Escape (The Covington Heights Crew Book 1)

by Deana Birch

  “No way.” I chucked the knife down and wiped my hands on the towel I’d flung over my shoulder. “I am not taking her to the games with me. I guarantee she couldn’t even make a vodka on the rocks.”

  Anton stood and walked over to the island. In a low whisper he said, “You got a better idea? Cuz I seem to remember something about your dick.”

  The threat woven into his voice wasn’t about him kicking my ass. We both knew that couldn’t happen. It was more about me staying where I was and continuing to avoid my brother.

  “She’s worthless,” I said, loud enough for her to hear and instantly regretting it.

  “Not to me.” Anton turned and walked to his bedroom. “Fiona, you’re staying to eat.”

  Fiona lifted a shoulder and shot me a smug grin.

  I crossed the room and went to mine. I found my favorite jersey and pulled it over my head. No more eye candy for that traitor.

  “Catch a chill?” she taunted as I walked back to the kitchen. I sautéed the chicken breast and ignored how she’d taken off her shoes and bent her legs so that the hem of her dress hit at mid-thigh. She wasn’t sexy at all. She was an evil trickster. Whatever her plan had been, it had worked like a charm and Anton was officially intrigued by her. She’d upped her stock and was going to eat into my money at the same time.

  I set out the plates and utensils around the island. Anton came out of his room freshly showered and in black training pants and a white tank top. His light hair was still damp and the water seemed to have washed off his mood from before.

  With a scowl at Fiona, I served up dinner. If she was expecting small talk, she was sadly mistaken. Plus, Anton would never discuss business in front of an outsider. But one detail of his plan had been eating at me since he’d decided it.

  My father had trained me to assess immediate threats, and they came to me almost like premonitions. A face had popped into my head and wouldn’t go away. The red-headed slimy fuck Anton let gamble at our games… He was a former rival of Anton’s father who had slithered his way back onto the scene after a lengthy jail sentence.

  Neither of us trusted Mac, but we had no problem taking his money. His sister, who happened to be our go-to private doctor for all things broken or split open, had proven her loyalty over the years and had vouched for him. But that didn’t stop his ugly mug from lurking in my thoughts.

  “Leo!” Anton shoved my arm. “Jesus. When did you start daydreaming?”

  I blinked and straightened.

  Anton continued, “Fiona needs new clothes. She can’t bartend in a hoodie and cut offs. She needs—”

  “Oh no.” I said slowly and shook my head once. “I am not going fucking shopping with her. I have some limits.”

  Anton pursed his lips, but I held my ground.

  “Scooter can drive her, watch her go in and come out. I have way better shit to do than sit in a corner while she tries on tight jeans and tanks.”

  Shit. I’d fueled his damn fire with a visual, not that it mattered. It didn’t fucking matter. She was a self-righteous narc. And, damn it, she would look fantastic in tight jeans and heels. Now I had the damn visual.

  I shot her the evil eye.

  Anton’s gaze bounced between Fiona and me through the meal, trying to size up our mutual disgust. When we’d finished, he said, “I need to talk to Rafa about a thing. Walk her home.”

  “Oh, come on.” I dropped my head back in protest. “She can hit a button and ride a damn elevator.”

  “I can absolutely do that without this tool’s help.” Fiona pointed her thumb at me.

  I scoffed. “I’m not a tool.”

  “You’re his tool.”

  The breathy hum coming from Anton was not a good sign. He wasn’t very good at patience or bickering. Silence, calm and money—not necessarily in that order—were more his speed. I didn’t want to piss him off further than I already had, so I rolled my eyes and stood. “Fine. Let’s go, Fi.” I grabbed her elbow and she shook me off.

  Once we were in the elevator, I said, “Nice game. Coming down here smelling all lusty and putting your best assets in his face. That line about spending time with him nearly broke my heart.”

  Fiona stalked forward and cornered me. The heat between us rose, causing me to break a sweat. “Let’s get something straight, errand boy. Call me ‘worthless’ again and I’ll pull your fucking nuts off with my bare hands.”

  She’d said something, and it had sounded a hell of a lot like a threat. But it had also sounded a lot like her hands on my junk. And okay, I’d insulted her a little bit, but she’d been rapid-firing at me all the damn night.

  Her pissed-off gaze brought a little smile to my face. I was impressed that she’d gotten Anton to give her a job. Apart from Lisa and the doctor, there weren’t a lot of ladies working for us.

  Fiona shoved my shoulder. “Don’t do that. Don’t give me those bedroom eyes when I hate you.”

  I pushed her back against the wall. In her ear, I said in a low, airy voice, “I’ll give you whatever the fuck eyes I want, whenever I want.” I may have even pressed a little too much on her chest, because it was just too tempting not to.

  After a fluttering of those made-up eyelashes, Fiona stepped back. “I don’t think your boss would approve.”

  That was where Fiona was wrong. Jealousy wasn’t an emotion that ran through the bossman of steel. Chances were, if I found something to benefit him, he’d give me the green light with Fiona. But she could hedge her bets on him giving a fuck about her. That was fine by me.

  The doors opened and I followed her down the hall.

  “Scooter will drive you downtown at ten.” I dug into my pants and pulled out some money. “Oh, and send me pictures of your clothes. If I’m buying it, I get final say. They’re my games, after all.”

  Fiona snatched the cash from my hand. “You just want pics of me to whack off to.”

  An excellent idea all around. “Maybe.” I grinned, and the middle finger she showed me as she entered her apartment lacked just a little more conviction than her previous ones.

  The elevator was busy so I jogged down the stairs. At our place, I left the dishes—someone would be around to do that shit for us—and got lost in a basketball game on TV. When Anton came back at half-time, he muted the sound and sat down next to me.

  “Rafa said you kicked the shit out of him. I thought we’d talked about that.” Anton raised his eyebrows. I was well on my way to being on his shit list. He crossed his arms and offered a rare smile. “She is up in your shit, hard.”

  There was no point in lying. He’d seen enough. Plus, if I couldn’t be brutally honest with him, what was the point of being in Covington?

  “Pfff…” I rubbed my neck. “I may have been just a tad frustrated.”

  “I can’t let you fuck her before me. I gotta keep up appearances. And there is no fucking way I’d fight you for her.” The illusion of not being equals was part of my cover.

  Give him something he wants more than her.

  “I’ll work with the Golden Boy and make him stronger, quicker.”

  The joint in Anton’s jaw popped to one side as he considered. “For what?”

  There was no way he’d just let me have her. Besides, it was her call anyway. I needed to tread lightly and not overplay the crappy hand I had. “If she makes a move on me, I don’t have to step off.”

  Anton laughed. “She seems pretty sure she hates you.”

  The game started back up on the screen behind Anton. “If you really believed that, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

  I un-muted the sound and we watched the rest of the game without talking. There was no doubt in my mind that he would pull something to try to out-maneuver me. But I was already three steps ahead of him.

  Chapter Seven

  Fiona

  I grazed through the racks and racks of clothes, completely lost. The thought of spending the money in my bag on just one outfit was beyond comprehension. Two beautifully put-t
ogether girls giggled opposite me. Their straight hair shone, the rips in their jeans looked masterfully intentional and their makeup was flawless. My cut-offs, hoodie and knock-off designer bag were a sad comparison. Hell, I hadn’t even worn mascara.

  A middle-aged woman in a black suit and name tag around her neck approached me with the look—the one that said she thought I was there to shoplift.

  “Can I help you find something in particular?” she asked as she tilted her head with doubt.

  I sighed. I was lost, out of place and worried that I’d choose the wrong thing and Leo would find a way to hurt my feelings again. Because that ‘worthless’ comment? That had stung more than I’d wanted to admit.

  Fuck it. “I have nine hundred dollars and I need to look like a classy whore. Black jeans and a tank top—not dressy, just not cheap.”

  The clerk sized me up then her brown eyes glimmered. “I can work with that.”

  I let out a long breath and gave her a shy smile. Asking for help wasn’t something I was good at, but in that moment it was my best option for getting in and out of the store as quick as possible.

  “I’m Karen. Follow me.” She waved over her shoulder and I fell in line. Her energy had changed. She seemed to enjoy the mission—or perhaps it was a challenge.

  Karen stopped in her tracks and spun around. She bit her lip and closed an eye. “I don’t mean this to be rude. I just want to find your comfort zone. Is this”—she pointed to me and did a little loop with her finger—“what you normally wear?”

  I swallowed and shifted my weight from side to side. “Pretty much.”

  “Okay. Jeans it is.”

  As if I had a choice… I was now an official part of the crew and the thought had my stomach flipping. Karen headed over to a wall of shelves with folded denim from floor to ceiling and propped her hands on her hips once she was in front of it.

  “Black,” I repeated.

  “Good idea.” Karen pulled out three pairs and handed them to me in a pile. “These are all under three hundred, which will leave you the same amount for heels and tops. Let’s start a room.”

  With the absurd-costing pants in hand, I once again trailed her like a mindless robot. She opened the dressing room door with a key from a clear springy bracelet around her wrist.

  “Um…” I winced. “Is there any way you can just bring everything here? Like the shoes and the shirts?”

  Her tight smile read more understanding than pity and I relaxed a little. “Sure thing, sweetheart. Shoes size seven and a half?”

  “Please.” She must know what she’s doing if she can guess right at my shoe size.

  I stacked the jeans on the little stool in the corner, slipped off my bag and unzipped my thin hoodie. I was sure Karen would leave but she entered the tight space with me, staring at my chest.

  “You’re gonna need a better bra, dear.”

  By the end of an hour, I had an outfit and had received a lesson in how to walk in heels without falling on my face. Apparently, small steps were just as important as heel-to-toe. My fairy godmother in the black suit took a step back to admire her work.

  I did the same, the reflection staring back at me so foreign that I had to squint. The jeans were tight, tighter than I’d ever worn, and they gave my hips curves that I hadn’t even known I had. The razor-back tank didn’t leave much to the imagination either and the woman had been right about my bra. My boobs were now smashed and high. They barely looked real.

  “Holy crap,” I whispered.

  “Yeah. You’re hot. Your boyfriend’s gonna be happy.” Karen nodded her head in approval then replaced the unwanted shoes back in their boxes and secured their cardboard lids.

  Right. Fucking Leo. I had to show him. The dread I’d felt walking into the store crept back up my spine. I wobbled over to my bag, I would need to practice in heels—I was still far from being a pro—and dug out the phone. I snapped a pic and sent it to him.

  Within seconds, the bubble next to his name popped up with the dots that he was typing.

  Show me your ass.

  Fucker. God, he was a horrible excuse for a man. But I turned around, took another picture—complete with me flipping him off—and sent it anyway. I looked over to Karen, who had curiosity in her dark eyes, but her lips remained sealed. A part of me wanted to explain that I needed approval, but the other side screamed that it would make me look like more of a whore than I already did.

  The phone dinged with an emoji of a thumbs-up. I guessed a compliment was beyond Leo’s scope. Douchebag. And now he had his jerk-off ammo.

  “I’ll take it all,” I said to Karen.

  She perked up and grinned. “Do you want to wear it out of here? I can cut off the tags.”

  Did I? Could I fully commit to the transformation? It would mean I’d surrendered, but hadn’t I already? Maybe the consolation prize of me being sexy, for what was probably the first time in my life, could get me through to the end of the day.

  “Yeah, that would be nice. But maybe a bag for the shoes.”

  “No problem. Let’s ring you up. The scissors are at the desk.”

  I didn’t take offense when Karen scrutinized the hundred-dollar bills. It was her job and a different girl from my same background might have tried something a little bolder. I thanked her for all her help, she gave me a big enough paper bag to add my old clothes inside and, wearing my flip-flops, I headed out of the department store.

  The warm summer air tasted like a freedom I didn’t think I’d be getting for a while. There was a little coffee shop down the street that promised homemade gelato. I’d heard of the Italian dessert before but had never tried it. If I could lie to myself for fifteen minutes and imagine that I belonged in this higher-class world of downtown, that and the ice cream would be a selfish treat I’d rarely known. I tapped on the window and told Scooter I was going to get a bottle of water for the way back.

  Lie told, I proceeded to walk down the block pretending to be a confident woman who was perfectly at ease. I set the bag next to my feet and plucked the laminated menu from the metal holder while I sat at the wire table on the sidewalk. The variety of complicated flavors batted away my fake persona with an unsettling ease. Passion fruit, pistachio, almond butter and honey… Where was chocolate chip? My palms turned clammy. Even the vanilla had a fancy name.

  The waiter, a skinny but gorgeous man with hair gelled to perfection and spotless skin, came over with a small tablet.

  “What can I get you, honey?” he asked with a warm smile.

  “What’s your favorite flavor of the gelato?” When in doubt, ask. It really was bizarre of me—asking people for help twice in one day. Who knew I was capable?

  “Oh, I don’t eat that. Way too much sugar.”

  Crap. My flavor probe was dead on arrival. And if I was going to spend five dollars of my dwindling money, I really needed to choose wisely.

  “I…” I stared at the colorful menu with its round colorful balls of ice cream. “I’ll just have chocolate.”

  The waiter studied me. “We don’t have chocolate.”

  Fucking hell. I’d just wanted a sweet treat. Why was this so impossible? I rubbed my temples.

  But it seemed to be a day of saviors, because the waiter added, “You want to try a couple before you commit?” The casual shrug after the question was so endearing that it made me forget that nothing in life was free. It lured me over to the counter and let me indulge with tiny colorful plastic spoons on flavors I’d never known existed. His simple kindness plastered a real, true smile on my face. When I tasted the stracciatella and realized that it was just chocolate chip, I ordered a scoop and floated back to the table. The blast of sugar spiked my blood and made me lighter than air.

  But when I pulled out the metal chair to sit, my chest tightened and my head shifted from blissful buoyancy to a typhoon spinning out of control.

  Stale air. That was what had replaced the big paper bag with my old clothes and new, beautiful heels.

&n
bsp; My fingers and toes tingled as I frantically searched the street. Each pedestrian walked with calm purpose. There was no bag in sight.

  Fuck. Leo would be pissed. Two hundred and eighty-five dollars gone in a poof. And I’d sorta fallen in love with those heels. My only saving grace was that I’d kept my mini backpack on and I still had my phone and money. The embarrassment of screwing up a simple shopping trip pecked away at the confidence I’d found an hour prior. Leo’s insult of me being worthless stung in my memory.

  When the waiter brought over my glass dessert bowl and long silver spoon, I faked my calm and thanked him with a tight smile. I had no idea how I would get the creamy goodness past the massive lump of panic and stupidity in my throat.

  Each small bite was a struggle, the joy having been sucked out of the air with the disappearance of my belongings. My celebratory scoop transformed into a pity party, the sweetness of the gelato lost in my sour stomach.

  I paid the waiter, left him a bigger tip than I could afford and slogged down the street. Defeated, I climbed into the back of the SUV, only to be met with fierce blue eyes.

  Crap, maybe it was his money I’d lost being so careless.

  “What’s wrong with you? I thought chicks liked shopping,” Anton asked.

  How, after just a glance at me, could he know something wasn’t right?

  I crossed my arms. “What are you doing here?” Maybe it was wrong to go on the defensive, but old habits died hard and I needed a change of subject.

  “I had an opening.” Anton shifted in the seat so that he faced me. “Listen… You said you wanted to see more of me.” He held up both hands in surrender. “Here I am.”

  I stared out of the tinted window, wondering how I would be asked to pay back the money I’d spent on the shoes. Had I just added to my nonsensical debt? Also, I’d grabbed that money out of Leo’s hand without even a thought that I would owe him something in return. The Covington Heights crew was turning me into an idiot.

  “Fucking hell, Fiona. You seriously know how to send mixed signals. Unless you were just using me for a job…” He grabbed for the handle and before he yanked, he said, “You look amazing, by the way.”