Obsessed: A Billionaire Love Triangle

by Mia Ford

  To be fair, I guess there was a chance someone would come out ahead on the wagers going down at the tables, but chances were that bonus cash would find its way into a vein or a pussy somehow. The Cubs wouldn’t see a dime.

  All the lights made my head hurt and would have spiraled me into a severe depression if I hadn’t been here for work. As it was, I was eager to get the party started.

  I waded through the sea of bodies sprawled across the dirty plank floor in various stages of consciousness. My dad’s buddy, Stan—appropriately nicknamed “Gorilla”— had been hard at work in lieu of my arrival. He was supposed to start a bar fight, zero in on a dude named Archie Dee, then let me save Archie’s ass as a way of infiltrating the South Side Gang, which was headed up by Archie’s best pal, Richie Silvestri.

  Stan had been one of the best detectives on the force before he was forced to medically retire after taking a bullet to the brain that would have killed most guys. At six-foot-six and three hundred pounds, it just pissed Stan off. Still, the force deemed him unfit to serve and mustered him out. Now, he worked as a private consultant, helping out cops here and there and earning a few bucks for his time. Having him bust up the place and knock a few dicks in the dirt tonight was the best five hundred dollars I’d ever expense to the job. When he said he’d start something to give me an in with Richie Silvestri, he hadn’t been kidding.

  The target of my brawl ruse—the reason for the C-note investment—was currently being held against the bar by a big, burly fellow who looked like he could be Bigfoot’s cousin. He wore greasy jeans, had a scruffy beard, a shaved head, a sleeveless t-shirt that showed off his ham-hock arms, and an old biker’s jean vest that had the name KILLER sewn on the front.

  He was not Stan, even though he was holding my target, Archie Devereaux —Archie Dee— the small-time fish playing with the sharks in the big cesspool that was Chicago’s underworld. I knew Archie was allowed to play only because he’d been Richie Silvestri’s best friend since they were baby gangbangers. He was a tall, skinny dude that looked like he might break if you looked at him hard. Another few seconds with this guy’s beefy hand around his throat would have probably made him shit his pants.

  “Sorry about that,” a deep voice said from behind. I turned to see Stan staring at the guy who had Archie by the throat. I had to look up to meet his eyes. “That asshole got to Devereaux before I did. You want me to take him out for you?”

  “Nah, I have to do this,” I said, taking a deep breath and blowing it out slowly. “Just keep my back covered.”

  “Will do.”

  “And Stan,” I said with a smile. “If this goes south, don’t let this guy kill me.”

  “Roger that.”

  “Hey, Bigfoot,” I said, approaching the big guy from behind.

  He gave me a hard look, like you would do to a fly buzzing around your ear. A growl rumbled out of the big guy’s throat, followed by a snarl. “Fuck off,” he said. “Or you’ll be next.”

  “You’re not supposed to play with your food,” I said. “Why don’t you just put the guy out of his misery or let him go?”

  He growled at me again and tightened his grip on Archie’s throat. “I said fuck off, shit head.” He swung around, pulling Archie with him like he was a rag doll. “You wanna take his place?”

  “Sure,” I said with a shrug. “I’ve got nothing better to do than knock your fat ass away from the bar so I can get a drink.”

  The guy frowned at me like he was sensitive about his weight. He let go of Archie’s neck, and the poor guy dropped like a stone, gasping, his face red, eyes bulging. Bigfoot took a step toward me, stomping on Archie’s hand in the process. A howl rose from the floor as Archie clutched what was probably a broken hand, but the big guy kept his focus on me.

  This asshole was huge and hairy, and would have looked far more comfortable in the Pacific Northwest than here in a steamy pool hall that reeked of sweat, stale perfume, and so much beer-soaked wood a man could gag just walking into the joint. But I was big, too, and had been a linebacker in high school. As long as I didn’t hit him with my bum knee—or he didn’t hit me—I figured I was golden.

  “Think I can’t take you?” I asked, smirking at him just to rev him up. Big guys like him get revved up and lose focus, thinking they can win the fight purely by their size.

  “I know you can’t take me,” he snorted. “Come on, pretty boy. Show me what you got.”

  Pretty boy? Really?

  He took another step forward. Crunch went Archie’s foot. Archie howled and scrambled away, crab-walking his way several feet to curl under the lip of the bar.

  I had almost forgotten that the bar fight Stan had started was still raging behind me. A body slammed into my back, but I shook it off, ignoring the warmth of damp sweat, and possibly blood, against my T-shirt. This fight had devolved from a chaotic skirmish into a full-on battle. I wasn’t worried about me, but I needed Archie out of here in one piece to be of any value to me.

  When the guy came toward me my right fist shot out quickly. My knuckles caught him right on the chin and stopped him cold. He rocked back on his heels then staggered against the bar. He clutched at a stool to keep from tumbling, and then he roared at me like a pissed off mountain gorilla.

  “Oh, I’m sorry.” I shook my hand, hoping that I hadn’t broken it on this asshole’s face. “Did I hurt you?”

  His hot breath poured from his mouth as he let out another roar and charged toward me, head prepared to butt me into next Tuesday. Even better.

  When the fucker got within a foot of me, I sidestepped and spun around, using my weight to propel him farther. He plowed into a table, toppling bottles, breaking glasses, knocking people down, and smashing the rickety thing beneath his ginormous head.

  The sounds of clapping and cheering replaced the sounds of fists hitting flesh and bottles shattering against the floor as everyone around us froze in mid-step and mid-punch. I sauntered over and lifted the ape by the belt and the dank hunk of hair at his neck. I somehow managed to lift him and flung him across the wet floor like a bowling bowl.

  My human bowling ball knocked down everything in his path and smashed into the jukebox, cutting off Johnny Cash in mid-warble. The glass over the front cracked then rained in shards to the floor. The lights flickered, dimmed, flickered again, and then the box just moaned and died. Bigfoot gave a low groan and fell still.

  “Holy shit, man. You took down Otto.”

  I turned to find Archie limping toward me, nursing his hand against his chest like a baby bird. A bright red ring punctuated by two thumbprints hugged his neck. His eyes said junkie; his breath said alcoholic. I knew he was both, but he was perfect for my plan. He was staring at me with something akin to wonder. Even better.

  “Otto was messing up my night,” I said with a shrug. “I don’t mind a good brawl, but killing someone shouldn’t be part of it.” I waved my aching hand up and down his body. “You all good?”

  He nodded quickly, so fast I thought his head would pop off.

  “I haven’t seen you around,” Archie said, his eyes still glowing like I’d just played the world’s greatest guitar solo. “New to town?”

  “I been away for a while, upstate,” I said, inferring that I’d just gotten out of Joliet Prison without actually saying so. “Danny O’Shea.”

  “Archie Devereaux. But call me Archie Dee. Everyone does.”

  “Nice to meet you, Archie Dee.”

  I held out my right hand. Archie started to shake it then winced at the pain in his own hand. I was glad because my hand hurt like a mother.

  I nodded at the hand he was clutching to his chest. “Is it bad?” I didn’t care, but it seemed the right thing to say.

  Archie glanced at his hand and tried to put on a brave face. “Would have been worse, a lot worse.” He glanced toward the giant slug still lying in the demolished jukebox. “Otto doesn’t quit.”

  “Seemed like a quitter to me.” I huffed.

  “Yeah.�
�� Archie gave me one of those smiles that almost made you feel sorry for a guy. Almost. “I owe you,” he said. “Big time. You name it.”

  I shoved my hands in my jeans pockets and rocked on my heels. This guy was like putty in my hands, though I’d suspected he would be. I pretended to think for a minute.

  “I could use a job,” I said. “Know anyone looking to hire someone with no marketable skills?”

  Archie gave me a bobble-headed nod. His shaggy hair fluttered against his shoulders. “A job? Sure, I can hook you up. You got a car? I can take you to him right now.”

  “Sure, my car’s right outside.” As we started out the door, Otto was groaning, starting to come around, I looked at Archie and smiled. “Wanna give the bastard a kick for luck?”

  “I’m afraid it would be bad luck,” he said, giving me a nervous smile and shaking his head, as if he knew what kicking Otto might bring down on his head later on.

  “Then let me do it,” I said. I pulled my foot back and gave Otto an easy kick in the ribs that made him groan.

  “I like your style, Danny O’Shea,” Archie said with a look mixed with admiration and dread. “Come on, let’s get the fuck out of here before he wakes up. I got someone you need to meet.”

  Chapter Four: Hannah

  Unfortunately, the staircase that led to my apartment was connected to the strip club by a narrow hallway, and down this hallway was Richie’s office, a storeroom, and the kitchen, as well as a door into the alley.

  As I was turning off the lights, the sound of Richie’s laughter boomed in the hallway, a signal that my brother was in a seriously good mood, and it probably involved money. That could only mean that someone had become ensnared in one of his traps. Drugs. Whores. Gambling. It didn’t matter. Richie would get someone hooked, and then they owed him for life.

  After midnight was an odd time of night for a meeting though. Curious, or stupid, I decided to take a peek. If he saw me, I’d feign insomnia and ask for a nightcap. He liked to look like a doting brother in front of minions.

  Since I was dressed in a teddy that showed way too much skin, I grabbed my flannel bathrobe and wrapped it tightly. The last thing I needed was someone eyeing me and getting any ideas. I wasn’t sure who I might encounter.

  My locks disengaged quietly because I kept them well oiled. The stairs didn’t protest under my weight because I was tall and slender, not a big old ox like Butch. I crept down on bare feet, pulling the sash of my robe tighter, suddenly wishing it had a turtleneck because this robe showed too much cleavage.

  The music got louder as I descended, the thump and beat of “Pour Some Sugar on Me” vibrating against the risers. I’d always liked that song, but lately I cringed when I heard it.

  The flash of strobe lights flared through the partially opened door to the club. I squinted against the annoying flicker, wondering how anyone could enjoy a night out in that environment, but I knew from experience that the louder the music, the more liquor was consumed.

  The pulsing lights kept the excitement level up, and the more excited the men got, the more money they threw on the stage. Men were sheep, and when you put a bunch of them in the same room with a naked woman and all the liquor they could drink, they became horny rams looking for a score.

  The only other light shown from Richie’s office around the corner, so I followed the dim trail and peeked around the T-junction. Richie was shaking hands with a stranger, and Archie Dee stood by like a good little bootlicker. I could feel the hero worship from here. It wafted off Archie in pitiful waves as he fawned over my brother and gestured between himself and the stranger. I hadn’t gotten a good look at him because he faced away from the door, but he was a big lout. All we needed around here was more brawn and less brains. The place got dumber by the day.

  No one just casually meeting Richie would know what a bastard he was. My brother was a good-looking man by almost any standards except mine. I knew the blackness of his heart. We both had our father’s black hair and olive skin, and I’d been blessed with my mother’s cornflower blue eyes, but Richie’s eyes were like no one’s in the family. Black voids. Empty except for the darkness that led to his soul. Staring into his eyes was like staring into a level of hell you’d never known existed, and when he smiled, and you knew him like I did… Well, men actually pissed their pants sometimes.

  Tonight, though, that smile was different, big, wide, friendly. He put his arm around Archie Dee and tucked the smaller man right into his side like the good buddies they had always been. If my brother had a soft spot, it wasn’t for his strippers, and it wasn’t for me. It was for Archie. Something had bound them together as kids, but I’d only been a baby then, so I wasn’t in on that secret.

  The lighting had changed to flashing red lights, casting an eerie glow over the dark hallway, and then I heard the guitar. I knew what was coming next. Glimmer’s favorite song. I happened to like it too, and for a moment I lost myself to the music and started bouncing and swaying in the hallway until I caught myself. Occupational hazard I guess, or maybe it was just me. Did I like to dance? I sure damn did, but dancing in this place was a bad and dangerous precedent to set. Richie could always change his mind and decide to give me a promotion. Lots of guys had begged him to put me on the stage. The thought made me gag. I didn’t even like them looking at me in the low-cut blouses Richie made me wear. I died a little inside every time I had to put one on.

  I crept a little closer so I could hear them over the pulse of Shook Me All Night Long.

  “That was a good thing you did, friend,” Richie said. “I won’t soon forget it. Archie here is a friend for life.”

  Something was wrong with Archie’s hand because he kept it cupped against his chest, and every time Richie moved, Archie winced and sent a tight smile toward the man in the shadows. He was tall, built like the hero on the cover of the book I kept on my nightstand, with a head of dark hair that curled against the nape of his neck. Below the sleeves of his black T-shirt, his arms were loaded with tats, not scary ones like Butch’s but beautiful artwork that drew the eye.

  “He looked like he could use a hand,” the man said. “Bad pun, Archie. Sorry.”

  “No problem,” Archie said, cupping his hand closer. Richie jostled him again, and Archie grimaced. My brother was such a dick.

  “Archie should stay out of the pool halls,” Richie said. “He sucks balls at it.”

  The stranger laughed, and when I heard it, the sound shot straight through my body and my pussy clenched on emptiness. Jesus.

  “Aw, Richie, that ain’t true. I’m okay at pool.”

  “Not good enough to hustle the big boys,” Richie said.

  “I just needed a little extra dough.”

  “Bullshit,” Richie muttered. “I’m not good enough to you? Don’t I take care of you?”

  Archie scratched at the arm cradled against him and, even in the dim light, seemed to pale. My brother generally kept him supplied with drugs and liquor, but Archie must have gone through his allotment for the month. Richie wasn’t going to be happy about that. He liked to keep Archie malleable but mostly in the here and now. Too many junkies dropped out of reality, and that wouldn’t serve my brother at all.

  “You do, Richie,” Archie murmured. “Like I said, I just needed some extra dough, you know, for my kids and shit. That damn bitch has been on my back again.”

  Richie sighed. “You should have come to me.” He dropped into his leather chair and twisted it back and forth, his hands loose on the armrests. I’m not sure I’d ever seen my brother so relaxed. It had to serve a purpose, and seeing it made me nervous. “You’re a damn fool, Arch. You could have been killed. Hustling Otto is the fast track to the morgue.”

  “I wasn’t hustling…at least not Otto,” Archie said. “There was some rube from Ohio there. Thought he was all that. I was playing him. Otto was taking down some guy on another table, and he was in a great mood up until the fight started.”

  Archie ran out of steam and hung his
head.

  “And?” Richie said.

  Archie drew in a deep breath. “And then he noticed the money missing from his table and blamed me.” He scratched his head. “I don’t know who started that fight. Came out of nowhere.”

  “That true?” Richie asked, eyeing the stranger.”

  “True from what I saw,” the stranger said, nodding. “Some big guy at the next table threw a bottle and all hell broke loose.”

  My pulse picked up as I stared at him. I hadn’t even seen his face, but the timbre of that voice did something to my insides. I knew this was the man I wanted.

  The men’s voices became more muted, but it sounded as though they were rehashing the fight, and the stranger laughed as he talked about Otto. When I heard his laugh, the sound shot straight through my body and my pussy clenched again. My breath caught at the sensation, and for a split second, I was afraid they’d heard me because the mystery man turned slightly, his gaze darting toward the open door.

  Jesus, he was good looking.

  “So, Richie, about the job…” Archie scratched at his arm again, clearly needing out of there.

  “What do you think of Pussy Whipped?” Richie asked.

  The tall man laughed. “Depends on the lady.”

  “Good one,” Archie said then murmured helpfully, “But he means the club.”

  “I get it, Archie. It’s a great club. First-class ass. Love the classic rock vibe too. Too many clubs play all that new shit. You can’t go wrong with classic rock.”

  “So, Richie, Danny here is looking for work. I kind of thought you’d help him out,” Archie said. “After he helped me out and all.”

  “And we always make good on promises around here,” my brother said. Truer words had never been spoken, and in my brother’s case, those promises often ended in real pain. Why anyone would willingly take a job in this place was beyond me.

  “Do you want to work here, Mr. O’Shea?”

  “I could use the cash,” the man said. “Like I told Archie on the way over, I’m looking to start a new life with new opportunities.”