by Nicole Fox
I snorted. “That old man will never die, Peter. Not unless we get fed up with his bullshit and put two into his brain.”
“Not a bad thought,” Jade said, her face a little serene considering she was talking about murder.
We were all silent for a second, all of us trapped inside of our own thoughts. But then Peter seemed to shake himself out of it, returning his grave attention to me. “So what is this I hear about you getting demoted for starting a bar fight for some waitress’s honor?”
“Is that the story they are spreading around?” I rolled my eyes. “What a joke.”
“Well, you did get demoted, Colton. And it was a fight, wasn’t it? What happened?” Jade’s sky-blue eyes watched him curiously. “Who is the waitress?”
“She’s my babysitter for the brat; my next door neighbor,” I answered reluctantly, not wanting to get into this particular conversation. “She worked at the diner we trashed.”
Peter and Jade exchanged looks, then turned back to me. I got an uneasy feeling my gut as they studied me closer. “This girl, is she pretty?”
“What’s that got to do with anything?” I answered, irritated. All of those questions I’d been trying to avoid asking myself were coming back again, circling the edges of my thoughts, waiting to be recognized. I really didn't like where this was going.
The smile on Jade’s face made my shoulders tense. “Shit, Colton, she must be very pretty then.”
“She is pretty, but that’s not the point. The dicks were pushing it like the owned the place, screaming while Marion was trying to take our orders and all. We took exception to their attitudes and we let them know how we felt about it.” My teeth were grinding together as I told them. The retelling was just reminding me of how fucking pissed I’d been at those guys; it had been a pleasure to knock the shit out of that bearded prick with the attitude. “Marion just happened to be in the middle of it. We trashed the place and ended up getting her fired. It was bad luck, a bad move. I was just so goddamn pissed.”
Jade made a face, her eyebrows lifting up into her hairline. “This Marion, she something special?” I knew she was teasing me, but I still hated it. Hated the implication that I had somehow attached myself to that weak woman.
I shook my head. I didn’t want to think about this. I didn’t want to think about Marion at all.
My mind, however, had other ideas.
Chapter Eleven
Marion
So this is what insanity feels like. I frowned at Dean, wondering how such a small set of lungs can make so much noise. I should have bought a toddler leash to keep this kid contained.
“Look, Dean. You refused to go to school, so now you have to come with me to the grocery store.” I glanced down at him, where the kid had collapsed onto the floor, throwing a Texas-sized tantrum.
“I hate grocery shopping,” he retorted, his eyebrows knitted together as he crossed his arms over his chest. He looked like he was trying to imitate his dad, but he was too cute and small to intimidate anyone that way. You don’t want to be your dad anyway, kiddo.
I shrugged. “That’s not my problem. I gave you two choices and you refused to go to school, so now you’re stuck with me. I’m just doing my job. And if you don’t get to your feet, not only will we not make dinner together, but we’ll also never leave here.” I took a deep breath, trying not to show my irritation. “I’ll stand right on this spot until the damn store closes at midnight if I have to.”
Dean made some long, groaning noises in the back of his throat, which I very pointedly ignored. So he made them louder, and I still ignored him, much to his chagrin. I started down the aisle, holding a grocery basket over my arm. It was an old-fashioned, handmade thing. I’d forgotten the story about it, but I knew it was something my mother had cherished deeply as something passed down from her mother. It was one of the few things that survived the purging of all of my stuff when I was forced to move out of my apartment. I’d lost nearly everything with the exception of some clothing, a few photos, and this basket that I carried all of those things away in.
I started down the aisle, eyeing some boxes of pasta noodles and cans of beans. Everything should be as preserved as possible; canned and dried when possible. I can’t afford to take us down to the grocery store more than once every two weeks at these bus fare prices.
Colton had handed me a twenty for groceries, and I knew that wouldn’t last long. I hunted the clearance aisles for the best deals, picking up a few essentials for me and the kid. After a few moments of me ignoring him, Dean decided to pick himself up off of the floor and follow in sullen silence. He kicked at imaginary dust on the floor, his little, torn sneakers leaving little scuffs of black across the dirty white tiles of the grocery store. I glanced back at him, watching as he stared at the floor, stubborn and sulky.
“So, why do you hate grocery stores so much?” I asked, my curiosity getting the better of me. Asking Dean questions wasn’t really a good idea; the poor kid seemed as unwilling to chat about himself as I was to talk about my own past. But I couldn’t help it. I wanted to know everything about Colton, about him, about his life. What was it that made these two so fascinating?
Dean cleared his throat, and I was pretty sure he wasn’t going to answer. We walked down the cookies and crackers aisle, and I eyed all of the things I used to eat. My mouth watered a little as I passed by some incredibly delicious looking boxes of cookies, but they were out of my price range. For the cost of that box, I could get flour, sugar, butter, eggs, and everything else I would need to make seven boxes of those cookies.
Too bad I didn’t have the money.
I had almost forgotten that I’d asked Dean a question by the time he finally answered. “I don’t like them because my mom used to drag me to them when I was little,” he answered, his voice cracking with unhappiness. My heart twisted hard in my chest at the sound of his pain. “I don’t remember it real well; I don’t remember her much either. But I remember her being drunk and drugged and crazy. She would- Well, I guess it doesn’t matter anymore. She’s dead anyway.”
I glanced back over my shoulder at the little boy, forced to grow up too soon. He looked so young in his torn cargo shorts and shirts. I wanted to comfort him, but I didn’t even know where to start. And Dean didn’t really seem like the hugging type.
So I did the only thing I knew how to do. Turning, I knelt down to put my face level with his. Dean’s face twisted like he wasn’t sure what to make of this new development. “I’m sorry, Dean. I won’t bring up the subject of your mom again if you don’t want me to. But if you want to talk about her or anything else, I will always listen. Okay?”
Dean’s chocolate eyes narrowed, his little fists jammed into his pockets. His lip wobbled for a second before he visibly swallowed back the tears he’d been holding in for what must have been years. “I’m okay. I don’t remember her face no more. It’s been a long time since she died.”
I resumed my grocery shopping, sighing with relief as I found a selection of slightly dented cans for fifty percent off. This would save me a ton.
We made it down two more aisles before Dean spoke again. He was still sulking, but he looked more thoughtful than irritated when I turned back to him again. “If you ever, you know, what to talk about something, I’ll listen, too.”
The grin on my face widened, tears pricking at the edges of my eyes. “That’s very kind of you, Dean. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
“So, do you like living with your dad?” I probed again, unable to stop myself.
Dean nodded vigorously. “Dad’s big and strong and loyal and brave. All the stuff I wanna be when I’m big like him.” He lifted both of his arms up, elbows bent, and flexed, looking like he was trying to model for a muscle competition. “He’s not home much, but when he is, he’s always talking about the Heaven’s Horns. I want to be just like him.”
The hero-worship in Dean’s eyes frightened me; if it was anyone else he worshiped so complete
ly, I wouldn’t be worried. But it was Colton. Colton the criminal who destroyed my workplace and got me fired. Colton who beat a man bloody right in front of me as I watched. No, Colton was not a man who deserved such hero-worship. The bad guy never deserved it. And even though his bad boy nature lit my blood on fire, he didn’t deserve my desire either.
“I’m going to grow up big and strong, too. Jade says so.”
I forced myself to smile down at him as I grabbed a couple of cans of fruit off of the shelf and stuffed them into my basket. “Who is Jade?”
“She’s a lady at the Heaven’s Horns. She’s smart.” Dean pointed to his forehead. “Real smart. My dad says so.”
Dean rattled on about some of the other club members who liked him, his face brightening as he chatted about how much they all liked him. I just nodded and made appreciative noises as he spoke, listening as Dean was obviously not used to being listened to. He seemed to brighten as he spoke, even though all of his words turned my blood to ice.
We rounded the corner again into the cereal and magazine aisle. I glanced through the books, wondering if I have enough to spare for something new to read. Now that I was just babysitting, I had a lot more free time than I ever had working at the diner. As much as I hated it admit it, maybe Colton did me a favor when he trashed that place.
I glanced over the titles of the books in the bargain bin, hoping for something interesting. Luckily for me, my eyes lit upon a copy of Treasure Island. Its cover was a little bent up and it was marked at two dollars. I was pretty sure I could spare the two bucks, and it gave me an idea. Maybe I could read this to Dean. Perhaps it would make him realize that just because you idolized someone, it doesn’t mean that person isn’t going to betray you.
It would be a hard lesson, but maybe Dean would pick up on it. Despite his lack of education, he was a quick study and a smart boy. If I could just get him to go to school…
We checked out, Dean ecstatic that we were finally leaving the store. He bounced around inside of the checkout line, keeping close to me even as he danced in place and tapped his shoes noisily on the laminate floors.
It took us only a few minutes to check out, catch the bus home, and unpack the few groceries I’d managed to pick up. They all came home with me; there was no point in putting it away in Colton’s cupboards. He didn’t have a working stove either, nor did he own any cooking pots or pans.
I started a pot of chili on the stove, throwing in all of the fresh vegetables I had been able to buy today. Use the fresh ones first, then move on to the canned ones once they are gone. The kid fumbled around in my place, checking out every nook and cranny of my room. I don’t know what he was searching for, but I let him play. It kept him quiet, occupied, and mostly out of the way.
After supper, I offered to read out loud to him. Dean looked skeptical at first, obviously wondering if it would be more entertaining to just go back to his TV. Despite everything, though, I managed to get him to sit long enough to start the first chapter. Soon, he was staring at me, his mouth gaping. He was so engrossed in the story that Dean even forgot to tap. He just sat there, staring, his little brown eyes wide with wonder.
I did my best to help, giving the characters unique voices and trying to read the exciting parts faster than the slower parts. It was as quiet as I had ever seen him, and he seemed to be enjoying the story so far. I wondered how he would take the inevitable betrayal, when we got there.
“Did people used to talk like that?” Dean asked when I paused for a sip of water.
I smiled. “I’m not sure. I suppose so; I don’t see why he would have put it in the book if they didn’t.”
“Well, I think they sound like some kind of weird movie instead of real people,” Dean answered, his feet banging loudly against the carpeted floor. He was lying on my bed as I sat in the only chair in the room.
Suddenly a loud knock came from the door, and both Dean and I jumped. “Dean! Come on.” I gasped as I recognized Colton’s voice, even through the door. I wondered how long he’d been standing there, listening to me read. I hadn’t heard him approach.
My heart thundered in my chest as I went to unlock the door, letting Colton in to herd his rambunctious kid home.
“Goodbye, Marion,” Dean said as he headed towards the door. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Goodbye!” I waved to him, trying to keep my eyes away from his father. But he was a like a magnet for my gaze, and I couldn’t help but steal a few glances up at that beautiful face. A shiver slid down my spine as our eyes met.
I wasn’t sure if it was my imagination or not, but I could have sworn those gray eyes were much warmer today than usual. A polite nod then they were gone, leaving me breathless, my blood boiling, just from that little look.
I need to find a new job, and quick. Anything to get me away from these two, before I do something really stupid.
Like sleeping with a club member. Warm, wonderful shivers slid down my spine at that thought, and I groaned unhappily into my now empty apartment.
Chapter Twelve
Colton
I stood next to the Boss, keeping my eyes on everything around him. We walked through the big archway into The Dungeon, a dive bar that catered to the less–than-reputable. Lucky for me, my demoted status was temporary; the Boss had me on his personal bodyguard staff tonight.
It felt good to be back in my proper place instead of scrubbing the streets for information. It also helped that Lyman, the fanatic bastard, was in a fantastic mood, his lips lifted in an evil-looking smile that sent shivers down my spine. He was happy about all of this shit. It would either get him killed (and everyone else at the Heaven’s Horns) or would make him incredibly powerful and rich. I wasn’t a fan of either idea.
We took a table in the corner, keeping a windowless wall at our backs and our eyes towards the bar around us. “Oh yes, this is a good day,” Lyman was saying, that stupid grin splitting his ugly mug. “Everything is going so well; Cara is ready to get product in here by next month.” And the Boss was off, talking to everyone and no one at the same time. He expected everyone to listen with a smile as he talked about signing the death warrant of everyone here.
But we were all of us trained as bodyguards, and we would do our jobs. No matter what.
A waitress came around, bringing out waters. It was pretty plain from the way that she was dressed and the way she eyed the Boss that she was on the menu just as much as the food was.
The Boss winked at her. “Hello, there gorgeous. Can you get us all cheeseburgers and fries and beers all around? On my tab, sweetheart.”
“Anything yah say, Lyman,” the woman responded, winking back. She bent over the table, obviously showing off her breasts as they nearly tumbled out of her low-cut uniform. “I’ll be back in a few with the beers. Bottles or pitchers?”
“Bottles, you sweet piece of ass,” Lyman yelled back, his laugh echoing through the whole bar.
The waitress disappeared. I didn’t like this place; it was too easy for predators to be hiding in the nooks and crannies of the dive. Peter, who was sitting beside me, silent and grave, seemed to be thinking the same thing. He wasn’t quite a bodyguard, not officially, but he made a good one whenever Lyman was out of the hideout. Peter took all of our safety very seriously; it shocked me when he’d had so little opposition to Lyman’s cartel plan. But I held my tongue, did my job, even as those niggling little thoughts kept returning.
He doesn’t deserve your loyalty. He’s an idiot and is going to drive the Horns into the ground. Lyman doesn’t deserve to be leader. And if Peter doesn’t stand up to him, he doesn’t deserve his position either.
You need to get out.
Those thoughts clouded my mind, filling up all of the empty spaces and pushing everything else out of the way. It was almost enough. I almost didn’t notice that the waitress was a different woman. Almost didn’t notice that her uniform was too big and was held on almost entirely by her posture.
I was so far gone, I al
most didn’t notice that the new waitress was wearing the same name tag as the old one. Or the little spot of blood on the front of her shirt.
My eyes trailed up to the deadpan expression on her face as she very carefully handed each one of us a bottle of beer. But the other bodyguards were looking elsewhere. They were looking for a different kind of threat, one that could come in with guns blazing.
I stood and grabbed the waitress’s wrist in one, fluid motion. She froze, her eyes scanning my face. Without looking, I swiped the bottle of beer from in front of Lyman off of the table and held it out to her. “Drink it,” I said, my voice as firm as my grip on her wrist.
“No, I- I have to get back to work,” she whispered, her eyes filling with panicked fear. She wouldn’t even look at the beer or me. Her eyes were locked with my collarbones peeking out from the edges of my collared shirt. “I should--”
