Neither This Nor That Box Set 1

by MariaLisa deMora

  All the way down today, it had felt off. He’d taken the long way around, and nearly called it before getting on the bridge that led across the mouth of Lake Pontchartrain. Finally down into New Orleans proper, he’d turned around once, circling the block before getting back on track to finish the journey. Shoulda listened to my gut. His intuition had never steered him wrong, and not listening to that little voice had gotten him into more shit than most people would ever believe. His gut now was telling him to ditch the bitch and her partner, go back to the bar, and see what Wrench wanted. Or an alternative solution was to park the bitch and the dude, go back to the bar, and then pound the shit out of the asshole for nearly fucking up what had promised to be a spectacular night of uncomplicated sexing. I’d at least get my nut off then.

  Shaking his head, he stepped to the side of the door, catching Denise’s arm as she walked past, hand in hand with her friend. “Denise,” he started, but the tilt of her head stopped him cold.

  A slow, sweet smile spread across her face, and she told him, “Don’t worry, Lewis. I saw him. Want us to clear out?”

  “Saw who?” He couldn’t help the bite in his voice, and he belatedly tried to soften it with a smile, knowing it didn’t hit his eyes. “Who’d you think you saw?”

  Proving herself the discreet partner he had expected, she gave lip service to his lie. “I didn’t see anyone, Lewis.” Getting close, she crowded his space, and he had to lock his muscles to keep from pulling away. Mouth next to his ear, she whispered, “I hope you have a good time, honey.” Lips to his cheek, then a trailing slide along his jaw to the corner of his mouth to press a soft kiss there. “Don’t lose my number.” Turning away, she gave his hand an absent squeeze, calling, “Tony, we’re going to head over to the Quarter. Come with me, honey.”

  The man, having spoken not a single word, turned and walked ahead of her to the door. Po’Boy reached out to grip her arm again, pausing her retreat for a moment while he told her, “Word to the wise? Not my type. I like a little feist.”

  That slow smile again, and she lifted up to put her mouth next to his ear, her whisper this time seductive, “So noted, Lewis. I hope to see you again soon.” The door closed behind the pair, and Po’Boy took in a deep breath. He gave it a ten count, waited another ten, and then pulled his phone out. He didn’t bother texting, didn’t hesitate before he dialed, and then stood with his eyes closed, waiting.

  A moment later the call connected, and he gave out the building address, added the suite number, and then disconnected and stood glaring at the door, waiting. Proving his gut had been right, it was less than ten minutes before the knock sounded on his door. Not tentative, this was three short, confident raps with hard knuckles. Po’Boy stood and stared at the door for another moment, knowing the end of his world might be standing on the other side. Lifting his hand, he slowly reached for the knob, turning it and pulling the door open to see Wrench waiting there. Hands shoved into his back pockets, he closely resembled an awkward teen showing at his date’s door. Turning his threatening smile into a sneer, Po’Boy stepped to the side, giving Wrench ample room and time to walk inside.

  The door closed, he leaned his shoulders against it, making it clear Wrench would only be exiting the suite when, and if, Po’Boy allowed. They stood like that for a long minute, silent and still. Po’Boy couldn’t tear his gaze from Wrench, seeing as if for the first time the strength and character in the man’s face. His broad shoulders and the way muscles rippled under his skin were proof of the physical strength, but what had captured Po’Boy’s imagination right now was the struggle going on behind the man’s features. It was as if he could see the cost it took Wrench to be here. What he couldn’t understand was why.

  For his part, Wrench couldn’t seem to look at Po’Boy, which gave his fears firmer footing. If the man didn’t have a problem with him, then why wouldn’t he look Po’Boy in the face? Instead, his gaze skated around the room, seeming to take in every detail. From the kitschy flocked wallpaper that somehow managed to pull off classy to the sleek appliances in the kitchenette, Po’Boy knew it was a total departure from his normal living space but also knew Wrench had never seen the inside of that place, so it wasn’t as if he had anything to compare this against.

  After a second, and then a third minute had passed in silence, Po’Boy cleared his throat. “Get yer looking done. You ain’t gonna see the inside of here again. What the fuck are you doing in Orleans anyway, Wrench?”

  At the instant his voice hit the air, he saw Wrench jolt and sway, as if from a physical hit, then the man’s gaze cut over to him. He didn’t turn to face him, just cut his eyes like it hurt him to be in the same room. Fuck. He must have gotten more of an eyeful than Po’Boy knew, as he was acting like a man who either had a secret, or knew one.

  “Hey.”

  Po’Boy waited, but that was it. The sum total of everything Wrench had to say and now, off balance and unsure, he did what was most comfortable. He went on the attack. “Fucking ‘hey’? That’s it? All you fuckin’ got to say to me? Hey? Fuck you, man. What the fuck am I supposed to do with a goddamned, fuckin’ ‘hey’? You ain’t got more? Nothing more in you?” As he spoke, he pushed away from the door, taking two aggressive strides into the room. “All you got, boy?”

  “Ain’t your boy, and you know it.” Now Wrench’s shoulders moved back, and he squared up to where Po’Boy stood, lifting his gaze to stare fully into Po’Boy’s face. Hands at his sides, they balled into tight fists. “Didn’t know you had a place in New Orleans, is all.” The expression on his face rippled, then fell back into the same stoic lines Po’Boy knew were on his features, too. “It’s nice.”

  “The fuck you talkin’ about? ‘It’s nice.’ It’s fuckin’ cush, is what it is.” Now he was defending his fuck suite? Jesus, I’m a fuckin’ moron. “The fuck you doin’ here, Wrench? Saw the goddamned address, couldn’t stand not knowing? You that hung up on me, motherfucker?” At the accusation, another ripple passed over Wrench’s face, but this one got stuck somewhere between pissed and guilty. What the fuck? Shaking off his confusion, Po’Boy continued. “You got more on VW, you got my fuckin’ number. You fuckin’ text me to set-up a goddamned chat. You ain’t got business, then I don’t know what fuckin’ business me bein’ here is of yours. You pushed your fuckin’ way into IMC business a few nights ago, mostly because it was a right place, motherfuckin’ right time, and you ain’t a pussy. Everybody knows what a hardass Wrench is. Oh, yeah. Everybody knows that about you. Just like they know the same about me. So what the fuck you doin’ playin’ find-the-fuckin’-Po’Boy to chat about business when you got a motherfuckin’ phone, and I made it crystal-fuckin’-clear this address wasn’t anything. You said it yourself, don’t nobody know nothin’. It’s just a fuckin’ address.” Even Po’Boy was having trouble following his own arguments and decided this was a good place to put a plug in it.

  After his tirade, Po’Boy would have expected Wrench to blow or react, anything really, but he didn’t. He simply stood and stared, locked on Po’Boy’s face in a way that was unsettling.

  Shaking his head, Wrench took a step back, and Po’Boy did not miss the gesture when he lifted his hands and shoved them into his back pockets again, intentionally making himself vulnerable. Instead of reacting to any of the posturings Po’Boy had spewed, he said the one thing Po’Boy didn’t expect. “It is cush.”

  He couldn’t help himself, Po’Boy snorted a laugh, and then let a real one out, liking how it rang through the air in these rooms. He retraced his couple of steps to lean against the door again, feeling the muscles in his arms relaxing, felt his shoulders lower a couple of inches as he took a deep breath. “It is, ain’t it?”

  Shrugging a shoulder at one of the chairs in the sitting area, Wrench asked, “Mind if I cop a squat? I don’t have an agenda here, Po’Boy. Was curious was all. And you’re right, I’ve had absolutely no right to be digging into your personal business.” At his nod, Wrench turned and gave Po’Boy his b
ack, and the implied trust hit Po’Boy hard. That was something a man worked for his whole life, getting a trust like that from someone who mattered. When did Wrench turn into someone who mattered? He reached back and flipped the deadbolt as he moved across the room to take a seat in the matching chair.

  “You got a good memory. It ain’t a…” Po’Boy huffed a laugh and then eased back, getting comfortable as he lifted one ankle to rest on his knee. “You’ve got a good memory,” he repeated but dropped the patois he used around the club. “This isn’t an address that would stand out.” He looked around the rooms, marveling again this was his. “But here you are. You found me.” Gaze back to Wrench, he asked, “What were you expecting?”

  “I don’t know. A skank flop over a tattoo parlor? That’s what I’d probably have.” Wrench showed exactly how much he understood because that would be the exact opposite of what he had across the lake. His condo was nice, in an upscale neighborhood in Slidell.

  “Yeah, well. You know me. I’m nothing if not extreme.” Po’Boy offered him a grin he knew was crooked since he was fighting hard against having it spread into a smile. “So you were curious about the place that caused me to freak out, so you decided to…what? Stake it out? See what I had going on?”

  “Well, kinda. I cruised past and couldn’t decide what it was. High-end pad to crash, or a place to run a stable out of.” That cut a little close to the truth, and Po’Boy felt his gut clench. Follow your gut. “Then I saw you roll in. I was—” Wrench’s eyes focused intently on Po’Boy’s face, and he knew that stare. That is a “dare you to call me a liar” face. He knew because he wore it so often. “—curious. I tried to catch up to you at the bar, but you left with your friends.”

  “Nope. Try again.” He didn’t let any of his anxiety show, kept the same semi-amused smirk in place, waiting. Wrench didn’t blink.

  “Saw you hit the bar, so I followed you inside. Then I saw you meet your friends, Lewis.” At that name, only used here, and most often in intense sexual situations, Po’Boy couldn’t help his flinch and knew Wrench didn’t miss it, knew how deeply he’d scored. “They left really quick. You selling out of this place?”

  His mind frantically tried to assimilate what Wrench might have heard. This was an unexpected out, but one that made total sense, given the short time he’d had Denise and her partner up here. “If I am, then it’s IMC business and nothing to do with CoBos.” Talking about the club pulled him back into character, the mask so comfortable on his skin he could have sighed in relief. “Ain’t nothin’ to do with you, and that’s a for sure truth. You done stepped into it, Wrench, and if it’s what I’m doin’, I can tell you me sellin’ dope ain’t nothing to do with you.” Leaning forwards, he propped his elbows on his knees, keeping his gaze pinned on Wrench.

  “Do you a favor, let you walk out of here without a limp or a lump. Appreciate your assistance the other night, and you got a personal marker to call with me.” He’d give him that, and should have already done so. The assistance Wrench had provided would actually rate a club marker, but with his connection to Penny and who she was to Twisted, it would be a given anyway. This was him giving to Wrench, and the man wouldn’t mistake the intent. “Been a nice chat.” He stayed in the same position, his gaze unwavering as Wrench stared at him. “That’s your fuckin’ cue, man. Get your goddamned fuckin’ ass outta my pad.”

  Wrench tipped his head to one side but didn’t make any move to rise from the chair, and Po’Boy felt his muscles tense. Then with a smirk that said he might have gotten more than Po’Boy wanted to give away, Wrench corrected him, “Outta your cush pad.” Pushing to his feet, he strode to the door, turning back to Po’Boy once he had it open. “We’re not as different as you think, Lewis.” With that zinger, he was out the door, and it pulled gently closed behind him.

  Po’Boy asked the air in the room, “What in fucking hell was that?” The room had no answer.

  ***

  Crissy

  She was standing at the kitchen sink when she heard the noise. It sounded like a herd of buffalo racing down the street, the rumble shaking up from her feet through her bones. Jogging towards the front windows, she stopped a few feet back from the sheer curtains, taking in what was going on in the cul-de-sac. What looked like hundreds of motorcycles were pulling in and parking along the sides, stacking the bikes two and three deep as men and women dismounted to stand and look around.

  Glancing across the room, she eyed the drawer that held her pistol, immediately discarding the idea of arming herself to look out her window.

  From the joint sidewalk leading up to the condo unit, she saw Ty walking out to greet what had to be his guests. Although, she couldn’t fathom where he would be putting so many people in the two-bedroom condo next to hers. Then she realized none of the riders or their passengers were approaching Ty. They were maintaining their distance, and from the tension she saw in Ty’s frame, she wondered if these weren’t welcome visitors after all.

  That was settled for her when he leaned forwards from the waist and yelled, “The fuck you think you’re doing coming here, bitch? You even thinking?”

  A tall woman with long, dark hair took a step up onto the sidewalk and screamed back at him, “I think I’m done with you pulling your fade bullshit, Wrench.” Oh, yeah. He said when he was on the motorcycle he was called Wrench. Crissy had forgotten for a minute. “I’m here to deliver a message, motherfucker.” That was the brunette again as she took another step forwards. A man behind her put his hand on her arm, trying to hold her in place. She tried to shrug him off, but his fingers tightened until Crissy knew there would be bruises circling the woman’s thin bicep tomorrow. Crissy frowned, not liking this guy, and not liking the woman much, either. “You fucked with the wrong bitch. Done messed yourself up, big time.” The woman slung her free arm out behind her, indicating the full breadth of her support. “Nobody fucks and runs with me.”

  “Jesus, Sam. You think you got some kind of golden pussy?” Ah, okay. Now she knew what this was about, at least. “Fuck, woman. Any man who’s a man wants someone who’ll do more than just lay there. Hell, half the time when I finally got myself off, I’d climb off you and check for a fuckin’ pulse.” Wrench shook his head, fists to his hips. “You’re not even as good as my goddamned hand. Least it don’t bitch and raise a stink with me.”

  “Oh, no, you did not!” The woman was screaming now. She gestured crudely at her crotch, and screeched, “Best you ever had, right here. Right fuckin’ here, motherfucker.” Jesus, give it up already. The idea of Ty with this woman made her cringe, but a little bit of “how dare she” had started to stir in her gut. When a man dumped a woman, it hurt and usually sucked, but the right way to deal wasn’t by coming to his home to declare yourself the best he’d ever had.

  “Get over your fuckin’ self, bitch. And as for you,”—it looked like Wrench was staring beyond the woman now, at the man who was still making a show of holding her back—“you value her, you’ll keep her away. To me, she’s nothing but a goddamned discard, man. You want that shit, fine. But you keep that shit in line.”

  The woman finally tore her arm loose from the man and started up the sidewalk towards Wrench at a run, her intentions clear. When did I start calling him that in my head? Without another thought, Crissy flung open her door and stepped out. At her entrance, the woman abruptly halted in place and glared at her, barking a laugh and asking, “You his new pussy?” Crissy felt her body jolt at the words, not wanting to admit she’d been thinking about Wrench in that way ever since she’d met him. “Come out to take your man’s back?”

  Wrench didn’t turn around, just stepped to the side to put himself more firmly between the woman and Crissy. Then he said, his voice quiet and vibrating with fury, “Crossin’ a line, Sam. Not a fan of putting hands on a woman in anger, but you’re seriously pushing me to reconsider my stance, and you fucking know it. You came to my fucking house. A place I never even brought you to fuck.” To the man behind Sam, he s
aid, “Thorne, get your goddamned bitch off my property, and get your motherfucking skank bastards of an RC out of my complex. Do not come back, or there’ll be hell to pay, and it won’t pay out easy. If you want to stay healthy, you will not mistake me.”

  Crissy took a step forwards, and Sam’s gaze moved from Wrench back to Crissy as she angled her shoulders aggressively. Sam shouted, her voice shrill with frustration as her fists lifted to either side of her head, fingers twisting in her hair, “Bitch, you want a piece of me?”

  Pulling out her best graduate school attitude, the one she used when presenting an argument in class, pretending nothing mattered except what she wanted, Crissy said, “I’ve never been in a cat fight. But from the look of him—” She pointed at an enraged Thorne who was rapidly advancing on where Sam stood. “—you’ve just been declawed. So I—” She gestured to the side. “—have nothing to worry about.” It was time to sell it, the optimal moment to sway people to her point of view because every set of eyes was staring at her. “Wrench, baby,” she called with a smile, “want a beer?”

  Without turning, he said, “Sure, honey. I’ll be right there. Put it on the table next to the bed, yeah?” At the implied intimacy, Sam started fighting the grip Thorne had on her arms. “I’m ready to get me some more of the good stuff.” He paused, and when he spoke again, his voice was filled with gravel, rough as it stroked along the bare skin of Crissy’s arms, raising gooseflesh in its wake, “Mmhmm. So ready for you, honey.”

  “You got it,” she called softly, turning and swaying back into her condo, leaving the door open in silent invitation behind her. A few moments later the roaring started again, and she listened as over the next few minutes the sound gradually diminished in volume, finally trailing off and disappearing entirely. After another minute had gone by without an appearance, she thought Wrench must have returned to his own condo and Crissy had started to walk around the corner from the kitchen to the living room when she heard the front door close. Then she heard the deadbolt lock slip into place, followed by the unmistakable sound of the chain being latched. Odd. Why would he lock himself in here?