by Jay McLean
“Like what?”
He shrugged, his fat gut moving with it. “I don’t know, but it’s not helping you just staring at her the way you are.”
The pipes clanked when her shower ended.
Tiny added, “Just talk to her. Tell her she’s safe.”
I raised an eyebrow. “For now?”
“Better than her not knowing anything at all. She probably thinks you’re going to off her in her sleep.”
Sighing, I stood up quickly, the chair beneath me tipping back from the force of it. “Fine.”
The second I knocked, the bathroom door opened, and she was there—wearing a pair of my boxers and one of my long-sleeved gray shirts. Her hair was wet, her arms wrapped tightly around her waist. But she was clean. No more blood. The bruising on her cheek had darkened since I’d first seen it, and the cut on her chin and bottom lip had closed up.
She dipped her head, her brown hair forming a curtain around her face. I struggled to breathe, struggled to speak. Then I felt Tiny next to me, his shoulder bumping mine and I finally found my voice. “Bailey?”
Her eyes snapped up, and I could see the fear behind them. I took a step closer, and when she tried to step away, the back of her leg hit the edge of the tub.
“I won’t hurt you,” I said. “You’re safe. It’s over.”
Only it wasn’t over.
It hadn’t even begun.
8
Nate
The ringing of my phone startled me awake. I opened one eye first, then the other. Then I reached over to the nightstand and grabbed it; Tiny’s number flashed on the screen. “What?”
“I’m outside.”
“Use your key.”
A moment later, the door opened, and he stepped inside. “We have a problem, Boss.”
Bailey
After Tiny had left last night, Nate showed me to, what I assume was, a guest bedroom and told me he’d be in the next room if I needed anything. There was nothing but a bed pushed up against the corner and a single nightstand with a lamp, and a tiny dresser, but it was more than I’d expected. And even though it was more than I’d been used to, I still found it impossible to sleep. Every sound, every creak of the floorboards, had me jumping out of my skin, and so when I heard voices in the kitchen, most likely Tiny and Nate’s, I was almost relieved.
“We don’t have a fuckin’ choice,” Tiny’s deep voice rumbled.
Nate said something¸ but I couldn’t make out what. After pushing the sheets off me, I quietly opened the door and made my way toward the voices, hoping not to startle them. It didn’t work. Both their eyes snapped to me from their seats at the kitchen table. I felt exposed, uncomfortable in my own skin.
Nate cleared his throat and broke the silence. “You need to eat something,” he stated, his voice firm. “And we need to talk.”
“Talk?” I asked quietly.
He just nodded and motioned his head for me to sit down.
I did.
I folded my hands on my lap and waited for them to speak, choosing to ignore the food. Nate leaned forward, causing me to look at him. He asked, almost hesitantly, “We need to know who’ll be reporting you missing. I mean, I don’t think it matters who, but we need to try to be ahead—”
“No one,” I cut in, saving him from going any further.
Tiny and Nate shared a look, one that let me know they thought I was crazy. Tiny spoke first. “Parents? Siblings? Friends?”
“No one,” I repeated. Louder. Stronger. “I don’t have anyone.”
Nate released a shaky breath as he combed his fingers through his shaggy dark hair. “There has to be—” he broke off when I picked up a fork with my right hand, keeping my left close to my chest. Through the adrenaline of what had happened last night, I didn’t feel the damage of what a full-grown man’s weight on a hand could do. Nate—he must have noticed because he asked, “What’s wrong with your hand?”
“Nothing.”
“Is it hurt?”
I shook my head.
Tiny spoke up. “Bailey, if you’re hurt or need something, you need to tell us. There’s no point in lying, you’re only going to make things worse for yourself.”
My bottom lip trembled as I fought to keep it together. I felt like a child—a disobedient child, whose parents had just scolded her. I glanced up at Nate. “Yes. It’s hurt.”
He stood quickly.
My gut clenched, and my entire body filled with fear.
It felt like hours as I watched him approach. He squatted down next to me, gripped the legs of my chair and, without effort, spun my seat to face him. He reached forward, his palm up.
I gently placed my hand on his.
His dark eyes softened as he looked down at my hand. He flipped it over, eliciting a wince from me and a rushed apology from him. His hands were soft… warm. Completely opposite from what I’d expected. “What happened?” he asked, his eyes focused on his finger running over my knuckles.
I looked over at Tiny, who nodded in encouragement, then back to Nate. “The man—he stomped on it—”
“Who? Pauly?” Nate bit out, his eyes narrowed and his jaw tense.
“No… the other one.”
“PJ? Why?”
My voice came out in a whisper. “So I couldn’t fight Pauly when he was on top of me.”
Nate’s gaze flicked to Tiny for a second. Then he cursed under his breath and covered my left hand with both of his. In a tone meant to comfort me, he asked, “Will you tell me what happened?”
The words I’d been holding on to since the gun went off eased their way out of me. “I just wanted him to stop. He wouldn’t get off me. He wouldn’t stop touching me. Feeling me. I couldn’t let him take it.”
Nate’s eyes fixed on mine—an emotion behind them I couldn’t decipher. “Then what happened?”
I kept my voice even, void of any and all emotion. “I didn’t mean to kill him. I just felt for the gun, found the trigger, and I used it. I didn’t—”
“Didn’t what?” Nate cut in.
“I didn’t know the gun was pointed at him. I was aiming for me.”
9
Nate
Bailey excused herself to the guest bedroom shortly after her admission. Tiny waited until she was out of earshot before he turned to me. “You notice she hasn’t cried? Not once. Even when you held the gun to her head.”
I shrugged. It was all I could do. Of course I had noticed. It just made me more curious about her.
When Tiny had said that we had a problem—he wasn’t kidding. We did. And it was a huge one. Apparently PJ had taken pictures of him and Pauly’s act and sent them to everyone. Including Tiny. When he’d shown me the pictures, I’d wanted to puke. It must have been before they smacked her around because her face was clean. Not a trace of blood. Which made it worse because you could see her face clearly.
“He’s trying to send a message,” Tiny had said.
“What do you mean?”
“He’s showing people because he wants them to see the girl who killed Pauly. He’s put a bounty on her head. Two grand.”
I’d scoffed at the amount.
“Two grand’s not much to you, but to drug pushers and takers, it’s a lot of fuckin’ money.”
“Why would he do that? I made it clear I’d take care of it.”
Tiny had given me a look that told me he thought I was stupid. “Obviously, he doesn’t believe you.”
I’d rolled my eyes.
“There’s more. He’s taken his opinions to Benny. Benny wants to talk to you.”
“Fuck.”
“Yeah. That’s not all, though. Think about it. You let everyone believe that you’d take care of it. Regardless of the circumstances, she killed someone the men consider family. They find out she’s still breathing, and there’s going to be a bounty on your head. A much higher one.”
I’d sat back in my seat, my head spinning with every verbal blow he had just delivered. “Jesus fuckin’ Christ.”
>
“They see her out there, she’s dead, and you—you’ll have a lot more to deal with than just an innocent girl living under your roof.”
“So she has to die?”
“No,” he’d said quickly. “That’s the last thing we both want.” He’d paused for a beat as if gathering his thoughts. “We just need to be smart about it, that’s all.”
“I don’t know what’s easier right now.”
Tiny had glanced up at me from the laptop he’d just opened. “Do you want the easy way? Or the right way? Your call.”
*
Tiny and I spent a good hour discussing our game plan before he left for the hardware store. He re-coded the home security for the silent alarm to initiate when the external doors opened, rather than if it sensed movement in the house. As much as I hated having to do what we were doing—we had to find a way to permanently keep the windows shut so Bailey couldn’t escape. It wasn’t just her life on the line anymore, it was mine too, and I had to find a way to make her understand that.
I knocked on the guest bedroom door and waited.
There was shuffling at her end before the handle moved and the door opened, just enough for her to peek out.
“Can we talk?” I asked.
She nodded and opened the door wider, then took a seat on the edge of the bed.
I sat down next to her. “How’s your hand?”
“Sore.”
“We’ll get some ice on it in a bit.”
“Okay.”
We sat in silence while my mind tried to form words.
“Whatever you need to tell me. I can handle it,” she said.
I turned to her, but her eyes were downcast, watching her bare feet swinging back and forth. I hadn’t wanted to admit it before, and I’d never admit it out loud, but even through the cuts and the bruises, she was stupidly beautiful. How the hell she found herself in last night’s situation, I had no idea. “PJ took pictures of you while it was happening. He’s sent the pictures to everyone.”
Her brow pinched as she faced me, pinning me with her glare.
With a nervous swallow, I continued, “He’s doing it because he suspects the truth… that I didn’t follow through on my promise.” I sighed. “Things are tricky now. You and I—we’re kind of in the same boat. They want you dead, and they can make it happen. And if they find out I didn’t… well, the same can happen to me.”
She exhaled a shaky breath. “I’m sorry, Nate, I didn’t mean…”
“Don’t be sorry,” I told her, ignoring the flip of my stomach when she said my name.
“It’s my fault.”
“Don’t say that.” My hand twitched, itching to touch her, to hold her, to do something to take away the fear in her eyes—eyes that I got lost in every time I looked into them. I stood up and started to pace. “I’m telling you because Tiny and me—we need to take certain precautions for your safety. Which means keeping you here.”
“For how long?” she whispered.
“Until things die down a little. Until it all blows over and people forget about it. When it’s safe, I’ll let you go, but you can’t stay around here.”
“Okay,” she whispered.
“You said something about no one looking for you? How’s that possible?”
“I’m homeless, Nate. I don’t have parents or siblings, and I made sure not to make any friends. Until last night, I guess. So no. There’s no one. At least that’s one less thing you have to worry about, right?” She seemed to move closer somehow, closer than the walls caving in on me.
“How old are you?” I asked.
“Nearly eighteen, I think.”
“And how long have you been homeless?”
“Since I was fifteen.” She sat up straighter. “Nate?”
“Yeah?” I answered, unable to look at her.
“Whatever needs to be done, I’ll do it. I don’t want you getting hurt. Not over me. Thank you for everything.”
*
Tiny returned with the materials we needed to screw shut the windows. He must’ve thought a lot about the plan because he removed the aerial cable from the TV and disconnected the antenna from the stereo. “It’s better she not know any of what’s going on outside these walls, just in case she gets ideas or gets spooked. News reports can fuck people up.”
I nodded and looked over at her closed bedroom door.
“Did you speak to her?” he asked.
“Yeah.”
“What did she say?”
“Thank you.”
“She’s something else.”
No shit, I thought. “Any information released about last night?”
Tiny finished drilling the last screw in place and, with more effort than seemed necessary, got up from his kneeling position and threw himself on the couch, wiping the sweat from his forehead as he did. “Cops got called out because of the gun going off. So far—nothing. Just some punk kid who OD’d in his car.”
“That’s good, right?”
“I guess,” he huffed out, trying to catch his breath. “But seeing the blood on her last night, there’s bound to be more of it out there. It’s just a matter of time.” He clutched his hand to his heart and attempted to sit up straighter. “When this is over, will you hit the gym with me? I feel like the donuts I ate three days ago are wrapped around my heart.”
“You got it, man,” I said over my shoulder, moving to my room. “I’ll get dressed. Then we’ll see Uncle Benny. Get it over with.”
*
Uncle Benny sat behind his desk, his fingers steepled beneath his chin as if he was Marlon Brando in The goddamn Godfather. “PJ says—”
“PJ’s a dick.”
Clearly frustrated, Benny thumped his fist on his desk. “I don’t want to hear this shit, Nate. He’s going around calling my number two a pussy. He’s telling people he doesn’t believe you had the balls to take care of it.”
I rolled my eyes. “It’s done.”
“How? Where did you do it?”
“She’s in the same place as Pauly. With the fish.”
“She’s dead?” he asked, his tone flat.
“Why are you questioning me?”
“Do I have a reason to?”
“Uncle Benny, you’ve known me since I was born. My dad and you—you were brothers. You accusing me of breaching your trust—of dishonoring The Family—it’s a fuckin’ joke. I’ve given everything to this job since I was sixteen. While kids my age were screwing around, I was helping you build this empire. I don’t deserve this shit, especially from you. And you know that.”
I didn’t wait for a reply; I just stormed out of his office and into Tiny’s waiting car. I’d lied through my teeth, but the shit I’d said was what was expected of me—a controlled facade and indestructible armor.
Only it wasn’t indestructible.
And the girl in my house was proof of that.
10
Nate
Two weeks.
That’s how long we’d been living under the same roof, barely breathing a word to each other. During the day, I’d go to work, set up meets, and organize the next round of supplies. Before she moved in, I’d occasionally work from home, crunch numbers from the comfort of my couch, but having her here made it seem like I was doing something wrong. Technically, I was. But it had never even occurred to me until there was a threat of someone knowing my business. Plus, being out and about meant I was able to keep my eyes and ears open. I needed to know if any more suspicions were raised or if PJ was still talking shit.
So, for two weeks we tiptoed around each other. Every night I’d come home, and she’d be in her room, wearing my clothes, under the covers but wide awake. I’d bring her food. We’d eat in silence. And every night, I’d go to sleep wondering what the hell was going on in her pretty little head, and why it was I could never get the nerve to ask.
*
I sat down on the couch and turned on my laptop. Then I started the rounds of passwords needed to actually gain acce
ss to anything. Tiny had set it up. See—Tiny wasn’t the toughest guy on the team. He sure as shit wasn’t the strongest or the fittest. I chose him as my right-hand because he was smart, especially with technology. But above that, I chose him because he was loyal, because he had the same morals and ethics as I did. Even at sixteen, when I first met him peddling drugs at a corner store, I could tell. I knew, not because he was dealing drugs, but because he chased after some thug who’d snatched an old lady’s purse. He ended up sitting on the dude’s stomach and bitch-slapping his face until he apologized to her. It was one of the funniest things I’d ever seen.
Tiny—he was a good man.
He was also my best friend.
After typing in my first password, Voi siete il mio sole, and repeating that same action about thirty times, I finally logged into the site. Sure it seemed dumb to keep our business online, but Tiny had found a way to keep it completely hidden. To anyone who’d, by some miracle, actually get into the site, we’d just be a bunch of too-bored middle schoolers exchanging online gaming scores and trading weapons and whatnot. But what it really was, was a way for the peddlers to let me know what they’d sold in the last twenty-four hours. I clicked on PJ’s profile first, like I’d started to do every time I logged on, hoping he’d be selling below target, so I had an excuse to let him go. Unfortunately, PJ was our best seller—which was why I couldn’t straight up off him. Against his best-laid plans, things had calmed down a little since the day after Bailey had shot Pauly. Though he kept on about it, adamant that she was still around. “Why the fuck would he take me home instead of letting me watch? Hell, I would have done it for him,” he’d told anyone that’d listen.
I wanted him gone, and by gone, I meant the Pauly type gone.
Time.
I just needed time.
When all this blew over, and she was far away, I’d deal with him then.
*
Tiny called, told me he was on his way with some urgent news but didn’t want to tell me over the phone, so as soon as he hung up I checked the news websites.
And there it was.
A fishing boat had found Pauly’s body.
