Exquisitely Yours: A Sin City Tale

by M. Jay Granberry

  “Mon cher. I grow tired of waiting.” Marseille’s heavily accented voice floats down the hall, hovering over our heads, creeping into the space between us, cold and demanding.

  “I will take care of this…him, but I can’t do it if I’m worried about you,” Momma pleads. She places a chaste kiss on my forehead, cupping my face in both hands, looking deeply into my eyes.

  Her hands release me, and she takes a step back.

  “Momma, don’t—” Little panic bubbles immediately fill my belly, quickly spreading up my chest, suffocating all the words I want to say. I don’t know what I’m supposed to be reading, I don’t know what she’s trying to tell me—if she’s trying to tell me anything—before stepping back and closing the door in my face.

  Chapter 29

  Jessica

  “What are you doing here, Jessica?” Diane, the chief assistant to the executive staff at my brother’s casino, the Hotel, glances up at me with a warm but distracted smile. “We’re about to wrap things up for the day.” She turns off the computer and gives the rest of the office a quick once-over before turning off the desk lamp.

  “You just missed Mr. Johnson. If you hurry you might be able to catch him before…”

  “Oh, thank God.” Relief sweeps down my body, making my toes and fingers tingle. It’s only at Diane’s startled expression I realize I used my outside voice.

  “Is everything okay?” Worried brown eyes sweep me from top to bottom before moving back up to meet mine. I’ve known Diane since I was sixteen…maybe seventeen. Back then, I was a fixture in my brother’s office because it was so much better than dealing with the dysfunction at home. Today I’ve shown up for a different reason, completely beyond dysfunction, and totally fucked, but I think Connor can fix it. At least I hope he can because I can’t lose my family. Not when I just got them back.

  When Jake finds out… God, he can’t know that our mother…that she… Connor has to fix it so that Jake never finds out.

  “I’m okay, Diane,” I say, trying to offer a reassuring smile, but I fail miserably. Instead of a happy expression my face crumples. I avert my eyes from her caring gaze because I’m barely holding it together here, and I swear if I get any degree of sympathy I’ll collapse to the ground in a pile of ugly tears, loud wails, and a runny, snotty nose that I can’t wipe because I have no tissues.

  “I’m actually here to see Connor. Is he back there?” I don’t give her the opportunity to voice the worry in her eyes or answer my question. If she knew what I knew, she should be worried, and we both know Connor is here. He’s always here.

  I walk toward his office, one foot in front of the other, ignoring the fact that my heart is working its way up my throat and my legs are unstable, my knees threatening to buckle with every step.

  When I reach Connor’s office, I turn back to Diane, offering a small smile before I tap a single knuckle on the door.

  “It’s open,” Connor calls from inside the office.

  Twisting the doorknob, I step inside the beautifully appointed office. Textured black wallpaper with thin gold lines curved into geometric shapes covers the walls. Oversized masculine furniture dominates the space with leather and grommets and shiny, reflective surfaces that draw the eye. Every chair is tufted. An ornate, jewel-encrusted sixteenth-century Persian rug takes a place of honor in front of the massive desk, and a large gold chandelier hangs as the focal point, second only to the neon-lit skyline of the Strip.

  I keep my back to Connor, taking more time than necessary to secure the door.

  “Jess?” My head jerks up at the sound of his voice, and the breath I hadn’t realized I was holding slowly leaves my body.

  Connor is the picture of a CEO, jacket discarded, sleeves of a black dress shirt rolled up showcasing the colorful tats on his forearms. Laptop open and sitting in the middle of the desk among stacks of paper, and a forgotten coffee mug.

  This room screams opulence and power.

  It’s a definition and extension of the man sitting behind the desk.

  Connor is many things but at this second, he’s my brother’s best friend. A fixture in almost every memory from my childhood, and most importantly he’s a member of the Johnson clan. Someone that I trust.

  “Hey, Connor, I’m sorry to crash your spot but shit is getting real and I…” Don’t know where else to turn for advice or the kind of assistance it’s going to take to fix this. Instead of that long rambling sentence, I settle on, “need your help.” It comes out as a strangled plea, quickly followed by tears of frustrated fear, and rage, and a desperation that has been threatening to choke me since hearing my mother’s confession.

  Connor throws a pen down on his desk and leans back, lacing long fingers on top of his head, patiently waiting for me to collect myself. Jake would have been out of his seat and around the desk the minute I started crying, immediately moving into big-brother-let-me-fix-it mode, which would have hyped me up even more.

  In the face of Connor’s calm, I find my own.

  The muscles in my throat slowly loosen and with each breath my heart slows, and the overwhelming panic that seconds ago flooded my body recedes enough for me to finally move away from the door to one of the chairs situated in front of his desk.

  “What’s up, Jess?” he asks, leaning forward, resting his forearms in front of the open computer. His fingers still latticed but opening and closing in a methodical pattern that’s almost as calming as his voice. Hazel eyes a little greener today with the absence of color in the room stare at me with unconcerned curiosity. “Whenever you’re ready.”

  The words are slow to start, stilted and inaudible. “I just left my parents’ house but when I got there, my mom was having a conversation with a guy that I’ve never seen before. I know my momma is from New Orleans, but this guy’s accent was swamp water thick. Like, can’t-see-to-the-bottom-or-wade-through-it-with-a-paddle-and-a-boat thick.”

  He chuckles a little at my description but doesn’t interrupt.

  “Connor, this guy isn’t a good dude.”

  “Did he hurt you, Ms. Danielle?” he snaps, all guise of indifference slipping away.

  “No, it was nothing like that.” I shake my head with emphasis. I almost wish it was that simple. “The two of them were familiar. You know? Like they have a history and secrets, and a connection that makes no sense.”

  “Not really all that crazy, kid.” He slumps forward, rubbing the heel of his palms into his eyes, tiredly exhaling when he sits back up. “What are we talking about here? You think your mom is out there creeping? Is that why you came to me instead of J?”

  “No. You’ve met my mother, right? She’d never go there. Family name and preservation mean way too much.” He nods his head in agreement.

  “Then what’s up?”

  “I don’t have the whole story but what little bit of the conversation I heard between my mom and this guy, Marseille, it sounds like…like they are somehow behind the shooting last year.”

  At the mention of the name, Connor’s eyes narrow and the naturally defined angles of his cheekbones become sharper as his lips compress to a thin line.

  I can’t bring myself to say when Sin was shot. There’s only one shooting that the people in our little group make reference to and that’s the one that damn near killed the woman who is now my brother’s wife.

  Connor pushes to his feet and walks around to the front of the desk, stopping directly in front of me. Bending to catch my eye he says, “Did you say Marseille, as in Marseille Thibodeaux ?”

  “I guess. I didn’t get his last name. You know him?” I ask, searching his gaze.

  “Nah…I don’t know him.” Total bullshit. He knows something; he just doesn’t want to tell me. I try to search his unreadable gaze, but it’s useless.

  “I need every detail, Jess. Everything, from the obscure to the most detailed. Even if it s
eems unimportant.”

  I don’t really care if he knows him or not. I know he’ll take the necessary steps to make sure Jake and our family are safe. So, I do what he asks and start at the beginning, breaking everything down elementary-style.

  Chapter 30

  Daniel

  Something has died in my mouth. My tongue feels thick and furry, and my head is pounding. I turn my head on the pillow and get a face full of hair that smells like old cigarettes and sweat. Blinking to clear my vision, I see that it’s red instead of brunette, and in the light of day it looks like straw from the chemical damage.

  I vaguely remember coming back to my house after the club. Everything after that’s a no-go. I sit up slowly because any quick movements will have me sprinting to the bathroom, and I so can’t picture that happening in my current state.

  At my movements, the woman in my bed sits up and stretches.

  “Good morning,” she says, running a hand up my back. I lean forward away from her touch and push to my feet.

  “Is it?” Nothing good about this morning.

  “Yeah.” She walks on her knees to the edge of the bed. “Or it can be.” She pulls down the thin straps of her party dress, exposing her breasts, running her hands down the curve, cupping them in both hands.

  My dick doesn’t even twitch. It’s completely uninterested and so am I.

  “You’re a beautiful girl, Kara, but I’m…” with someone. At least I think I might be.

  “If you’re talking about the cute little wide-eyed thing?” Her hands are still on her breasts in what is supposed to be an enticing action, but it comes across more like a badly scripted porn scene. “She was here last night, but as you can see, she didn’t stay.”

  “What do you mean she was here? When?” No, no, no, no. I lace my fingers on top of my head and tilt it up to the ceiling. This isn’t happening. If she was pissed before, she must be livid now.

  Shit!

  “Not sure what time she got here, but she left pretty quickly. Don’t worry about her, you have me.”

  I lower my head to look at her and the sight turns my stomach. The forced sensuality is comical.

  “Kara, you seem like a nice…”

  “Kristal,” she snaps. “My name is Kristal.”

  I scratch the back of my head. “Sorry about that,” I mumble and start again. “Kristal, you seem like a great girl, but you and me, not happening.”

  The sex kitten mask drops, replaced by a sneer that shows badly crooked teeth. “Fuck you, Daniel Xu.” She seethes, snatching up the dress to cover herself. “Between the whiskey dick and whining over your precious Jessie, I don’t know why I’d even bother.”

  She climbs out of my bed, and I know it’s wrong, but the first thought that pops in my head is that I need to wash my sheets.

  I follow her at a distance just to make sure she leaves without stealing my shit, and I stop dead in my tracks. My penthouse is destroyed. Pillows thrown off the sofa. Empty cans and bottles litter the floor. The mug tree broken and hanging haphazardly from the counter.

  Look at this shit.

  I right an overturned chair and just kind of collapse on top of the cushions, taking in the mess that is my life. I can only imagine what Jessie must have thought when she walked into hedonism last night.

  Not only am I embarrassed, but I’m humiliated to be in my thirties, doing the same things I did in my late teens and early twenties.

  It’s time to pull my shit together. Maybe I shouldn’t get the girl if I can’t give her the life. Jessie is beautiful inside and out. She’s shiny and polished, I don’t want to tarnish that.

  She should be with someone her own age. Someone as open and driven. Someone who can give her the type of relationship that she deserves.

  Not the guy afraid to tell his friends; the guy who doesn’t take himself or her seriously. We were never going to really have a successful go at it.

  If there was ever a question, one glance around my house should be answer enough.

  Chapter 31

  Jessica

  It's been weeks since my life just kind of went topsy-turvy. I haven’t heard from Momma, Connor, or Daniel.

  In all honesty, I don’t think I want to. The weight of holding my mother’s secret feels like a boulder sitting on my chest, and under that pressure my heart is still trying to find a normal rhythm. Connor has all but disappeared, taking a leave of absence from the business he shares with my brother to hunt down Marseille Thibodeaux. I have absolutely no proof but that’s my suspicion, anyway.

  If anything happens to him, I’ll never forgive myself.

  Jake’s ringtone erupts from inside my desk drawer, pulling me back to the present.

  “Hello,” I answer hastily to stop the rap music from blaring across the office.

  “It’s time, Jess. We’re at the hospital. The doctor said Sin should start pushing in the next hour or so,” my brother says in a rushed voice.

  “Why didn’t you call me earlier?”

  “Because the book said that labor with a first child can be long and tedious.”

  “Both moot points, Jake. I’ll be right there.” It’s only four thirty according to the digital clock above my head. I still have two hours left of work, but there must be an exception for the birth of my niece and nephew, right? Because I get two of them. They’re expecting twins.

  Work wouldn’t expect me to miss that. I’m about to be an aunt! TT Jess or maybe T Jess? I shoot a quick email to Terrence, letting him know that I’ll be cutting out two hours early today, but I’ll make it up on the back half of the week, and quickly shut everything down.

  It doesn’t take that long to get to the hospital. When I walk into the waiting room, the entire crew is there, including Daniel. His long hair is pulled into a ponytail on top of his head and for the first time in my acquaintance with him, his persona is subdued, covered in black, shapeless sweats.

  I make my round of greetings and hugs, saving Daniel for last.

  “How are you doing? It’s good you were able to make it.” There are no hugs, but I sound cordial. I try to move by him like I did with everyone else, but he grabs my hand, pulling me to a stop.

  “Can we talk for a minute?” he asks, looking up at me from his seat.

  Shaking my head, I slip my hand from his. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.” I brush off the need to hear his words, the curiosity of what he was going to say. Instead, I turn to address the group as a whole, “Does anyone want coffee or snacks?”

  “Nah. I’m good,” Seth grumbles. “Thank you.”

  “Bottle of water and a PayDay bar if they have it.” Adam hands me a ten-dollar bill from his wallet.

  “’Kay, got it. Anyone else?”

  I look over Dan, as if he’s not there. I’m not here for him, but he’s hard to ignore when I can feel his eyes staring a hole in the side of my head. Please, don’t say anything. You didn’t want your friends to know, and they don’t know. Just let it go.

  “Kish and I are good,” Miles answers.

  “I’ll be right back, guys. Come get me if anything happens.” I walk out of the door so fast that I don’t notice Daniel trailing behind me, refusing to be ignored.

  I stop in front of the vending machine, thoughtfully studying its contents.

  “You just going to pretend like I’m not here?”

  “It doesn’t matter if you’re here because today isn’t about you.” I locate Adam’s selections and insert the money.

  “Why are you so hostile right now?”

  “I’m not hostile. I’m just over it. Maybe go talk to the redhead that was half naked in your room the last time I stopped by.” I watch the silver coil turn and push the candy bar out.

  “Is that what this is about? Kristal?” Daniel steps closer, snatching the candy bar before I can retrie
ve it. “I didn’t fuck her.” He says it with so much conviction I almost believe him.

  “I hadn’t thought about it.” Which is a lie. It’s been just about all I could think about, but he will never know. “You made it clear. I’m not your person. And now I’m making it clear that you aren’t mine.”

  With those parting words I turn on my heel and head back to the waiting room.

  Chapter 32

  Daniel

  “What! I'm not good enough for you?” I yell.

  The frustrated words, whittled by desperation and sharpened to a point with anger, come from that hidden place inside my chest where my broken ego went to hide, shore up, and take refuge from the shitstorm that is my life.

  Conversation around me grinds to a halt as six pairs of eyes in varying stages of ‘what the hell’ turn in my direction, but the ones I need to see, the wide hazel ones that shimmer with questions and shift color with every thought and feeling, are still directed at the exit as she walks away.

  Down the hall.

  Out the door, and out of my life.

  She’s literally walking out of my life, and I don’t have the words to articulate the finality of her heels tapping the sad cadence of her departure.

  I’m tired. So fucking tired of the vapid existence where sex and liquor and maybe a little cannabis got me through to the next day.

  I don’t give a damn that I’m nine years older, or that her brother is a temperamental toddler who likes to growl and make threats. Last time I checked, Jessica Johnson was more than capable of making her own decisions.

  But she’s folding under the pressure, crumpling like a forgotten dollar bill in a back pocket.

  She’s better than that. We’re so much better than that.

  She wanted a clear a path…and that motherfucker is wide open.

  So, I’m not buying this forced distance, or frosty attitude, or the invisible stick apparently inserted up her very fine ass.

  It doesn’t take a genius to deduce that the problem—her problem…is me.