House of Payne: Styx

by Stacy Gail

  Something miraculous softened her eyes. “Your mother bet against you?”

  “Yeah, and she did it right in front of me, knowing it would piss me off so much I’d do just about any damn thing in the world to prove her wrong. That’s my mom for you—a genius manipulator of the highest order. She’s had to be.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  He shrugged. “Not only did she have to put up with me, the kid she accidentally nicknamed Styx, but she was also a high school teacher for fifteen years before she moved into the directorship for Chicago Public Schools. She’s a ballbreaker like no other,” he added with a chuckle, and even he could hear the love in it. “I can’t wait for you to meet her. Of all the people who are going to put you under a microscope—and see what’s actually there—it won’t be the cops in the fam. It’ll be my mom.”

  “I would run out of here right now if it weren't for the fact that you’re my ride.” But she smiled when she said it, and he had to give her props for having a surprisingly stiff spine under all that sweetness. “Why did she stick you with such an, um, unusual nickname?”

  “By unusual, you mean demonic, but that’s cool. I’m proud to say I earned it.”

  “Proud?”

  “Hell, yeah. How many kids can say they’ve gotten kicked out of Sunday school?”

  “You’re kidding,”

  “Nope. I stood up for what I believed in, defended my brother, and I wouldn’t let even a teacher tell me I was wrong. I’m definitely proud of that.”

  “I have to know.” She leaned forward, elbows on the table, those brilliant sapphire eyes all lit up with some kind of crazy beautiful inner light. “What did you do?”

  “Called the teacher a liar.”

  “No way.” Her gasp with hilarious. “Why?”

  “Because she held up an inkblot test and told the class the face of God was in it, and anyone who didn’t see it was going to go to hell where they belonged. That scared the crap out of me and just about every other five-year-old kid in there, because I didn’t see a face. What I saw were two conjoined chimpanzees connected at the ass. I wasn’t alone, either. All the kids in that class didn’t see a face, so a lot of them began to cry.”

  “That’s horrible.” Every trace of humor drained out of her expression, only to be filled with a jaw-locking anger worthy of a warrior readying to ride into battle. “That’s how you psychologically damage kids, not teach them. I hope the parents of those crying children ran that teacher out on a rail. That’s what I would have done.”

  “You would’ve, wouldn’t you?” A corner of his mouth curled as he pictured it. “My brother was with me and he began to cry, too. That’s when I got pissed off. I got up and asked the teacher if she knew that lying was a sin. Then I told her she was the one who was going to hell because she’d just lied to an entire class of kids about that whole face of God bullshit. Then I grabbed my brother and pulled his ass out of there, because we weren’t going to hang around listening to any more of that crap. When my mom came to pick us up and heard about what had happened—and was told that I wouldn’t be welcomed back—she blew a fucking gasket.”

  “I’ll bet she did. I’m also sure your mom wasn’t about to let you and your brother stay enrolled, so there’s no way they could quit you—you quit them. Assholes.”

  He burst out laughing. “Damn, you’re fierce. Warrior princess has nothing on you.”

  “We’re talking little kids here, Styx. I get the concept she was trying to teach, that everything in the world was created by the Divine, but then she went and weaponized it just so she could terrify a class full of little kids. I’ll rain all the dragon fire down on anyone who does that.”

  He didn’t doubt it for a second. “You and my mom are going to get along great. For real.”

  “That still doesn’t explain how you got the name Styx.”

  “When we got home, my mom was still going full-boil. She told my dad what had happened, furious that I’d been treated like some demon child when all I’d done was stand up for myself and Trey. She said she’d rather have a kid pulled from the river Styx than the river Nile, as long as that kid could see right from wrong and knew how to defend his family. That’s when my dad—a total joker if there ever was one—pulled me into a bearhug and called me his little River Styx son. I’ve been Styx ever since.”

  “So it was actually your dad who stuck you with that name.”

  “I like to think of it as a group effort.”

  She shook her head. “Either way, it was meant to be. There’s no way you could ever be a Terrance. Or worse, Terry.”

  “Anyone tries calling me Terry, I’m ripping their lips off their damn face.” When she laughed, it was his turn to lean forward. Basking in that bright sound was something he could do all damn day. “What about you? What nicknames did you earn for yourself as a kid?”

  “Me?” By degrees, the humor in her face turned sardonic. “I’m nowhere near the rebel that you were.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means I never earned a nickname for myself. You’re the first person who’s ever come close to giving me a nickname by calling me Syd. Does that count?”

  “Not really.” He was having a hell of a time hiding his surprise, and worse, his growing disdain for her family. “Nicknames pop into existence because of closeness, familiarity, affection. For instance, my sister Tina is also called Babs, because she came into the world babbling her damn head off. Seriously, no one can get a word in edgewise. And Trey is T, or Bowser when we were kids.”

  “Why Bowser?”

  “Because he always felt bad for Bowser having to lose to that dick trespasser, Mario. He’d get so upset he’d cry about it.” As she laughed again, he couldn’t help but shake his head. “I don’t even know what to think about a family that doesn’t believe in nicknames.”

  “Well, mine doesn’t. Either that, or my siblings and I just weren’t the kind of kids who inspired that sort of thing.”

  “All kids are that kind of kid.” At her vague shrug, he decided to table the subject before he got too pissy. “I know you’ve got a couple sisters—the space one and the interpreter one. Any brothers?”

  She shook her head. “They decided to stop after me. Roma, the oldest, was obviously the most brilliant, though when it came to intelligence, we all tested high on our yearly aptitude tests—”

  “Whoa.” He held up his hand, because he was sure his ears had just lied to him. “Did you say yearly? What kind of school did you go to?”

  She waved a dismissive hand. “Our annual testing wasn’t affiliated with any school. My parents paid for yearly evaluations for my sisters and me.”

  He stared at her. “Why the fuck would they do that? Was there something… I don’t know… wrong with you guys?”

  “Depends on what your definition of wrong is, I guess,” came the derisive reply. “My mother was raised in the USSR—Soviet Russia. She was a ballerina that was ultimately chosen to dance for the Bolshoi, and she and her peers went through many strict evaluations throughout the years to make sure they were still, well… perfect.”

  “Holy shit.”

  “It wasn’t a big deal, as far as she was concerned,” she added, clearly reading the horror he could feel in his expression. “Back in the bad old days of Soviet Russia, it was mandatory for all children from about the age of three on to be assessed for various types of aptitudes. If they were really good, like my mother was at ballet, they were taken from their families by the government to be trained to become the very best at whatever it was they were good at. Since my mother grew up being evaluated all the time, she and my father hired a private company to help Roma, London and me hone whatever skills we’d been born with.”

  “That is fucked up, babe,” he said succinctly, because holy shit, it had to be said. “You do not fucking evaluate your babies like they’re cattle that you’re either going to keep for breeding or sell on the cheap for slaughter. You love them, protect
them, and if you’re lucky, you laugh at all the goofy shit they pull until you can’t breathe.”

  “It’s probably a good thing you’re never going to meet my parents,” she drawled, smiling before draining the last of her coffee. “The clash of their parenting philosophy versus your parenting philosophy would give me so much stress I wouldn’t be able to handle it.”

  “Do they live in Chicago?”

  “Nope. They moved a few months ago to California.”

  Thank Christ. “What’s your philosophy on raising kids, now that we’re on the subject? Once we hit on your freaky upbringing, the subject of kids is guaranteed to come up,” he went on when she just stared at him. “I’ve never brought a woman to a family function before, and even though weddings are a different sort of family get-together, they’re still going to want to analyze every last little thing about you. And just putting it out there, if you’ve got any weird ideas about evaluating your future children for their worthiness, or whatever—”

  “I don’t,” she said hastily, reaching out a hand to touch his forearm. It was soft, like being brushed by a butterfly’s wing, and his skin tingled even after she pulled away. “I hated those tests—being evaluated to see if I measured up. The older I got, the more I stressed out I became about whether or not I could prove I was still good enough to be a part of the Bishop family. I don’t want to do that to my kids. I’ll be happy if they’re healthy and feel loved and secure. When you come right down to it, what else is more important than that?”

  “Absolutely nothing.” He had to chuckle before draining the last of his coffee. “Yeah, you’re going to get along just fine with my family. By the way, we’re going to be having dinner with my folks this weekend, so it’s good to know we’re not going to have to struggle to be on the same page when it comes general life philosophies.”

  “Wait, what? This weekend?” She stared at him as if he’d just told her his favorite hobby was abandoning kittens in the trash. “But… it’s Friday.”

  “Yeah. Sunday dinner. It’s something that’s been kinda important to the Hardwick family ever since I can remember, so that’s another thing you should know. Do you already have plans?”

  “Uh, I’m currently trying to come up with some.”

  “Too late." Grinning, he rose and threw their empty cups away. “Don’t look so worried, Syd. I’ll pick you up from work this evening, yeah? We’ll spend some more time together, then rinse and repeat that routine for tomorrow as well. If we’re already this comfortable with each other, by Sunday we’re going to seem like frigging soulmates.”

  *

  “Bar none, that is the scariest thing I’ve ever heard.” Goggle-eyed, Wesley W. Newburg perched on the edge of his desk like a sickly bird. With his ever-present sweater vest bearing his initials, thick glasses and perpetually frazzled combover, Sydney had never encountered a man less likely to be a manager of a garage sale, much less a successful chain of grocery stores. “It’s even worse than when that meth-head came in here waving a water pistol around trying to rob the place.”

  “Nah, that meth-head wasn’t that scary, Wes. We could all see the water dribbling out of his so-called gun.” Arms crossed and leaning against the doorjamb, Sydney’s friend and coworker, Jada Johnston, also looked impressively wide-eyed after listening to Sydney’s account of her I-90 misadventures. “That dude was obviously an amateur. I mean, I appreciate the necessity of getting into character, but if you decide to roll up on a store with nothing but an authentic-looking water pistol, don’t load the damn thing first. I was actually embarrassed for the guy when water began dripping off his elbow.”

  “It’s funny because it’s true—and nonlethal,” Sydney added, shaking her head. “I honestly can’t say the same thing about what happened yesterday. I could have died, which is bad enough. But I keep thinking about my frantic dive off the freeway and all those cars I nearly hit just so I could save myself. I could have taken out every single car along the way. I don't think I could have lived with myself if anyone had gotten hurt.”

  “This can’t happen again,” Wesley announced, looking aghast. “No job is worth this, Sydney, even if you did make Employee of the Month in just your first two months in your new position. You're proving yourself to be the best secret shopper Market Place Corporation’s ever had, and I would hate to lose you because as your recruiter, you make me look good. But I do understand what you're getting at, even though you’re not saying the actual words.”

  Sydney blinked. “I’m sorry?”

  “You don’t want to do this anymore, do you? I’m assuming you’re trying to tell me you’re done with being a secret shopper.”

  “Whoa, Wesley.” Sydney held up both hands, palms out. “I didn’t say that. I didn’t even think it.”

  “Yeah, Wesley, where in the world did that come from?” Jada tilted her head toward their boss, looking at him like she’d never seen him before. “Sydney didn’t say that.”

  Wesley stared at her. “Is there some reason you’re even in on this conversation? Why are you here?”

  “You know me, I need to know what’s going on.” Jada’s brows went up as if surprised their boss had even asked the question. “And what’s going on right now is my friend nearly died yesterday, but she still showed up for work today, and that speaks for itself. She likes her job, she likes us, and every time she opens her mouth, she says how happy she is that you managed to get her this job. Why would she want to leave?”

  “So…okay. Let me get this straight.” Wesley shook his head as if trying to clear it before turning his attention back to Sydney. “Are you seriously telling me you don’t have any second thoughts about continuing on after what you went through yesterday? That you’re fine with it?”

  “I’d be lying if I said I haven’t had a few screw this moments over the past twenty-four hours,” Sydney said honestly, trying to find the right words. “The thing is, we don’t know if what happened to me yesterday had anything to do with my being a secret shopper.”

  Wesley stared at her. “What else would it be?”

  “The police are investigating, but they don’t know if it was work-related, or if it was a one-off matter of road rage. Which it could have been,” she added with a lift of a shoulder. “Maybe I cut someone off without realizing it and triggered them to lose their freaking mind.”

  Wes flapped an ineffectual hand. “You don’t really believe that.”

  “Right now I can only deal with what I know, Wesley. I know I’m good at what I do, and I know I would always be disappointed in myself if I allowed fear to chase me out of a job.”

  “But you have a right to be afraid, hon,” Jada said, her brows coming together. “There are crazy-ass people out there who don’t give a damn about society’s rules, you know? I was just talking with Kelly about that very thing last week—you know, the South Chicago secret shopper you stood in for yesterday? She told me she thinks most of our sticky-fingered customers have secretly organized into this massive shoplifting ring, and that they’ve got connections to the underworld, if you know what I mean. As far as she’s concerned, we’re surrounded by gangsters and they will do anything to protect themselves.”

  “Jada, didn’t we have a talk about curbing your penchant for gossip?” Wesley sighed, momentarily looking heavenward in an obvious plea for patience. “With Sydney almost dying yesterday, I think we have enough real-life drama to deal with at the moment without spreading Kelly’s special kind of paranoia around, don’t you?”

  Jada blinked. “I’m just telling you what she said.”

  “Yes, Jada. That’s the definition of gossip. But that last part about criminals doing everything they can to protect themselves does have merit,” Wesley went on, turning back to Sydney. “Losing you as a secret shopper would be terrible, and I know it would be bad for me when it comes to replacing you. But, well… I recruited you. What happened to you falls on me. Because of that, I just… I just don’t know if this position is the right fit for
you.”

  Sydney’s breath caught in her throat. “Are you firing me?”

  “Good heavens, no! I’m just thinking it would be safer—better—for you if you went back to the digital marketing department at corporate. At least you won’t have any crazy car chases or near-death experiences if you go back to your old job.”

  Slow-boiling rage began to light up her insides. This wasn’t fair. None of it. “Does this mean you’re getting rid of the secret shopper position entirely?”

  “Well… no…”

  “Since I’m the most successful secret shopper Market Place Corporation has ever had—something I’ve managed to do in just two months—how can you justify demoting me?”

  “I’ll do my best to see that corporate keeps you around the same pay, though no promises on that. I just don’t want you to think of it as a demotion.”

  “That’s what it feels like, especially since you’re not getting rid of the secret shopper position. You’re just getting rid of me.”

  “Please try to understand, Sydney. I’m responsible for you. I chose you for this job. I couldn’t be prouder of how successful you’ve been at it. You’ve exceeded even my expectations.”

  “You really have been amazing, hon,” Jada added, looking about as upset as Sydney felt. “I’ve worked here for nearly four years and I’ve never seen anything like it. I’m thinking that if you want to continue on with this gig, you should be allowed to do so, and I’ll bet if I asked around, every employee under this roof would feel the same way.”

  “Don’t ask around, Jada,” Wesley said, though he seemed to know that asking Jada to not talk was like asking water not to be wet. “Let’s try to keep this discussion within the confines of my office, all right?”

  Jada rolled her eyes. “I’m just saying that Sydney didn’t do anything wrong. She shouldn’t be punished for what happened to her.”

  “It’s not about punishment.” For a moment a hard-edged tone grated out of Wesley, shocking Sydney all the way to her bones. She didn’t know he had it in him. “It’s about what’s good for Sydney.”