Filthy Secrets: A Steamy Romance Boxset Collection

by Nova Rain

  “I can’t, Mr. Santone,” I rolled my shoulders. “I don’t have any skills.”

  He gave a short laugh. “Trust me, you do. You just don’t know it yet. I’d tell you more about this job I’m offering you, but I can’t do it out here. Follow me to my car, will you?”

  “Sure,” I spoke in a clear voice. I bent down and picked up the money and shoved it into my pocket, wondering what Santone had in mind for me. Packing my guitar back up, I considered running. Neither he nor his boy looked fit enough to catch me. But how could I turn my back on someone who had just given me fifty dollars? How could I turn down the only man that had talked to me about an actual job? The people I’d come across so far had been giving me handouts. None of them had shown any interest in doing something more than leaving change in my case. So, I decided to follow that mysterious man through the park. And if he decided to try anything smart in his car, I would pound on him so hard that he’d regret it.

  Upon reaching Central Park South, I spotted a spotless, black Mercedes on the side of the road. To my surprise, Santone and his bodyguard stopped right beside it. Greg opened the rear left door for his boss, before looking back at me.

  “I ain’t got all day!” His shout rose above the honking of the traffic. I quickened my strides, curiosity growing within me.

  A smell of leather filled my nostrils as I entered that fancy car. Beige leather seats were shining under the sun. I touched their soft surface, fixing my gaze on the headrest. It was cool, as if it the car had been in an underground lot. A breath of air struck my cheek, the moment I heard the door slamming shut. A glance down revealed its source. Between the front seats, two air ducts were pointing in my direction. The reading on their left read “65°F.”

  “What’s the matter, boy? You’ve never seen leather seats?” Santone giggled, the Mercedes leaving pulling ahead of a gray Cherokee.

  “No, sir,” I told him, leaning my back against the backseat. “This car is…”

  “Fantastic. I know,” he interrupted me. “It should be. It cost me a goddamn fortune. Anyway, I want you to be my muscle. You’re big, you’re strong… You’re ideal for the job.”

  “Muscle?” I squinted over at him. “What do you mean by that?”

  “I’m a businessman, Joe,” Santone claimed, a firm expression spreading across his face. “Sometimes, I lend money to people. I’m a bookie, too. Football, baseball, basketball, tennis, you name it. Your job will be to collect what I’m owed. I’m warning you, though. Many of those people will refuse to pay up. You’ll have to…” He paused. “Persuade them.”

  “With my fists?” I pitched my voice higher.

  “Exactly,” he gave an emphatic nod. “Don’t worry. You won’t be doing it alone. Two of my men will show you the ropes. They’re waiting for us at my mansion as we speak.”

  “I’m not sure I’m okay with that,” I attempted a lower tone, pursing my lips. “I mean, I never imagined myself getting paid to beat people up.”

  “If it makes you feel any better, they’re not what you’d call ‘nice,’” Santone pointed out. “They’re gamblers, Mancini. Let me tell you something about gamblers. They’ll do anything to get that rush. To give you an idea what I’m talking about, many of them have gambled away their kids’ college funds.”

  “Those I’d beat up,” I declared, waves of anger washing over me.

  “Good,” he smiled in satisfaction. “Now, sit tight. Falcone and Genovese will fill you in on the details later.”

  Walk away, Joe. Thank him and walk away. You can do better than this.

  I heard Sister Mary Alice’s voice in my head.

  What can I do?

  The same voice went silent when I posed that question. I loved that nun, and I knew for a fact she loved me, but taking her advice guaranteed the painful reality I had been living in this past week.

  Hunger.

  Thirst.

  Filth.

  Begging.

  Returning to that was beyond stupid. What would happen if I ditched Santone? By the end of the year, I would be a skinny pile of bones, too weak to even pick up a guitar. All I would be able to do would be to cry for help and hope someone would listen.

  Santone’s mansion in the West Village blew my mind at first sight. It was three stories tall, kept up on the outside, and featured a large pool in the front yard. A garage door opened to the right, once again making me stare at his belongings. I had always had a thing for fast cars, and this garage just took my breath away. It took his driver a couple of minutes to enter it and park the Benz, but to me, they felt like two seconds. I couldn’t get enough of the Ferrari’s, Lamborghini’s and Porsche’s, and they were all in there.

  “You’d better not steal any of them,” Santone gave me an elbow jab, putting an end to my daydreaming.

  “Sorry, sir,” I said, taking my gaze off of his property.

  “Stop ‘sir-ing’ me,” he urged, his tone stiffer. “It’s Don Santone or just Don,” he added as I noticed two tall men standing in front of his swimming pool. “Boys, this is Joe. Joe, meet Donny and Bryan.”

  “What’s up, Joe?” A smile of hesitation formed on Donny’s face at his words.

  “Hey there.” Bryan tipped his head down in a friendly manner.

  “Give him the package,” the Don urged, halting on my left.

  “The what?”

  My question went unanswered. Donny slipped his hand into the inner pocket of his jacket and eased a thick, white envelope out.

  “This is my care package,” Santone explained, handing the envelope over to me. “Five thousand bucks. Use it to rent an apartment and buy yourself some clothes. Let me know if you need more.”

  “Fffff…”

  “I had the same reaction,” Donny interjected, the Don turning away from us. “How old are you, Joe?”

  “Eighteen,” I blurted out, my nervous fingers rubbing the bills.

  “Same as us,” he remarked. “You’re from…”

  “Brooklyn,” I interrupted him. “Born and raised in St. Francis’s orphanage.”

  “Right,” Donny nodded. “Listen up. You won’t like what we do at first. You might find some of the things we do a little brutal, unless you enjoy hearing the sound of bones breaking.”

  “I never heard a bone break before,” I claimed, settling my gaze on him.

  “You will. Soon,” Bryan assured, the confidence in his tone not allowing me to doubt him.

  “So, what do we do exactly?” I asked, struggling to fit the envelope in my pocket. “We go to someone who owes Santone money, and beat him up until he pays up?”

  “Oh, no!” Donny chuckled, stepping nearer. “It’s not that simple. The first thing you should remember, is that we’re dealing with scum— in most cases anyway. Take Richard Bolton for example. The guy’s a realtor. He makes a lot of money, but he’s got a soft spot for fast stallions. He loves to spend weekends at the track. It’s cost him close to two million so far, but he won’t wise up. Right now, he owes Santone about two hundred-and-forty grand. We could go to his office on Fifth to collect, but that would be a little too public. This is the second thing you should keep in mind. We don’t handle things in public, because this could bring heat down on Santone. So, we head over to his place in Manhattan. Are you following me?”

  “Yeah,” I spoke in a calm voice. “Thanks for the advice. What do we do if he says he doesn’t have the money?”

  “That’s where it gets ugly,” Donny continued, his tone deepening. “Depending on the case, you can break a finger, his arm, or a leg. You can’t break Bolton’s leg, because he won’t be able to go to work. You can break his right thumb, because he’s left-handed. It will remind him what will happen if doesn’t pay in time and send a message to the rest of Santone’s clients.”

  “Damn…” I sighed, scratching my forehead. “You talk about breaking people’s bones like it’s no big deal.”

  “That’s the job, man,” he stated in a stronger voice. “No one’s forc
ing you to do it. You can always go back to Central Park.”

  “How did you know about that?” Surprise sent my voice up an octave.

  “Because Bryan and I found you,” Donny responded, clenching his jaw. “We saw you play last night and told Santone. We figured you’d be a good addition to the team.”

  “A team of people who hurt others for a living,” I murmured, staring down at the calm surface of the pool.

  “Like I said, no one’s forcing you to do anything,” he repeated his previous phrase. “And by the way, this isn’t the only thing we do.”

  “What else do you do?” I uttered, my gaze shooting back up to his.

  “You’ll see.” His answer didn’t satisfy my curiosity. “Come on, let’s go. We need to find you an apartment close to where Bryan and I live. I don’t want to be picking your ass up from Brooklyn every time we go to work.”

  “Fine,” I nodded in agreement. Within moments, we were strutting away from that impeccable mansion. I had mixed emotions about this. On the one hand, I would be my own man. Soon, I would have a place to call “home.” On the other hand, my job description didn’t exactly thrill me. Growing up, I had dreamt of becoming a lot of things. Enforcer wasn’t one of them. Still, it was a hell of a lot better than living off scraps and sleeping on a bench.

  Chapter Two

  1608, 35th Street, Apartment 17.

  My first ever address.

  It wasn’t much. It was just a one-bedroom apartment in an old building, next to a crappy deli. I didn’t mind, though. It was furnished, the rent was cheap, and I had a roof over my head. More than that, it was at a walking distance from Donny and Bryan’s building.

  Those two seemed fun to be with. Donny was the talkative one. In spite of his rough behavior at times, he was willing to answer each and every one of my questions, and I had plenty of those. Bryan was more difficult to read. He kept to himself a lot and wouldn’t open his mouth, probably because he knew that Donny would satisfy my curiosity.

  The next day, my new partners took me to the cheapest stores down the street. They helped me pick out suits, shirts, ties, socks and shoes. In a matter of three hours, I had enough clothes to get through the summer. And the price for all that? Thirteen hundred and seventy-nine dollars. It sounded like a steal. Of course, I hadn’t bought an entire wardrobe like Santone had requested, but it was a good start.

  Darkness veiling the Big Apple, they came back, saying that we had work to do. Donny had information about Raymond Clarke, a rich lawyer throwing a big birthday party at his house in Westchester in three days. It didn’t sound important, until I heard why we had to pay him a visit. Back in February, Clarke borrowed eighty thousand from Santone. He had missed his last four payments and had been dodging Donny and Bryan for over a month. To them, his intentions were clear. He didn’t want to pay off his debt; and for that, he had to be taught a lesson.

  Donny’s Cadillac rolled into that fancy suburb, on that warm, July night. A few yards into Westchester were enough for me to understand what sort of people lived there. They all had deep pockets, much deeper than the average American. The estates were huge. I could see sprinklers watering lawns half the size of a baseball field. Large SUV’s and overpriced European cars were on its streets. A black Escalade exited Clarke’s neighborhood moments before we reached it. Its strong headlights revealed a silver Porsche, parked in the driveway of the last house on the left.

  Clarke’s estate wasn’t all that different. It was just as big as the neighboring houses, featuring a big stone wall. There was also a tall palm tree in it, lush yard lights illuminating its thick trunk. To my disappointment, this was all I could see from the street.

  I puffed air out of my cheeks. “Have you guys ever managed to go in?”

  “Yep,” Donny whispered, hurried footsteps bringing us closer to the wall. “We jumped; you’re jumping this time. We’ll push you up. Be careful. Some of the edges are pretty sharp.”

  “Okay,” I let out a whisper, looking up. Reddish and gray stones led up to the top, their edges visible in the moonlight. I felt a set of my hands on either side, before Donny started a countdown.

  “Three, two, one… Now!”

  A strong push sent me upwards as I lifted my arms up. I gritted my teeth, cupping the solid rock with both of my hands. I flexed my arm muscles and brought one leg up at a time, a sharp edge brushing my wrist, the moment I reached further up. I held on to the top, rocks scratching my right knee. Looking over the wall, I finally saw the man we had been searching for. In a white bathrobe, Clarke was in a sun chair by his pool, his side to me. I raised my arms and placed my elbows onto the edge of the wall, before lifting my right leg over its edge. Leaning against my left elbow, I bent my back to lift my other leg. With both of my legs dangling over the top the wall, I closed my eyes and pushed off.

  I landed on my feet, keeping my attention on Clarke. Sadly though, the thumping noise of my contact with the ground alerted him to my presence. Our eyes met across his yard as he whipped his head right. Opening his eyes wide, he jumped up from the chair like he’d been hit with an electric current. With my heart pounding in my chest, I sprinted off. Yet, Clarke was fast, faster than I thought he would be. I hadn’t made it to the nearest edge of the pool, and he had already cleared it. The smell of chlorine strong in my nostrils, he turned around the corner of his house and got out of my sight. I followed his tracks, until I found myself outside his front door. The lights inside were on, giving me a view of his living room. Clarke himself was in front of a dresser, its top drawer open. I strode into the residence, but then, he spun around and faced me.

  “Stay where you are, asshole!” He growled, aiming his gun at me. Just looking at that thing froze me to my spot. Any feeling of excitement flew right out of me. Waves of terror came in its stead, showing me that I’d made a big mistake. “Put your hands up! Who sent you? Santone?”

  “Take it easy, man!” I shouted and complied. “You don’t want to do this!”

  “Oh yeah?” He smirked, the sound of the cock clicking intensifying my fear. A bullet crackled past me, its bang resounding through the walls of his house. I saw it getting lodged into the wall on my left, out of the corner of my eye. Out of breath, my arms shaking, I heard an even louder bang behind me. Donny’s bullet tore through Clarke’s stomach, slamming him back across the living room. One more hit him in the shoulder, knocking him off balance. Reeling in pain, he tumbled on his back as Donny and Bryan halted on my flanks.

  “Put your arms down.” I couldn’t believe the calmness in Donny’s voice. Smoke was still rising from his gun’s barrel, and he looked like he had just cracked open a can of sardines. Curling his fingers around my wrist, he set the gun into my palm. “He’s all yours.”

  “W-what?” I stuttered, feeling the hot metal against my skin.

  “That prick tried to kill you,” he groaned, tossing a fierce sideways glare at me. “Besides, he’s never going to pay back Santone. Do it.”

  He finished his sentence with a pat on my back. Bryan shoved me forward, making me lose my footing for an instant. I glanced down at the weapon first and then at Clarke. His blood had soaked his bathrobe, just above his bellybutton. The bullet in his shoulder had managed to shred off a chunk of fabric, more blood gushing out that wound.

  “I can’t,” I croaked, stopping two feet from him. “I can’t do this.”

  “You can and you will,” Donny snarled, his eyes burning with rage. “You think he’d think twice if you were down instead of him?”

  “Shut the fuck up, Donny. He’s never done this before,” Bryan grumbled, drawing my gaze. “Donny’s a little too loud, but he’s right. Clarke tried to take you out. Take a deep breath.”

  “Okay…” I whispered and sucked air into my lungs.

  “Good.” He gave a nod of praise. “Now, aim…” He urged, reaching out to my wrist. With a slow lift, he brought my hand up, until the barrel of the gun was pointing down at Clarke’s face. “Squeeze. Don’t pul
l. Squeeze.”

  I shut my eyes, the tip of my index finger brushing the trigger. Bryan let go of my arm as I put a hint of force in my finger. The loud crackle told me it was enough. I rolled my eyelids up, only to find that I had hit my target in the forehead. The blood dribbling out of his wound was already leaving a trail down his nose.

  “Very nice,” Donny praised. “Now, haul ass.”

  Bryan snatched his gun from my grasp and pulled me back. I whirled around and rushed out of the house, struggling to wrap my head around what I had done. Climbing back up the wall, I didn’t even notice the rocks. All I could see in front of me, was Clarke’s bloody face. Maybe Donny was right. Maybe ending the guy that tried to kill me was the right move. I didn’t know. What I did know, was that I wasn’t prepared for this. Up until ten minutes ago, I believed we were going to rough someone up. There was a huge difference between giving someone a black eye and killing him.

  Car doors slammed shut, and Donny turned the key in the ignition. A J-turn later, we were rolling out of Clarke’s neighborhood, with me in the backseat staring into the void.

  “Are you okay back there?” Donny asked, looking at me through his rearview mirror.

  “I, uh…” I mumbled, rubbing my knees.

  “Joe, look at me,” Bryan urged, adjusting the rearview mirror. “It’s okay to feel bad. Donny and I have both been there. And you might think we’re veterans, but we’re not. Donny’s got two kills. I’ve only got one.”

  “Can you guys take me home?” I requested, dropping my gaze back down to my feet.

  “Nope. We’re going over to Santone’s,” Donny informed. “Trust me, he’ll want to hear about this.”

  “He already knows,” Bryan remarked, holding his cell phone up. “I just texted him.”

  Awesome… I had no idea how he would take what I’d done, but one thing was certain: we were going back empty-handed. Santone was never going to get his money back from Clarke. For a loan shark like him, this was a big no-no. I shook my head in regret, deep down knowing that he would be mad at me. Thomas Santone had taken me off the street and given me everything I could have asked for. In return, I would give him a dead body and no money at all.