Rough Hard Fierce, Chicago Underground 1-3 (Rough Hard Fierce)

by Skye Warren

  “Oh, right.” He glanced past me as if just noticing the mess.

  I narrowed my eyes. “Seriously, what happened?”

  “Nothing. No work today. Bakery’s closed. Go home.” And he shut the door in my face.

  Oh man, I would love nothing better than to go home, to pick up Bailey from Shelly’s and maybe even convince Shelly to spend the afternoon out with us. But even as I planned my afternoon off, I stomped my foot. A cloud of flour rose up, and I sneezed. I couldn’t leave. Rick was a friend. An annoying, clearly deranged friend, but there was no way I could walk away from this. Whatever this was.

  I knocked again, harder. “Rick!”

  A thud and then a curse. He opened the door. “Why did you yell?”

  “Let me in.”

  A pause. “No.”

  “Then come out here.”

  “Definitely no.”

  “You have exactly three seconds to open this door, or I swear to God I will…”

  Before I had to make up a false threat, he opened the door. Files and papers flooded the small office. The cheap wood furniture peeked out between crumpled pages. I shouldn’t have even been surprised.

  Rick turned away and squatted to rifle through a bookcase. Rather halfheartedly, considering the magnitude of disarray.

  “What the hell, Rick? Now.”

  He stopped and bowed his head. Then he turned and stood, with so much raw emotion on his face that my breath caught. In the year and a half that I’d worked here, I’d never figured him out, but in this moment his eyes told the whole story.

  Nothing so mundane as details. The broken, raw, painful part of me recognized the same thing in him. We stood there, connected by this nothing, and everything. It was uncomfortably intimate. More intimate than sex, but I’d learned long ago that the recognition of pain was so much more potent than the sharing of pleasure.

  He leaned in, his intent clear. I didn’t want to kiss him. He was a friend to me. Maybe even a surrogate father, since mine never came around. And there was Colin.

  I jerked back, just slightly.

  He froze, and then smiled a small, sad good-bye. It was a relief, to see he understood and accepted it, and a confirmation that we’d been real friends. A small rush of air escaped me. It was a miserable thing, not knowing a friend from an enemy.

  “Allie,” he whispered. “Come with me.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “Away. Let’s leave this place. I’ve got a little money saved up. It’ll be just us.”

  Even if there wasn’t Colin or Shelly, I wouldn’t have. Probably not. But stupidly, the first thing that popped into my head was, “What about Bailey?”

  “She’ll come, too, of course.”

  I shook my head against the crazy. “What are you saying? We aren’t going anywhere. You have the bakery. And I have…well, I have roots here.” That was an exaggeration. I had history here, in this city, which wasn’t quite the same. And I had Shelly, who’d just as soon transplant with me.

  Colin counted as roots, however young and tender they may be.

  I had to see him again. Right now.

  Rick was searching again, picking through the papers like they were rubble from an explosion and babbling about finding things and running out of time. I wanted to help him, but sometimes I had to learn when to walk away. When I wasn’t really wanted or needed. And Rick, for all that he cared about me in his own way and had asked me to go away with him, was in his own world. I was a prop, not a player.

  I put a hand on Rick’s arm, and he stopped moving. He looked up at me, lost.

  “I’m going to go now. I’ve moved in with someone.”

  “Okay,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

  “You have nothing to be sorry for,” I told him. “But…I quit.”

  The relief on his face was answered by gratitude within me. There weren’t words, so I pressed a soft kiss to his lips before leaving the bakery for the last time.

  Chapter Sixteen

  “Is living with a man all it’s cracked up to be?” Shelly asked as she examined her nails.

  I studied her, unsure if she was being sarcastic or not. A mist of caution had risen between us in the few days I’d been at Colin’s. “Oh, you know. The toilet seat’s up, and there’s extra laundry. That’s about it.”

  She glanced up, a small curve to her lips. “You do his laundry?”

  My lips answered hers in a smile. “Yeah.”

  “Isn’t it sort of…weird? I mean, underwear.” She lowered her voice—this from the girl who’d taught me everything I knew about how to give great head.

  I ducked behind my pizza slice as I took a bite. It was weird. Blowing a guy was one thing, folding his underwear seemed so…personal.

  Still, I’d insisted. I picked up all the housework and even got a cookbook. It was the least I could do, considering I wasn’t contributing financially.

  Speaking of which. “Where’ve you been staying? I stopped by the other day.”

  Shelly grabbed another slice from the box and began picking off the toppings. She always picked everything off, though she insisted on ordering supreme. It added variety, she always said. “At a friend’s place.”

  “A friend?” I didn’t mean to sound so skeptical, but she and I weren’t exactly the book club type. It had just been me and her. At least since Andrew had…well, since Andrew.

  “A client,” she said.

  That was new. Brand, spanking, completely against the rules new. I opened my mouth—to warn her, to chastise her—but she was a big girl, and I wasn’t quite that much of a hypocrite. In fact, that meant she was now living with a guy too, although I doubted he could pay her enough to do his laundry.

  “So, did you bring me something fancy?” I asked.

  “Some of my best stuff,” she said. “What’s it for?”

  I sighed. “Colin’s taking me to the ballet.”

  “Seriously?” She whistled. “Classy.”

  “You see the problem.”

  She laughed. “What—is he trying to impress you?”

  “Not exactly. His sister is in the ballet. A dancer. We’re going to opening night, and then we’re going to meet her and Colin’s brother after.”

  She whistled. “He doesn’t do anything half-assed, does he? Well, I brought three different options. Come on.”

  We crept up the creaking stairs, past Bailey’s half-open door, and into the bedroom.

  I immediately rejected the elegant, black, form-fitting dress, knowing it wouldn’t flatter my lack of curves. Shelly and I were the same size, but if her body type was Tinkerbell, mine was Peter Pan.

  Next was a gown with a sequined silver bodice and gray, gauzy skirts. I’d been pregnant during my prom and felt no need to re-create the experience now. Pass.

  The last one I had never seen before. Pink and silky with a modest neckline, the fabric gathered below the bust and then flared out into asymmetrical curves ending below my knees, almost like petals.

  “Oh,” I said, awestruck.

  “You like it?” Shelly asked.

  “I do, but—” I glanced at her, a bit surprised. It was so bright, so flirty, and she hated to be the cliché of her profession.

  She looked pleased. “It’s for you.”

  I opened my mouth, but she cut my protests short. “No complaining. And no calculating how many bags of diapers this dress could pay for. You don’t need to worry about that anymore, remember?”

  “Well, she still needs to poop,” I muttered, but it did nothing to mask my delight. How long had it been since I’d had new clothes? Plastic flip-flops from Target didn’t quite count.

  I put it on—perfection. It was pretty and feminine and everything I’d always wanted to be but wasn’t. Of course Shelly had known. I wanted to hug her, but she wasn’t really a fan of touching.

  “Thank you.” I gave my skirts a flick, enjoying the way they swished against my bare legs. “You’re like my fairy godmother. Now I can go to the
ball.”

  “But you already bagged the prince,” she said lightly.

  Dismayed, I said, “You are mad.”

  “I’m not.” She put her hand on my forearm and looked me in the eyes. “I’m not.”

  A slam of the door alerted us to Colin’s arrival. By the time steady footsteps trekked up the stairs and to the doorway, I’d already fled to the bathroom.

  “Just a minute,” I called out. I wanted to brush away my pizza breath and freshen up my makeup before Colin saw me. Tonight had to be perfect.

  Through the door, I heard the murmurs of Shelly and Colin, and I stepped up the pace. They’d gotten along well so far, but no need to press my luck.

  When I opened the bathroom door, Shelly and the other dresses had vanished. She was probably already curled up in the armchair in Bailey’s room with a book.

  Colin stood at the window, looking out at the street. He still wore his jeans and T-shirt from work at the restaurant. His suit was laid out on the bed where I’d left it.

  He turned, saw me, and froze. Framed by the soft evening glow, I couldn’t see his face. I swayed, swishing softly. “Do you like it?” I asked.

  A slight nod.

  That left something to be desired.

  “Are you sure?” What if he really didn’t like the dress? What if it wasn’t the right thing to wear to the ballet? What if he was tired of me? For all I knew, I was just the flavor of the week. Intuition was nice, but it wasn’t security.

  Sometimes his terseness could be downright unnerving. I didn’t want to mess this up, but at this point how would I even know until he kicked my ass to the curb?

  I took a deep breath and approached him, all timidity. “Are you sure this is okay?” I asked.

  He nodded.

  “Tell me the truth,” I said.

  “It’s a nice dress.” His leashed body and hot eyes said he liked it very much.

  I blinked up at him. “Really?”

  “Yes.”

  A smile spread across my face. “You’re sweet.”

  I threw my arms around him. He stiffened and then put his arms around me too. And wow, I guess it was okay, considering the thickness I felt press against my hip.

  “Hey.” I put my hand on his cock through his jeans. “I can take care of that.”

  His hips backed away. “After the ballet, or we’re never getting out of here.”

  “Are you sure?” I mused. “You don’t want me to kneel down right here in front of you, with my new dress on, and make you feel better?”

  I would’ve sworn I had him, but he tightened—all over—and then shook his head on a long exhale. “Later,” he said.

  Then he went into the bathroom to put on his suit. He looked just like I knew he would. Perfect.

  * * * *

  We drove to the theater in silence. I rehearsed sophisticated-sounding things to say to his brother and sister. When we arrived, seating hadn’t begun yet, so Colin got us drinks from the bar. Turned out rich people liked to get drunk too. Same beer, triple the price. None of the cocktail tables had any chairs, so we found an empty one to stand around. As soon as we’d settled, Colin got a call on his cell. He stepped off to the side, just out of earshot, but not so far that I couldn’t hear his voice rise. I still couldn’t make out his words, but I felt his anger. One word slipped through a few times: “No.”

  Colin returned to the table, frustration seeping through his stoic mask.

  “Who was that?” I asked.

  “My brother.”

  I tensed. He and his hold on Colin were still a sore subject for me, but I knew I had to make nice. “He’s on his way?”

  Colin shook his head. “He doesn’t like crowds. We’ll stop by his house after.”

  We drank. My mind scrambled desperately for a topic but came up empty. The solemnity was unnatural for me, and the more desperate I became for a topic, the more inappropriate the suggestions in my mind became. Finally the tension got to be too much, and I burst out, “I’ve never been to a ballet before. It’s weird walking on carpet in high heels.”

  He said nothing.

  “You’ve been before…right?” I asked.

  “Just to see Rose.” His sister.

  “I’m worried I’ll do something stupid.”

  “You won’t,” he said.

  I bit my lip. “We got a book about the ballet from the library. I promised to tell Bailey all about the real thing later.”

  We fell into silence, with my lame words echoing in my head.

  Then Colin said, “One day we’ll bring her with us.”

  I curled against his side in answer, my chest feeling too full. The awkwardness fell away, and everything was perfect again.

  Chapter Seventeen

  I hadn’t realized exactly how long ballets were. Angelina the ballet-dancing rat from Bailey’s books left something to be desired in her descriptions. Okay, so I hadn’t really known what to expect, but too many people dancing in repetitive swirls for two and a half hours wasn’t it. Colin’s brother had the right idea after all. Crowds, my ass.

  After the curtains closed, we waited backstage.

  “Your sister looked really great,” I said.

  Colin nodded. He’d pointed her out to me, though I had no idea how he’d been able to tell her apart.

  A beautiful woman with stark black hair, dark eyes, and a stunning smile emerged from the crowd.

  Colin gave her a brief hug. “You were great.”

  So this was Rose. She looked glamorous, almost ethereal, and I felt incredibly awkward. “That was beautiful,” I said. “You looked great.”

  Rose smiled at me with open curiosity and appraisal in her eyes. “Thank you. Colin told me about you. I’m glad to finally meet you.”

  “Thanks. You too.” Though that wasn’t entirely true. Colin hadn’t told me much of anything about her. I only hoped she didn’t ask for specifics.

  “You have a…baby, don’t you?”

  “Yes.” I couldn’t get a read on the undercurrent, whether it was the standard weirdness about my obvious age or whether she didn’t want her brother dating someone with a child. “A girl. She’s twenty months.”

  “Where’s her father?” Rose asked. I knew she didn’t mean where he was physically. She meant, where was he while me and my child were freeloading off her brother.

  “Rose,” Colin warned.

  I put my hand on his arm. “It’s a fair question, but it’s kind of a long story.” A long story, starting with “No” and ending with a plus sign on a stick.

  “I see.” Rose glanced at Colin’s glowering face—not that she looked particularly cowed—before shrugging. “Just looking out for my little brother.”

  I blinked, then looked over and up at her little brother, all five feet ten inches and one hundred and eighty pounds of him.

  “Stop,” he said. I could feel his tension under my hand.

  Crap, starting a fight between them was the last thing I needed to do tonight. I didn’t need him to take offense for me, not for this. “It’s okay,” I said to Colin.

  He glanced down at me and then, with a deep breath, visibly relaxed.

  Rose’s eyebrows rose as she watched our interactions. “You know,” she said. “I just might end up liking you after all.”

  It was hardly the ringing endorsement I’d hoped for at the beginning of the night. But then again, it was better than how things could have gone, considering how she’d been gunning for me at the start.

  Once we made our good-byes, I was ready to drag Colin out of there. But he was even more eager than I, his long strides pulling ahead of my hurried steps. Once we were back in the comfort of his truck, I sank into the faded fabric of the seats, soft in a way that can only come from wear, and breathed a sigh of relief.

  * * * *

  Colin’s brother, Philip, lived in a mansion.

  I wasn’t sure what I’d been expecting. With Colin’s modest home, casual clothes, and rough build, maybe a tight-knit
little family. I gaped at the sprawling building, probably in some sort of architectural style that had a name, like deco or postmodern or something, and started to doubt the tight-knit family scenario.

  It dawned on me how incredibly, impossibly Colin was beyond my reach. His house was beautiful but normal. But his family. Shit. His sister in the ballet. His brother with a mansion and a lawyer on tap.

  What the hell was I doing here?

  Oh, right. Saving my ass. From Andrew. Like a total user.

  No wonder Rose had been suspicious of me. I was everything she feared.

  Despite the chilly night air, warmth invaded my hands, and I glanced down to see Colin’s large hands rubbing mine between his own. I looked up at him. “I don’t…”

  He cocked his head. “What’s wrong?”

  “I just… It’s so big.”

  “Yeah.” He shrugged. “It’s mostly for show. Don’t worry.”

  He squeezed my hands. I wished I could believe him. I trusted Colin. But he hadn’t seen how his brother was using him. And Colin hadn’t expected his sister to confront me. It seemed to me that he had a blind spot where his family was concerned.

  But we needed Philip for the lawyer, and besides, I had hopes that I could get in his family’s good graces. It was clearly important to Colin. I would do this for him.

  I squeezed his hands back, and we walked up the steps.

  We were let in by a man who seemed to know Colin but who didn’t look or speak to me directly. I looked to Colin for an introduction, but he seemed not to notice.

  Surely Colin would know the way. It was clear he’d been there many times. But the man led us to an empty room and then left. A butler, of sorts.

  The room screamed masculinity, a portrait of brown tones lined in black. I squinted at the framed sepia photograph nearest me—a matador and a bull. Very subtle.

  “Colin. Are you sure…?” I didn’t even know how to end the sentence. This felt all wrong.

  “Trust me,” he said.

  I couldn’t tell him no. Over the warning bells clanging in my head and through the tense knot in my stomach, I trusted Colin. So I sat down in one of the chairs, the plush leather welcoming my body like a bed of quicksand.