Escape (The Covington Heights Crew Book 1)

by Deana Birch

  But I had shit to do and orders to follow. I stepped back and painted a smug expression on my face. “Come on.”

  She opened the door and marched down the hall. Fiona jabbed the button to the elevator several times. When I caught up to her, she said, “I don’t need an escort to go up four floors.”

  “Just doing what I’m told.” I studied the little dark hairs on her nape. I bet she had a spot somewhere there that would make her squirm and melt.

  The elevator clunked open and we boarded. I pressed the round button with the seven in the middle.

  Fiona’s eyes widened. “You know where I live. You’re a stalker, too. Fantastic.”

  “You said four flights up. Four plus three is seven.”

  “Oh, great. A criminal genius. My lucky day.” Her pouty grunt was somehow adorable and hot. She crossed her arms but it only boosted her tits.

  “Eyes up, asshat.”

  I spent the rest of the ride trying not to laugh. When we got to her door, she unlocked it, stepped in, flipped me off and slammed it shut. I chuckled my way back down to the third floor until Anton ripped me a new asshole in our kitchen about girls hanging around the crew in public.

  Once he’d let out his steam on that, he flung his overnight bag over his thick shoulder and said, “I’ll be gone a couple of days. Don’t let my shitty little empire burn.”

  I nodded. “What do you want me to do about Fiona? She might throw herself at one of the other guys just to piss us off.”

  Anton’s steel gaze sized me up before a small, rare, true smile broke across his staunch face. “There is some fire behind those dark eyes.”

  I scratched my neck and stepped closer to the island. “If what she said is true, keeping her close is a big ‘fuck you’ to the BTs. She’s not safe.”

  “What are you proposing?” Anton’s energy had calmed. He was always better when we were talking about external issues.

  Good question. What the hell am I getting at? Fiona was at risk generally, but more so now that we’d stood up for her. But why the hell did I care?

  “I don’t know. I wonder if word gets out that she’s next up for you, the BTs will work extra hard to take her.”

  He grabbed his phone from the counter and shoved it into his back pocket. “Keep an eye on her, then.” He shot me a glare. “An eye, Ricci. She’s mine first.”

  “As she should be, bossman.” That was the problem with my being second in line. I was second in line. It was like a splinter in the toe—a tiny truth that threw off everything else.

  Anton and I walked out together and the lack of sun had taken off a bit of the heat’s edge. I barked his orders to the crew as he walked to his black SUV. The three girls who had been at the bench when we got there scattered quickly.

  As the bossman pulled away, the familiar baby-blue shine of my brother’s pride and joy came into focus.

  Fuck.

  I jogged over and climbed into the passenger seat.

  Frankie, dressed in a perfectly tailored navy suit, looked me up and down before a definitive frown of disgust formed on his clean-shaven face.

  “You done playing drug dealer yet?”

  I’d never really thought I’d escaped from my family. Me hiding in Covington Heights was a lie I told myself as I bought time away. Frankie had probably known I was there since day one.

  I turned to face him. “We’ve been through this, big brother. The family business isn’t for me.”

  “Leonardo, we are the family business.”

  He was right, but it didn’t make me any more ready to face destiny. I decided to change the mood. “You miss me?”

  “Hardly. But I have plenty of work for you.” Frankie tilted his head. His eyes—the same deep brown as mine—almost pleaded.

  “I can’t.” That was a lie. I could. I just didn’t want to.

  An airy grumble came from his throat. If anyone on the planet understood my refusal, it was my big brother. And for all the bickering and battles we’d had over the years, there was one thing I knew to be true. He would never force me to join him.

  As if my thoughts were his own, he said, “Right. You need anything?”

  “Nope.” No way I would take help from him. Taking meant giving. Hell, I’d just lectured Fiona about the same lesson an hour prior. I reached for the handle and yanked.

  Frankie called, “You know where to find me.”

  I walked back to the crew without watching Frankie pull away, because he was right. I knew exactly where to find him and I feared the day when I would.

  Chapter Three

  Fiona

  With my mom passed out on the couch and the sun just peeking into our window, I scraped together enough money to buy a loaf of bread and two cans of tuna. Our assistance had dried up and we had four more days until my mom’s benefits hit the bank. I would need to persuade her not to smoke away what came in. And I needed to get a damn job, so I’d have to convince her to take care of Violet, too.

  Banging my way to safety? Not exactly my utmost priority.

  I shoved the money in the pocket of my shorts and pulled on a beat-up hoodie to cut the morning chill. I slipped on my flip-flops and was out of the door like a quiet mouse, happy that the deli around the corner opened early and I wouldn’t have to run into Anton, Leo or any of their crew. My plan was to stay inside and watch repetitive kid’s TV all day while I tried to find a job. Lying low was my master plan. I would ignore those pricks until I figured out how to be rid of them. There was certainly no way I was having sex with one of their muscle-defined-drug-pushing asses.

  Just to be sure I would avoid Anton’s crew, instead of taking the main exit that led to the courtyard, I decided to take the alley to the deli. The alley would stink of trash, urine and vomit, but I would hold my noise and run. Anything would be better than seeing those manipulating shits again.

  But I was stopped in my tracks the minute I stepped out of the broken emergency exit.

  “Morning.” Leo sipped coffee from a blue-and-white paper cup.

  Fucking stalker.

  “I’m just going to the deli. You don’t need to call your boss.” I rolled my eyes and plowed forward.

  Leo took a cautious sip then quickened his pace to catch up. “I need your phone number.”

  Well, that was going to be easy. I smiled. “Don’t have one.” Finally, something my mother had done served me well.

  “You’re joking.” He almost choked on his coffee. Good.

  I kept walking—even though I was pretty sure I was stomping and not being subtle about it—and he followed me into the deli as the door chimed our entrance.

  In a huff, I grabbed the bread and two cans of tuna and plopped them onto the counter, where the old man behind it asked if that was all.

  “Just a minute,” Leo said, addressing the clerk. Then to me, “Don’t you usually buy apples or something fresh too?”

  How long has that fucker been keeping tabs on me?

  I turned back to the old man, “That’s all. I don’t need a bag.”

  He rung me up and I counted out the exact change. I swiped up Violet’s and my meal for the next couple of days and was out of the shop before Leo had a chance to think he could be some kind of hero and pay our way.

  He ditched his paper cup and said, “Hold up, Fi.”

  Ugh. A nickname? Gross. The thought that it might help me take orders from him was laughable and perhaps the funniest thing to happen to me in twenty-four hours.

  Try again.

  No longer needing to avoid Fuck-O, since he was taking wide strides next to me to match my hurried pace, I walked directly to the courtyard, through the doors of the building and—since my anger and shame had done a number on my blood pressure—I stormed up the seven flights of stairs.

  I reached out to yank the door open to my floor and he slipped in front of me, blocking the threshold. God, he’s quick. Spooky fuck.

  Leo let out a small sigh and looked down at me. He opened his mouth to speak
but I cut him off.

  “Don’t you fucking dare pity me.” I shoved my shoulder into his side and ducked through the space I’d created.

  “So… I sorta need to come in and spend the day with you.”

  Cleary delusional. I stared up at him and deadpanned. “Punished… I’m very obviously being punished.”

  Leo cleared his throat. “Bossman’s orders.”

  I pushed the cans of tuna into his hands and dug into the pocket of my shorts for my keys. “And I care about that, why, exactly?”

  “You’re under our protection. It wasn’t me who got off at the wrong stop,” Leo complained with a small whine and a whole lot of accusation.

  “You basically gave me no choice, which is bullshit. And you know what? Fuck you for saying I got myself into this mess. I missed my stop. That was it.” My voice was a whispered scream.

  “Okay, okay.” Leo held up his hands, a can of tuna in each. “Just let me come in and we’ll talk about some options.”

  It had to be a trick. I didn’t believe for one second that he had the authority to make decisions about me. That had been made abundantly clear the night before.

  “Please.” He dipped his chin and his tone was actually sweet.

  Well, color me shocked.

  Leo had some damn manners. Huh. I held the key at the bottom lock. If I really thought about it, I was probably safer with Leo than any other man I’d met in my life. He followed his boss’ orders like a dumb puppy behind a raw steak—if puppies had the perfect amount of morning stubble, beautiful olive skin and a smile that hid secret intentions.

  “Fine.” Fine? What the hell was wrong with me? I hated him. “But be quiet. The baby is hopefully still sleeping and my mom…”

  “I get it.”

  The toilet flushed as we walked in and my mom muttered something about going back to bed—which was funny, because she’d slept on the couch. But at least Leo didn’t have to witness her coming down off her high. I exhaled a long breath. I’d let the hot asshat inside. This was going to be bad…and annoying. He was probably like having herpes—no cure and frequent flame-ups. I would never get rid of him.

  Leo set the tuna cans on the counter in the small kitchen and asked, “You have any coffee?”

  “Nope.” I made my way over to the couch and curled up, pulling my hoodie over my bare knees and letting my flip-flops fall to the scratched wooden floor.

  Truth be told, it had been easy to get up early to go to the store. I hadn’t slept much the night before. Between the anger and bitterness, the dark ceiling had been a more welcome view that the back of my eyelids. I yawned.

  The need to avoid Leo—and the energy and drive that had pumped through my veins when I’d thought it a possibility—had shriveled away the second I’d decided to let him in. Defeat was exhausting, resistance invigorating.

  As Leo approached the couch, he took out his phone and thumb-punched it. Probably a status report to the other fuck-face.

  He sat down at the opposite end of our worn-out couch. Still looking at his phone, he said, “Go back to sleep, Fi.”

  I smacked my tongue against the roof of my mouth. Through heavy lids, I asked, “Why are you being so…bearable today?”

  “Path of least resistance. I’m stuck with you—and vice versa.” Leo placed his phone face-down on the table next to the couch. “Plus, with us officially protecting you? You just got a lot more interesting to the BTs.”

  With my eyes closed and my head on the armrest, I said, “I still hate you.”

  Leo let out a small laugh and stretched his entire body. He was too comfortable in my apartment. “Keep telling yourself that,” he said, and I could sense the smile.

  I was too tired to fight. “You’re not so tough when you aren’t in front of him.”

  “Neither are you.”

  I could have read his tone four hundred ways. Annoyance? Cocky? Surely. A hint of flirting? No fucking way. That had to be my lack of sleep. The fatigue got the best of me and I drifted off.

  Too soon was Leo was nudging my shoulder.

  “Hey,” he said in a sort of urgent whisper.

  I peeled open my eyes, the reminder of my confused and depressing life magnified by his dark eyes. I snarled but it had no effect on him.

  “Your sister is babbling from the back room. Do you need to get her?”

  After a small moan, I scrubbed my face and stretched, brushing my calf against his leg then recoiling at the thought of contact. “What time is it?”

  Leo pressed a button on his phone and it lit up. “Eight-thirty.”

  Then yes, I had to get Violet. I stood, Leo watching me the whole time with skeptical eyes. “Simmer down. I’m not making a break for it.” I shook my head down the short hall to the back bedroom. The curtains were drawn and only a sliver of bright sun hit the end of the disheveled bed. My mom, with her thinning dark hair in a rat’s nest, lay stomach down with her head tilted to the side. Her mouth was open and light snores came from her throat.

  I brought my finger to my lips and smiled to Violet, who lifted her arms above her head. With quiet steps around the bed, I picked up my little sister, swiping a clean diaper, onesie and the wipes. Once the door was closed, I nuzzled into her warm neck and she giggled all the way to the living room.

  Unfortunately, Leo was still there. With his legs spread wide on the couch, he’d officially found his throne. Ass. He glanced up from his phone as I knelt down and placed Violet on her back.

  After her diaper change, I flipped on the TV and went to the kitchen for milk. Leo followed—as I was learning he was prone to do—and if I’d eaten any breakfast, it would have soured in my stomach.

  When I went to close the fridge, he caught the door and opened it wide. “Fi.”

  He really needs to stop calling me that. We weren’t buddy-buddy. I didn’t want a nickname from him.

  “There is nothing to eat in here.”

  I lifted a shoulder in a half-shrug. “I wasn’t expecting a guest…or an intruder. I’m not sure you’ve reached guest status.”

  Leo closed the fridge. He grumbled and frantically punched his thumbs into his phone on the way back to his spot on the couch.

  I handed Violet her milk and she stared at the TV. A hand puppet was somehow planting a garden and I let the simplicity of the children’s program numb my mind.

  When the end credits rolled for her episode, a knock at the door startled me back to life. We didn’t get many visitors. Leo stood, opened it, took some bags then dumped them on the table.

  I closed the door on a dark-skinned guy with a lip ring without asking for his name and followed Leo’s path. He wore a white wife-beater and it fit him like a second skin—even his back had definition. If I hadn’t been so busy hating him, I would have admired Leo’s toned frame and pretty dark eyes that hid behind curled lashes.

  Leo unpacked carrots, celery, onions, three huge cans of peeled tomatoes and some ground turkey. Behind the thin white plastic sack, three packages of pasta remained.

  “I need a knife and cutting board. You can peel the carrots.” With as grumpy a look as I could muster, I collected the necessary items from the kitchen. “Oh, and olive oil and your biggest pot.”

  I stared at him. Was he really stupid enough to think I had either of those things?

  Leo raised his eyebrows, like the gesture would make the items magically appear. I decided to let him figure it out for himself. Fuck him. After a mini stand-off of wills, he dropped his bushy but groomed brows. He grumbled, wiped his hands down the front of his jeans, then pulled out his phone. Leo pressed a couple of times and said into it, “Bring up two big pots and a bottle of olive oil.” He narrowed an eye at me then spoke into the phone again. “Plus salt, pepper, chicken stock and oregano.” Leo sat the phone back down on the table and shook his head.

  By the time the knock came again, Leo had cubed the carrots and celery and chopped the onions. He was sitting at the table and motioned with a quick tilt of his head
for me to answer. I rolled my eyes but, for some reason, obeyed.

  “I didn’t get a chance to introduce myself before. I’m Scooter,” the same guy said as he handed me the loot.

  “Congratulations.” A tight, fake grin was my offered thanks to Scooter, and I kicked the door shut.

  “What’s that?” Violet toddled over to Leo, although her question sounded more like, ‘Was dat?’.

  “You wanna help me cook, little bug?” Leo asked in a voice that I wouldn’t have thought him capable of.

  My little sister nodded her head and gave him a timid smile, which he returned. Christ, he was practically endearing.

  “Violet,” I said as I put everything on the table. “Her name is Violet.”

  “I bet you are going to be fantastic at stirring, Violet.” Leo’s sweet tone was enough to make me vomit cotton candy.

  I couldn’t stand to witness any more. I left them to it, hating Leo even more because it was all an act. He was a criminal, and after one thing that had nothing to do with being nice and helping my broken family. That huge specimen of a man might have thought I’d been fooled by kindness, but I’d learned my lesson. He’d said it himself. Nothing in life was free—especially in Covington Heights.

  From my little corner of the couch, I pretended to watch TV and not care, to be oblivious to the fact that Violet was probably having the first genuine exchange in her life with a man. It being fake only seemed to bother me. I ignored her giggles and little hand claps of a job well done for the following hour.

  As Leo’s spaghetti sauce simmered on our dingy stove in one of the pots Scooter had dropped off, Leo and Violet played on the floor next to the couch.

  “Hop on my back, little bug,” Leo said as he got into a plank position on all fours. “I can use the extra weight.”

  Sure enough, she jumped right on and sat below his ripped shoulders as he did push-ups. I reminded myself that it was not ridiculously cute.

  The problem was that Violet smacking Leo’s side and saying ‘more’ over and over gnawed at a deeper issue. She—much like myself—had never known her father. If my mom had boyfriends, they weren’t concerned about teaching us how to throw a ball or ride a bike—or even our well-being. Attention from a man was new for Violet, and she was eating it up and licking the spoon clean. I was almost jealous—especially of the way Violet got him to do what she said, until I remembered to hate that sexy fucker again. Wait. He wasn’t sexy. He was pompous.