could answer that question.

  Never, bitch.

  The anxiety made a swift return, and I had to force my feet to carry me forward. Leftover salt from the winter road treatment crunched under my shoes. Agent Caldwell was in my head. We need good citizens like you who are willing to do what it takes. That person wasn’t me, that person wasn’t me, that person wasn’t me.

  Finnegan was parked under a flickering streetlamp, and the copper in his brown hair shone when he climbed out of his car. Just like last time, he was dressed in all black, and he rounded the car to lean casually against the passenger’s-side window. He was another skyscraper-tall bastard, and I couldn’t imagine folding himself into that slip of a speedster could be very comfortable.

  “What are you doing here?” Did I sound nervous? Fuck.

  “Not even a hello first?” He offered a wolfish smile, and I swallowed hard. “I stopped by to see if you’d changed your mind about dinner.”

  Double fuck. I licked my lips anxiously and passed my mailbox. I wished he’d go away forever, but I didn’t have the balls to put my foot down. And if I couldn’t tell him to fuck off, how was I going to, for lack of a better word, spy on him on behalf of the FBI?

  I knew where snitches ended up.

  “What do you have to lose?” he asked.

  “My life?”

  He grinned widely, the sight taking me aback. It unnerved me how dangerously handsome he was. So completely masculine and intense. But that grin revealed something else. If I didn’t know any better, I’d call it boyish, a word that sounded so wrong for him. No, not boyish, but certainly something younger.

  “Isn’t it illegal for you to ask me out?” I was growing frustrated. “I’m only seventeen, you know.”

  He hummed and checked his watch. “For another week, aye.” He paused as he pulled out a smoke and lit it up. “Pretty sure the age of consent in Pennsylvania refers to sexual activity, though. Not dates. And…I think that age is sixteen.”

  I gaped at him. A hot flush rose to the surface of my skin, and I had never been so fucking offended by a person’s mere presence before. The urge to slap the shit out of him surged back with a vengeance.

  He was way too fucking amused, and he leaned forward as if to reveal a secret. “I’m not going to fuck you, Emilia. It’s just dinner.”

  Right at that second, he could consider himself lucky I’d kept at least ten feet between us. Otherwise, I would’ve rammed my elbow up into his chin, and then he probably would’ve killed me.

  I blew out a heavy breath and reined in the anger. What I wouldn’t give to put him in his damn place! Uh—well. I had the chance. That place could be prison, if he said anything incriminating that the Feds overheard.

  And so I was nervous as hell again.

  Could I really do it? Could I be brave like Sarah?

  One dinner.

  If I had to be honest with myself, I didn’t think something would happen after just one date or whatever this would be. Sweet Jesus, a date. With Finnegan O’Shea.

  A cold breeze blew past, causing me to shudder, and I hugged myself. It prompted Finnegan to give me a once-over before he narrowed his eyes at me. I got it, he wasn’t very impressed. No one was.

  “One dinner,” I heard myself say. Agent Caldwell’s card burned a hole in my pocket. Holy shit, I was gonna do this.

  It seemed Finnegan was as surprised as I was, though he masked it quickly, and then he smiled. “Are you available tomorrow?”

  Weird day to go on a date—a Thursday. Unless he was eager to drag me into a criminal lifestyle, at which he’d fail so miserably.

  “Sure.” I was off work, at least. “Just—make it public, okay? No backwoods or ditches.”

  Finnegan let out a carefree laugh that divided my thoughts. For one, he was even more gorgeous when he laughed. For two, I couldn’t wait to be the one who got the last laugh.

  “You got it, princess. A public dinner.” He chuckled and stubbed out his smoke. “I’ll pick you up at seven.”

  “I can’t wait.” The snark slipped out, and I clenched my jaw. I wasn’t a damn princess.

  He winked. “Me either.”

  Arrogant son of a bitch.

  Chapter 4

  Emilia Porter

  Throw up once, shame on me. Throw up twice, call in sick.

  There was no way I could handle classes the next day. Besides, if I saw Sarah, I would end up spilling my guts to her about everything. How she had been able to keep this secret, I would never understand. I was a nervous wreck, and it got worse when I realized I’d already messed up. Agent Caldwell had requested I tell him where I would meet with Finnegan, in the event he did call again. And he had, and I hadn’t asked him where we were going, and now I was gonna die.

  “Take a deep breath, Miss Porter.” Agent Caldwell comforted me over the phone. “First of all, what you’re doing is amazing. You should be proud of yourself. Not many people would be brave enough to go along with this.”

  Deeeep breath. I drew it in through my nose and closed my eyes. “I’m not brave.” I said that while holding my breath, so it sounded like I was choking. Christ. I exhaled heavily. “How can you record information if you don’t know where we’re going beforehand?”

  “You could call him and ask.”

  “I don’t have his number.” Shit, shit, this wasn’t gonna work!

  Agent Caldwell hummed in the background, and I heard the sound of tapping keys. “I’ll call you back in a few hours. Is that all right? We’ll figure something out.”

  “Sure.” Not that I knew how he could possibly fix this by then, but whatever. “I’ll go back to pacing a hole in my floor.”

  We wrapped up the call, and I did the worst cleaning job in my room ever. For the most part, I moved knickknacks from one place to another. Not that there was much to move. Nothing in my room was of any value, except for the tin box under the floorboards where I kept my meager savings of tips from the diner.

  My life up until this point had barely blipped anyone’s radar, and when there was nothing to celebrate, whether I could afford it or not, there were very few keepsakes. I had a box under the bed with some childhood stuff. Drawings and craft projects from school. Clothes in the closet from the thrift store. A desk with an old computer that didn’t function anymore, other than taking up space. Two pictures on my nightstand. And my rickety bed. This was all I’d leave behind when Finnegan O’Shea made me sleep with the fishes.

  Slumping down on the edge of the bed, I wriggled my toes and wondered how I’d look in concrete shoes.

  Didn’t Capone do that to his enemies?

  I’d just changed the sheets in Dad’s room and was on my way down the stairs when the phone rang. My heart jumped into my t
hroat, and I hurried down and into the kitchen. The dirty laundry ended up on the table before I grabbed the phone.

  “This is Emilia,” I answered. Perhaps Agent Caldwell hadn’t figured out a way, and we should postpone—

  “Good, you’re home.” Aw, man. It was Finnegan. “You’ll have a delivery at four. I just wanted to make sure you’d be there.”

  He sounded businesslike, which of course grated on me. Was this a date or a business transaction? Well, actually, I supposed it was the latter. He had told me about some offer to turn me into a drug mule. Or maybe that last part was my guess.

  “How did you get my number?” I asked, annoyed.

  Who cares? You have his now.

  “Your father gave it to me.”

  Oh. Oh! I had him on the phone. I should ask for details about the dinner.

  “Okay,” I said quickly, closing that subject so I could start the next. “Where are we going? I, um, wanna plan my outfit.” Like, did I wear my jeans or my other pair of jeans?

  There was a pause, and when Finnegan spoke again, humor seeped in. “We’re going someplace public. And don’t worry about your outfit.”

  I huffed. “I need more details than that, Finnegan.”

  He rumbled a curse, the low sound sending a shiver down my spine. “That’s the first time you’ve said my name.”

  “Oh,” I mouthed. Heat spread across my face—in anger, probably. My body was understandably reacting weirdly because my life had turned into Bizarroworld.

  Did he like it when I said his name? His entire existence put me on edge, and I didn’t know what to make of him. Besides the criminal stuff. He had to have some sort of agenda where I was concerned. He didn’t know me well enough to pursue me like one would with a regular bout of attraction. He wanted something else.

  “Gettysburg,” he said and cleared his throat. “More restaurants there, and it’s close. I found an Asian fusion place I thought we’d try.”

  Asian fusion place. That better give enough clues for Agent Caldwell. In a small town where reenacting a battle was the main attraction, I couldn’t imagine there being more than one Asian fusion restaurant. I wasn’t there often enough to remember. When I could borrow a car, I sometimes went to a strip mall outside of the town limits to buy cheaper groceries.

  “Okay, sounds good.” I nodded even though he couldn’t see me, and I stared down at my feet. Concrete shoes, concrete shoes. “I’ll be ready at seven.”

  “Don’t forget the delivery at four,” he replied. “See you in a few hours, Emilia.”

  He disconnected the call, and I stared at the phone. Delivery at four. Right. What the crap was gonna get delivered? There were so many options. I had to call Agent Caldwell right away, and maybe he’d have more ideas about what mobsters sent their dates.

  A dead fish. A mold to be fitted for concrete shoes. A book of poetry about what happened to snitches.

  Or…the rich asshole sent me clothes.

  Don’t worry about your outfit.

  I unpacked the box in the kitchen and peered inside. Underneath a layer of tissue paper was a dark purple dress, a pair of heels, and what looked suspiciously like a jewelry box. Wait, there was more. The silky fabric of the dress had hidden something furry. It was ridiculously soft to the touch, white, and hopefully not real fur. It was a bolero or whatever they called those short jackets.

  I took a shaky breath as my stomach fluttered, and the fact that I wanted to smile made me embarrassed. I’d never owned anything this pretty before. Ashamed of my reaction, I grabbed the box and ran upstairs to my room and closed the door. Then I held up the dress in front of the mirror on the back of my door, picturing what it’d look like on me.

  It wasn’t okay to enjoy this one bit.

  The fabric was so thin and silky and smooth and airy. I’d have to wear my push-up bra to do this dress some justice. Putting the hanger over my head, I pinched the dress at my waist and inspected my body. Was this what girls who went to prom felt like? I’d never been.

  I returned to the box on the bed and folded the dress carefully.

  There was a card too. I turned it over and snorted softly. A personal shopper named Karla wished me a pleasant evening and told me to call her if there were any issues with the outfit.

  The heels were deathtraps, silvery with pearl-like beads sewn along the straps. They probably cost a fortune. How much could I get for these on eBay? If I’d had another pair of shoes that went with the dress, I would’ve saved these to sell later.

  Sarah didn’t sell everything, judging by the new threads she wore every day now. Couldn’t I indulge too?

  Finnegan was going to use me for something, or try, much like Patrick used Sarah. Would it make me horrible if I tried to gain something in return?

  None of this felt right, and the unease churned as I showered and shaved my legs. The last date I was on was a year ago. Jimmy and I went to the diner, and then we shared a few awkward and way too wet kisses in his car. And as much as I’d disliked my time with him, there hadn’t been this guilt. A moral dilemma, that was what this was.

  I reemerged from the bathroom with a towel wrapped around me, and I remembered I hadn’t even looked inside the other box. I lifted the little lid, and the unease grew tenfold. This wasn’t child’s play. Finnegan didn’t fuck around, did he? It was a bracelet, a really goddamn expensive-looking one. Amethysts were purple, right? Crystal-clear like diamonds, countless little purple stones were embedded in a silver—scratch that—white gold bracelet.

  “Ugh.” I clutched my stomach and sat down on the bed. This wasn’t my life. I couldn’t dress up in gorgeous dresses and wear gems without wondering where they came from. Who had Finnegan robbed to pay for this?

  I’d suck it up, dammit. Agent Caldwell and his team were counting on me, and I was going to be brave like Sarah and help law enforcement. I had to believe it would help in the long run. I mean, you couldn’t take down a crime family like Finnegan’s after one dinner. If he asked me out again, I would go. I would do what it took in order to bring them down once and for all.

  Feeling better about my decision, I dried my hair and twisted the waves into a loose up-do. Then I did my makeup, which consisted of nearly poking my eye out with the mascara, a bit of eyeliner, and a rosy lip balm. I didn’t own anything else, and I could thank Franny for the mascara and eyeliner.

  Next, I squeezed my boobs into a push-up bra, and they did look all right. “Huh.” Perhaps my shitty diet of free burgers at the diner was rewarding me with nicer boobs. I put on the dress, and it was like slipping into a slice of heaven. Fuck it all, I deserved to indulge.

  Now I had a little over an hour to learn how to walk in these heels.

  Dad stumbled home at twenty minutes to seven when I was putting his dinner in the fridge.

  He paused in the doorway to the kitchen and stared blearily at me. “What’re you wearing?”

  “A dress. Do you want me to leave your plate in the fridge, or should I heat it up?”

  He waved a hand and pushed off the doorframe. “M’goin’ to bed.”

  Good talk.

  “Okay. Um, I have a date. Just so you know.”

  He returned to the doorway, his bushy brows furrowing. Christ, he was way past drunk today. Chief must’ve bought him drinks, ’cause I knew how little was in Dad’s wallet.

  “Don’t you have work?” he slurred.

  “Still not on Thursdays.”

  He grunted. “All right. The boy better pay. Night.”

  I sighed and scratched my eyebrow, listening to his heavy footfalls up the stairs.

  Throwing a glance at the fridge, I counted the days on the calendar that weren’t marked in red yet. Six boxes. Six days until I turned eighteen.

  Funny, my finals that were coming up in a few weeks didn’t bother me in the slightest. Maybe because there was a chance I’d be homeless by then.

  At the sound of the doorbell, I became rigid, and my gaze flew to the nearest clock. The fucke
r was early! Crap, crap, crap. I was gonna lose my nerves—no. Balls. I was gonna grow balls. I could do this. Deep breaths. I’d done all I could so far. I’d talked to Agent Caldwell and relayed the information I had, and he’d coached me; he’d suggested questions I could ask Finnegan. I was as ready as I’d ever be.

  I released a long breath and closed my eyes. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten. I was brave. I was smart. Or something.

  Walking carefully in my deathtraps, I reached the hallway and opened the door, revealing Finnegan in a new suit that, for once, wasn’t black. The charcoal suit fit him perfectly and matched his eyes, and the black button-down had been replaced by a white shirt. Huh. Dark purple tie. It went with my dress. Was that on purpose?

  “You’re early,” I accused.

  He smiled. “And you’re still seventeen, so I’m just gonna say you look nice.”

  I looked down self-consciously and mumbled a thanks. Then I excused myself for one second to grab the furry jacket thing that I’d hung on a chair in the kitchen. With no phone or wallet, there was no purse to worry about. My lip balm was tucked safely into my bra.

  I was in way over my head with Finnegan. Crimes aside, he was in another league. I was young and too inexperienced. I was used to boys who gaped at me and said things like, “Um, you’re like, um, so pretty.” Okay, used to was a stretch, but it was true for the few boys I’d dated.

  Finnegan wasn’t a boy.

  He helped me into the jacket, then brushed his long fingers along my new bracelet.

  I hauled in a breath and hoped he didn’t notice the goose bumps.

  “You ready?” he murmured.

  I nodded jerkily and took a step back. He wasn’t safe. Standing too close to him was out of the question.

  I followed him outside and locked up.

  Could a mobster also be a gentleman? Because he held the car door for me and everything. My senses were invaded by the scent of rich leather once I sat down, and the seat was weirdly comfy and encompassing.

  I was surrounded by luxury for the first time in my life, and it was turning me into a freaking hillbilly because my brain took its sweet-ass time processing everything.