by Meg Jackson
Cristov gave her plenty to smile about, that much was sure.
They had just crossed the two-week mark that typically heralded the end of Ricky’s romantic entanglements. Unlike her sister, who’d damn near moved in with Kennick after their first date, Ricky had been sure to take it slow. As slow as she could manage, anyway. She told herself she would only see him three times a week. Human nature crumpled that plan, since she was prone to calling him late at night when she was a little tipsy and her bed felt colder than usual.
And it wasn’t just the sex, she knew, that made her bed feel cold. It was everything that happened after, between the sheets, when he told her jokes and stories that made her laugh, or listened to her rambling tales of small-town gossip and perfect mockery of the men she worked with.
And it was the way, when they were at Sammy’s and some other man – usually a harmless friend – spoke to her, he would get that look on his face and wrap his arm around her waist, yanking her closer to him even if her stool nearly toppled over from the sudden movement. She had never been fond of jealousy in her partners, but in Cristov it made her feel warm and safe, no matter how ridiculous it was.
Cristov was amazing. One moment, he was ordering her to get naked and ride him until she came, and the next he was fawning over her and treating her like a princess. She laughed off his traditional attempts at dating, but deep down she treasured it all. Plenty of men had brought her flowers. None had ever brought her to her knees afterwards.
That day, since Ron was at a conference in Dover and Ricky could play hooky from work, she would go with Cristov to the tattoo parlor, where he had an appointment, and then they’d go pumpkin picking.
Pumpkin picking! Ricky laughed to herself in the shower. If anyone had told her she would be excited to go pumpkin picking with a guy, she would have thrown her drink in their face. That was for yuppies in wool sweaters, not tattooed gypsies, and definitely not for Ricky. She heard, over the sound of the shower, Cristov put a record on her turntable. She preferred the crinkly, warm sound of vinyl to computer speakers. Straining to hear what he’d picked, she smiled.
London calling to the faraway towns…
She liked his taste in music, too. They could spend hours on the wooden floor of her bedroom looking at her extensive album collection and talking about obscure surf rock, garage punk, classic Springsteen and Dylan, new wave and cold wave and bands that blurred genres and defied description. Cristov was one of the few people she’d ever met who could keep up with her regarding music, even though he always made sure to mention that Damon was the true musician in their family.
She sighed, stepping back under the stream of water to rinse the conditioner from her hair. She was happy with him. She really was. When had she been able to say someone made her this happy? “Never” seemed the most accurate answer.
When she emerged from the shower, feeling clean, one look from Cristov made her feel dirty again. “Jimmy Jazz” was playing from the stereo and she shimmied a bit in her towel. Cristov growled, approached her, whipped the towel from her body and twirled her around in time to the music. He lifted her up and swept her through the room, both their hips shaking and laughter mingling with the punky beat. The morning sunlight dappled the floors and Ricky’s wet hair sprayed droplets onto Cristov’s cheeks.
God, this is good, she thought, feeling well and whole and free. This is so very, very good.
16
“How much longer?” Kennick asked, examining the rows of buds that hung from the walls. Cristov had recruited some extra help to rush the harvest. With the help of some older gypsies, too old to work at the shops but still eager to lend their hands, the trimming process had taken half the time. To save even more time, the plants were shorn at the stalk instead of collecting just the budding head.
Now, the buds hung in the trailer to dry out, a fan blowing across the room to speed up the process. Gone were the lights that had mimicked the sun and the tables on which the flowering plants stood, the watering system dismantled and stored away. The trailer was dim now, and seemed less like a greenhouse and more like a warehouse.
“Another week,” Cristov said, expecting the grimace that Kennick gave him. He could have the buds dried in five days, but he’d already made sacrifices in the quality of the plants, harvesting them a bit early and trusting unskilled (and, in some cases, shaking or arthritic) hands to trim the leaves. He liked to give his product plenty of time to dry, and even a week wasn’t long enough for him.
“And then we can get rid of it?” Kennick asked. Cristov shook his head.
“Then it has to cure,” he said. “Needs to…”
“How long will that take?” Kennick huffed. Cristov knew what his hurry was. For one thing, the sooner the weed was out of their hands, the less they had to worry about from the Steel Dragons.
Kennick’s other concern was, of course, Kim. He didn’t like keeping secrets from her, and the threat of the bikers was a big one. She had a “don’t ask, don’t tell” policy with Kennick when it came to their side business. That policy would go out the window if she knew someone was threatening her people. And Kennick didn’t know how much longer he could keep a secret from the woman he’d someday call his wife.
“Month or so,” Cristov admitted. Kennick’s eyes nearly popped out of his head.
“No fuckin’ way,” he said, shaking his head. “Gotta be quicker than that.”
“I can’t tell the damn things to cure faster,” Cristov said, exasperated. “You can only do so much to speed things up, man.”
“Well, figure out a way,” Kennick said, hissing through his teeth, his jaw clenched tight.
“Once I get it in jars or bags, we can start hocking it, but the boys are going to have to wait to start dealing, and I don’t know if they’ll like that,” Cristov said, trying to imagine Junior, one of their main buyers, having the patience not to start selling as soon as he had the product in his hands.
“Well, they’ll have to like it,” Kennick said firmly. “Because as soon as we can get this shit out of here, the better.”
Cristov grunted, but there wasn’t much more to say on the matter. He didn’t like it, but regardless of whether or not Kennick was his brother, he was still rom baro, and Cristov had to follow him. He worried about the quality, though. He was proud of what he grew, and the experience it could offer. He didn’t want his reputation to get sent down the shitter because his dealers were too eager to start getting paid.
There had been no sign of the motorcycle club since the visit to Cristov’s shop. Three weeks of waiting, and nothing. Of course, the brothers hadn’t just sat around. After visiting all of the local hotels and motels, and sliding some hefty bribes across some dimly-lit counters, they’d found out that three men, one of whom was certainly Rig, had been holed out in a one-star motel halfway between Kingdom and Dover. But the men had checked out shortly after their last threats, and the trail had gone cold after that.
Cristov bore a hope – a foolish one, he knew – that it could all be over. That the club had decided not to bother with such a small town with such bleak prospects, had moved on to bigger and badder things. That he’d be allowed to revel in the happiness he’d finally found, that luck was on his side for once.
“Saw some papers on the table this morning,” Cristov said, happy to let their conversation move towards lighter matters. “Kim finally cave on living in the park?”
Kennick groaned; the matter may have been lighter for Cristov, but it certainly wasn’t for Kennick.
“Not quite,” he said, shaking his head. It was well known among the brothers – and, probably, half the kumpania – that Kim and Kennick were engaged in an all-out war over where to live.
Kim knew that Kennick belonged with his kumpania, but she didn’t see why he couldn’t just spend his days in the trailer park and his nights in town, with her, in an apartment closer to City Hall and her office. She wanted to be able to be at the town’s beck and call, and she didn’t th
ink it would look good for Kingdom’s mayor to be living in a trailer park on the outskirts of town.
Kennick didn’t see why she gave a damn about where they lived, and said she needed to stop caring so much about what things did or didn’t look good in the eyes of her constituents.
“Everyone knows you’re the best thing to happen to this town since we came along,” he’d shout. “So what the hell should anyone care that you’re not living on Main Street?”
Recently, though, things had seemed more and more to swing in Kennick’s direction. As Kim learned about the true depth of his allegiance to the kumpania and the intense community bond, she was showing signs of surrender.
In Cristov’s opinion, from observing the two of them in heated conversation, she was more than willing to give up her side of the argument and move into a shiny new double-wide. He thought she just liked the make-up sex after, which could be as loud as the argument itself.
“You know she’s gonna give in,” he said with a small smile. “That girl loves you more than you deserve.”
“Tell me about it,” Kennick said, a smile crossing his own face for the first time since entering the greenhouse. Kennick took great comfort in Kim, and vice versa. And Cristov was beginning to hope that he and Ricky were on the same path.
It was true for him, at least. When he got mired down in worries about the Steel Dragons, seeing Ricky would make him forget all about it. He hadn’t told her about the recent developments, and she hadn’t asked. He didn’t want to taint their relationship with bad luck, and she…well, she probably just didn’t want to have to think about anything but the fun they had.
“And how’s Ricky treating you? Still keeping you at arm’s length?” Kennick asked, as though reading his brother’s thoughts.
“Well, no,” Cristov said, trying to figure out how to answer that question. The truth was, everything with Ricky was great. But she was still so damn distant in some ways. Like she was afraid to let him get any closer, even when he saw the desire to do so in her eyes.
Hot and cold; she’d sing for him in the morning, drop by the tattoo shop in the middle of the day just to see him, rest her head in his lap and laugh at his jokes while they watched TV. And then she’d stiffen in his arms when he called her beautiful, scowl when he talked about a future beyond a month, roll her eyes when he hinted at the feelings between them.
And then, moments later, she’d be on her knees taking him in her mouth, or straddling him and kissing him so deeply that he lost himself.
“No, but…?” Kennick asked, seeing his brother’s hesitation.
“She just wants to take things slow,” Cristov finally said.
“That why she still won’t come down here to meet anyone?” Kennick asked. Ricky hadn’t yet budged on the secrecy issue, and refused to come to the trailer park to the parties Cristov invited her to. It would be obvious they were a couple to anyone who saw them out at Sammy’s or getting breakfast at Sid’s, but she still wanted Cristov to act like they weren’t dating at all. A month and change, and she still acted like she wasn’t sure of what she wanted.
“She’s just…” Cristov’s voice trailed off, the words not coming to him because he didn’t understand it himself. He felt his shoulders bunching slightly, his frustration taking a physical form. He tried not to let himself linger on the questions Kennick was asking, but they were the same questions that plagued him whenever he left her place elated and disappointed at the same time.
“You always moved pretty fast,” Kennick said thoughtfully. “Maybe it’s good for you to be with someone who’ll slow you down a bit.”
“Maybe,” Cristov said through clenched teeth. “But look who’s talking about moving fast.”
Why can’t Ricky be more like Kim? He thought, surprising himself. He never thought things like that. But Kim had trusted her heart, her desires. She hadn’t played these cat-and-mouse games with Kennick. Was that because Kennick was better than Cristov? The spiral of Cristov’s thoughts was growing darker.
“That’s true,” Kennick said with a chuckle. If he was aware of his brother’s rapidly falling mood, he didn’t let on. He clapped a hand on Cristov’s shoulder. “But not all girls are like Kim. Even when they’re related. You’re happy with her, though?”
Cristov nodded, his neck stiff.
“That’s all that matters, then,” Kennick said. The words fell flat in Cristov’s ears. Was it all that mattered? He doubted it. “Still, it’s a bit weird that she won’t come out here. I mean, she’d have Kim to hang on to if she felt weird meeting us all. Is she shy?”
Ricky? Shy? The thought was almost enough to make Cristov laugh. He shook his head.
“She’s the least shy person I’ve ever met,” Cristov said, wondering if his brother could feel the tenseness in his shoulders.
“Then what’s it about?” Kennick asked, taking his hand away and looking Cristov directly in the eye.
“I don’t know,” Cristov said. “She doesn’t want to…she’s…I don’t know. She won’t let me in, and she doesn’t want to get too entangled, and she doesn’t want…fuck, Kennick, she doesn’t want to be a part of my life yet.”
Kennick nodded, his brow furrowed as he read his brother’s frustration.
“Have you told her it’s important to you that she understands where you come from? The kumpania, our culture, our world?”
“Yes,” Cristov said. “She doesn’t want to hear it.”
“Oh,” Kennick said, shaking his head. “I don’t know what to tell you. If she makes you happy, that’s good. But…you spend all your time with her, with her friends, at her place, she’s not seeing enough of the real you to ever get to love you.”
And just like that, Cristov’s mood flipped.
“Fuck that,” he snarled, taking a step away from his brother, his frustration overflowing – in the wrong direction. “You don’t know what she’s like when we’re together. She just needs time. That’s all. Don’t say shit you have no way of knowing, man. We all accepted Kim because we love you and you love her. Ricky’s gonna love me soon enough, you’ll fuckin’ see.”
“Alright,” Kennick said, holding his hands out in front of him as though to defend himself from Cristov’s angry gaze. “I’m not saying that it won’t work out. I never said it wouldn’t. I just said…”
“I know what you said,” Cristov hissed. “I heard you loud and clear. Just because you’re rom baro doesn’t mean you can go around giving out advice no one wants to hear. Just because you’re my brother doesn’t mean you have to act like you’re fucking smarter than me. I know what I’m doing, I know what I’m getting into.”
“Alright, shit, man, I was trying to…”
“All anyone’s ever trying to do is give me shitty advice I don’t want,” Cristov snapped, his anger radiating around him, his hands in fists, his mind overheating with an emotion he didn’t understand and couldn’t begin to control.
All he knew in that moment was that Ricky was his, whether anyone knew it or not. Whether she knew it or not. He wouldn’t let Kennick or anyone else tell him to give up. He’d have her the way he wanted her: all his, for all time. And no one would stand in the way.
“Calm down, prala,” Kennick said, trying to defuse the bomb he’d unknowingly set off, using the Romani word for brother. He knew, though, that whatever was angering his brother, it had nothing to do with his own words. “You’re not thinking straight. Just take a few breaths and let’s talk about what’s really bothering…”
“Fuck off, Nick,” Cristov said, his voice deadpan now, the anger levelling out to a bright red line in his mind, a rope he walked quickly to keep from falling into his own thoughts, his own doubts. “Just fuck right off.”
With that, he turned, and pushed open the door of the greenhouse, nearly knocking Mina off her feet in the process.
“Cristov! What the hell! You look like…”
“Don’t say another fucking word,” Cristov warned, not wanting Mina to catch
any of the shrapnel of his explosive rage. He needed to get away from them all, he needed to go to her, to hold her and force her to say what he needed to hear, whatever it would take. He pushed past his sister and strode towards his car, seeing nothing and hearing nothing until he had driven off the property and was on the road.
“What’s wrong with him?” Mina asked as Kennick appeared in the doorway, both watching their brother disappear. Kennick sighed and shook his head slowly.
“Woman problems, I think,” he said, offering a wan smile. Such was often the answer to the question of “what’s wrong with Cristov”. Mina crinkled her nose.
“He’s seemed pretty happy lately with her,” she said. “Not that we ever see them together.”
“I think that’s the problem,” Kennick said.
“I see,” Mina said, still looking where Cristov had driven off, her mind turning slowly. Of the four Volanis siblings, she was the youngest. But being the youngest never stopped the protective spark inside her, the one that told her Cristov was in danger of being swallowed alive by his own heart. “Are we going to do anything about it?”
Kennick raised an eyebrow as he looked at his little sister.
“Like what? I tried talking to him. I’ll try again when he comes back, but you know Cristov. He doesn’t take kindly to talking-to’s. From me or Damon,” he said.
“Why don’t you talk to Kim? She can talk to Ricky,” Mina suggested.
“And tell her what? That she better put up or shut up? Cristov would have my head, and Kim’s too,” Kennick said. “We have to let him work this one out for himself.”
Mina huffed. Kennick might be the eldest and, in some ways, the wisest, but all she heard from him then was a crock of bullshit. Cristov would get worse before he got better, if no one did anything. And if Kennick and Damon weren’t going to step in, she’d have to.
17
Cristov banged so hard on the door that the keys hanging next to it shook on their hanger. Ricky panicked for a moment; no one knocked that hard for a good reason. Realizing that she had nothing to hide from police or otherwise, she put down the beer she’d been drinking and padded across the carpeting.
