Shadows and Lies

by Eden Butler

  The cloistered crowd was thin, maybe four or five men deep and on the black and white checkered stage a young blonde with too much lipstick and an oversized gardenia fondled the microphone, trying to grab Timber’s attention as she sang. But her voice was too grainy, her tone just a half beat off and she moved with too much desperation, making her look and sound whiny, not seductive. I doubted she’d last long.

  “That’s him,” Ryan said, mumbling under his breath like he was surveying the perimeter, accessing threats, the biggest of which sat in the center of the room directly across from that stage. Like I didn’t know.

  Timber.

  He sat there like a king surrounded by the plush leather in the tufted fabric. It was his throne, his tiny kingdom, and despite any illusions the man had about who he really was, he did give off the air of confidence, like he mattered. It was something he always carried with him, like a limp that wouldn’t quite go away. Timber Ironside thought he was important and just by the sheer will of his walk, how he carried himself, so did others. It was both fascinating and scary as hell.

  I didn’t pay attention to his guests or the long legged waitresses that served them drinks, wearing pinstriped baby blue corsets with matching garters and feathers in their up-dos. Timber had caught my eye with only the shift of his lids and that’s where my attention stayed. Those black, bottomless eyes commanded, told me to walk toward him and I nearly did, forgetting for a second that I had Ryan next to me and that Timber had no claim on me.

  Finally, when I wouldn’t budge, the man grinned, a slow, miniscule shake of his lips. “My Alex,” he crooned, keeping his gaze unblinking and his easy grip on his drink loose. “Fellas,” he said, dismissing his court with one word.

  He was strong, I’d always thought so, but strength didn’t mean honor, something Timber Ironside would never have. Hell, I wouldn’t either. We were raised in a life that dictated who lied and who kept secrets. We weren’t honest or forgiving and Timber had never forgotten that. He frequently reminded me that I shouldn’t either. But his presence, his ability to work fear like a concerto was what made him powerful. He wanted respect and when Timber didn’t get it, he took without asking.

  There was a small scar along his neck from a gang fight he survived at just fourteen. It made him look dangerous, it made him look tough and he always kept his collar loose to show off the brand signaling that he was a survivor. His suits were always designer, but off the rack, nearly always had a stain of some sort because he could be a careless slob when he ate. The blue jacket he wore today complimented the dark hue of his skin and made the hard, glittering humor in his eyes sparkle. Timber wasn’t pretty, but that command, that attitude generally had most women wet before he’d even said hello to them.

  But I wasn’t most women. I’d seen the man at his lowest. I remembered how he’d fought dirty with the sketchiest of lowlifes when we were kids hustling out in the Quarter. Back then he had no game, just his own scrappy nature and a desire to beat anyone before they could touch him. Timber didn’t make me wet. He made me worried and I hated him for it.

  “You wanted to talk to me?” I tried to make my voice sound disinterested. I wanted out of that lounge and away from the club before he had a chance to lay whatever bullshit line on me to get me to come back. But he used that cool calm of his to push against any bravado I tried to muster. He always did that shit and sometimes it worked.

  He didn’t answer me, but he did move his gaze from that close inspection of my face, down my body, to Ryan at my side. And then, that damn grin stayed fixed on his mouth. “Ryan, right?” Timber’s eyebrows came up and his voice took on this unaffected curiosity I knew Ryan would never buy. But the Boy Scout didn’t answer, took his time slipping his hands in his pockets before his head moved once. “Not talkative, are you?” Timber asked him.

  “When there’s something worth saying I am.”

  And so the pissing contest began.

  “What do you want with me, Timber?” I asked, trying to budge the tension I could feel brewing in the room.

  “Sit. Please,” he said, directing me to a seat on the bench next to him and Ryan to the chair across the table. I decided the free spot by Ryan suited me better and I caught the irritation that shook behind Timber’s eyes. “Stubborn as ever.”

  Beside me Ryan’s body was on alert. He kept his hand on his thigh and his back straight, holding his eyes steady on Timber and the men that stood behind us at the make shift bar. The pathetic songbird had been dismissed, but her band continued playing, sending the faint hint of a piano trickling through the lounge. The music did not relax me.

  “Cosmo tells me you got some shit going down.” Timber said that with that ever-present grin on his mouth, like he knew something I didn’t and could barely keep it to himself.

  “Did he?” I said, shaking my head when he offered me two fingers of bourbon.

  “Ryan?” he asked, but my backup waved off his offer. “Damn, Alex, this doesn’t have to be such a beat down.”

  Sometimes, when he was honest, Timber was actually likable. There was an ease to him in the moments where he was himself, where he wasn’t putting on some sort of show for power. Just then, in that quick slip of his control, that’s who Timber had been, but he caught himself, focusing on the glass bottle and the clinking ice as he poured the bourbon.

  “You think?” I said, hoping he caught my attitude, that he’d understand I wasn’t interested in whatever he needed.

  His hand stayed on the neck of the bottle when I spoke and he jerked his gaze toward me before he slumped back with a sigh, taking his full glass to his mouth. Behind a sip came a small noise in his throat, the one that I thought sounded like some self-caution. “I didn’t ask you in here to convince you to come back.”

  “No, you just get everyone else to do that, right?”

  The muscle around Timber’s jaw shook once, but he held back his temper long enough to slam back his drink. “If my people talk to you, that’s on them.”

  “Misty didn’t talk to me about you out of the goodness of her heart.”

  The ice slid around the half empty glass as Timber moved it, slow, calculating as I saw the expression from him I knew well—one that announced the man was slowly choosing his argument. “Maybe she was worried, like me.”

  “Or maybe she was tired of you nagging her.”

  That had him angry, pushing himself to the edge of the couch, not in a rush, but a slow slip that came off as pushed and impatient. “I don’t nag. I inquire.”

  “Cut the shit, Timber,” I said with more courage than I actually had. “Why am I here?”

  I saw in his eyes the calculation. He didn’t even consider Ryan, wasn’t threatened by my backup at all, but Timber was a pro at culling his emotions. He did that just then. He might have had an agenda, he might have been eager to kick Ryan out of the lounge, but he wouldn’t let a soul know it. “I really was worried,” he tried, resting back against the couch with his ankle resting on his knee. “But since you mentioned it, I have a job for you.”

  “I don’t work for you anymore.”

  “Call it a freelance gig.” He moved closer, ignoring Ryan when he slipped his arm around the back of my chair. “I don’t trust anyone else to do this.”

  I felt Ryan’s graze against my shoulder and I took it for the warning I knew it was. But I wanted to know Timber’s angle. I figured if I knew that angle, I’d know his plan and that asshole always had a plan. “What’s the job?”

  “Rico got swindled.”

  I snorted, not caring that Timber didn’t find me funny. “Someone is always swindling Rico. What’s the big deal?”

  “This particular instance is different.” One nod and the waitress, this one new, short and decked out in a frilly green corset, bent over the table to refill Timber’s glass. “This guy,” he continued, dismissing the waitress, “came into my club and cheated in a poker game. From Rico.” Timber glanced at Ryan as an afterthought, like he was only being consid
erate in explaining who Rico was. “Rico is one of my oldest friends.” I frowned, knowing Timber meant “employee.” The man didn’t have friends. “I want you to get my money back.”

  “How am I supposed to do that?”

  Timber Ironside had three looks I knew well: lust, pride and expectation. I rarely saw pride from him, though he liked to pretend I was some sort of grifting ingénue, but in his eyes, no one was better at the game than he was. Lust stayed in his eyes whenever his glance fell my way; it had since we were kids and Timber had discovered my tits were emerging. Expectation he gave to every damn person he met. Most followed that expectation, most would jump through hoops to meet that expectation. I generally tried to avoid it.

  Just then there was a mixture of all three looks glinting behind Timber’s eyes. He wanted me. He wanted me because he thought I was dynamic. He expected me to want him back.

  Yep. I was well and fucked.

  “You won’t be suspected. It’s a nice area, dress the part, do the maid bit or maybe the Catholic school girl thing. That one’s my favorite.” I flushed, knowing he was trying to get a rise out me, embarrass me with Ryan sitting right there. Openly lusting over me was some subtle claim he made sure Ryan heard. That costume, though, no damn way. I wasn’t eighteen anymore. My school girl days were long gone. When I didn’t join in his laughter, the bastard shrugged, like it didn’t matter, like I could handle this with no worries. But he still smirked, a secret behind those full lips he had no plans of sharing with me. “You’ll be in and out in ten minutes.”

  “No,” Ryan said, surprising us both.

  “Ryan, this ain’t your call.”

  “You want her to break into some guy’s house and steal back what he took from you, putting herself at risk to get pinched?”

  “Alex don’t get pinched.” Timber frowned when Ryan laughed and I spotted the drop in his cool. He didn’t like Ryan laughing at him. He didn’t like being the one being left out of the loop. “What?”

  My mouth felt tight, from the embarrassment, from the common way I’d let myself get busted and I knew the second Ryan leaned his elbows on his knees, how one side of his face twitched from his humor, that Timber wouldn’t find any of this funny. But Ryan didn’t comment, that pissing match only got deeper and the former SEAL moved his gaze to me, working his forehead as if to say “tell him.”

  “Ryan pinched me three days ago at the Marriott,” I said not caring that Timber looked disappointed, worried when he squinted at me, watching my reaction and Ryan’s for longer than made me comfortable.

  My former… whatever he was, loosened a bit more of his cool, scrubbing his fingers through his hair like it relieved some of his frustration. “You’ve been off too long. You’re getting sloppy.” Another guzzle of his drink and he waved the glass at me. “This will level up your skill.”

  “You ever think she doesn’t want to be in the life anymore?”

  Ryan’s question surprised me—and pissed me off. It had come from nowhere and he made an assumption he didn’t have the right to make. He didn’t know me. He knew nothing about me really but still he assumed I wanted out. He assumed I could stay out.

  Timber’s laughter was obnoxious and he slipped his moist glass onto the table, leaning on his knees to copy Ryan’s stance. “Man, give me a break. You’ve know Alex all of three days and she’s already got you convinced she’s getting out? Please.” He sat back, looking too superior and relaxed, more of those secret things he kept to himself. He dangled them like a fucking dare. “I’ve known her twelve years. We go way, way back. This girl is a fucking ace. No one grifts like Alex and that kind of talent isn’t something she can just let go of. It’s in her damn blood and there’s no getting rid of it.”

  He wasn’t wrong. I had no idea what my father was. But my mother was an addict and the grift, the art of the hustle was something she’d perfected every time she chased a hit. It was instinctive and ran in my blood like the history of who our people had been. Only Stevie had been able to make a positive spin out of it. Warrior spirit, Stevie had called it. It’d made her fight to be something better than our mother had been. It made her try and study and want for something more. But to me, that spirit wasn’t as noble. That spirit told me to survive any damn way I could and that’s what I did. That’s what I’d always done. That’s what I was good at. Timber knew that.

  That fucker was right and I hated that he’d called me out. I hated that Ryan must have seen something in me he thought was real, but was really just part of the con. It made me feel ashamed and I cursed that feeling, that had me sitting away from Ryan when I felt the heat from his hand on my shoulder. Now was no time to appear weak, no matter what. I took Timber’s offered drink.

  “What’s my take?”

  I tried not to notice how Ryan pulled his arm from the back of my chair or the low sound of his frustrated grunt as he moved in his seat.

  “Straight pay, five large. You need the money, right?” I didn’t answer him, but Timber made his assumptions. “You wouldn’t be needing anything if you came back.”

  “She’s not interested.” Ryan sounded so sure, so convinced that I needed a rescue. But I really, really didn’t like him speaking for me even if he was doing it as part of this stupid Mine-Is-Bigger-Than-Yours game these two jackasses were playing.

  “Cosmo?” One name and the big guy was at Timber’s side. I closed my eyes, knowing what he was planning. “Ryan, why don’t you let my associate here get you a drink while I have a word with Alex in private?”

  “I’m not leaving the room. Neither is she.” I didn’t miss the slip of his hand near his waist, neither did Timber. He knew Ryan was carrying, probably appreciated the fact. But Timber was prepared, always and he had bigger guns. They stood all around the room.

  “She’s protected,” he told Ryan and that deadly calm was back in place like a quiet threat you really didn’t want to hear. Ever. “You don’t need to worry.”

  “Funny how that protection didn’t extend to her place. You got that for her, right?”

  Timber frowned, his leg bouncing as he glared at Ryan. “I watch over her.”

  “So you know about the…”

  “Ryan,” I interrupted, not wanting to give Timber any hints about what was happening. He knew too much already. Had too many details and I wasn’t convinced that he was innocent, but I wasn’t sure he was guilty, either. I hoped Ryan could see that, that he could read me well enough to realize I needed to handle this on my own. “Give us a second, okay? I’ll sit right here and you can do a shot or two at the bar. I’m cool.”

  When Ryan didn’t move, Cosmo stood at his side, moving his jacket back to push his hand in his pocket, giving Ryan a glimpse at his .9mm. “I insist,” Timber told him.

  There were too many strapped men in this room, too much tension working around with the slow whisper of blues in the background and the testosterone peppering the air. Dammit, I liked Ryan. He was a good person and I didn’t want to be responsible for him getting hurt. When he started to grab his piece, I held his wrist, squeezing it once. My gaze burned, I knew it begged and Ryan, thank God, quickly caught the warning, though I knew he wasn’t happy I’d given it.

  “Fine,” he said, behind a slow stand and even slower brush past Cosmo. I only relaxed when I saw him lean against the bar on the other side of the room.

  “Come here.” Timber’s voice was low, soft, but I heard the demand. He wanted me at his side, called me to him like he thought I’d come.

  When I looked at him, his head was tilted and he glanced to the skin above my cleavage. I pulled my leather jacket tight, taking the show of flesh from him before I shook my head. “No.”

  “Please, baby, just for a second.”

  “Don’t call me that.”

  “Fine,” he said, slipping back against the leather sofa with his arm along to back. He looked smooth, hot like the bourbon buzzing in my stomach.

  “What’s this really about?”

  Timber
looked at me for a second, trying to act like I hadn’t called him on his bullshit. “I want my cash. Cosmo’s handling something for me and you are the only other one I trust to do the job right. Although, damn, Alex, you let a rusty cop pinch you? At the fucking Marriott?”

  My eyes came down, squinting as I took the shame. Timber was right. That was an amateur move I should have never let happen. “I was off. It happens sometimes.”

  “You sure you can handle this?”

  That was the point, I thought. He wanted me to do this job for him and I knew I would, but if it went wrong? If I got pinched, what would be my punishment? There was always a penalty to pay when you tussled with Timber and I wasn’t sure if I could walk away after I paid it. “If I can’t?”

  He looked over at Ryan who stood glaring at us, a half full shot glass gripped between his fingers. “Then I guess that would mean your boy doesn’t get the invite he wants.” When I frowned at Timber, he laughed. “Misty didn’t say anything. You know I listen.”

  “Last time,” I told him knowing he didn’t believe me.

  He sighed, and the sound was honest, a real oath of frustration that he didn’t try to hide. “You are the most pigheaded bitch I have ever met. You wouldn’t have to worry about shit if you’d just come back.” Timber left the couch, sliding next to me in the chair Ryan had emptied, mimicking the Boy Scout with his smaller arms resting behind me. “You know I’d treat you like a queen.” Timber was trying for sweet. It’s what he did with me. That sweet tone, the hunger behind each pet name, it was a primer for the change in attitude that would come. “You’d have everything you’d want.”

  “No,” I said, brushing his hand aside when he touched my cheek. “I wouldn’t be free. I wouldn’t have my own life. It would be yours and I’d never get away from you.”

  “Would that be so bad?” I didn’t answer and Timber looked at Ryan who took half a shot, moving his head in a shake that had me guessing he wasn’t merely disappointed that Ryan had pinched me. “You think this cop would make you happy?”

  “It’s not like that,” I told him, a little too quickly. “He’s helping me, I’m helping him. It’s business.”