I knew Luca’d remain at the door if we needed anything, but he wouldn’t enter my room unless I called for him or if he suspected I was in danger. As I’d gotten older and the girl my guards had looked after formed into a woman, my father had made it clear that if he so much as suspected any of them were involved with me, he wouldn’t hesitate to hack off a certain piece of anatomy any man would want to hold on to. Then they’d get an injection of blue krait venom.
Basically, my room was off limits to the guards unless my life was in danger. If they entered for any other reason, theirs was in danger.
“Where’s this place we’re going?” I asked, trying to sound brave, although the only semblance of bravery I could muster up was not-about-to-wet-my-pants.
“Very close by.” Serena slipped her car into a shoebox-sized parking space and turned off the ignition.
I looked out the windows, hoping to see some familiar landmark, but we might as well have been in Buenos Aires. “How close by?” If the club was anywhere down that dark empty street, I wasn’t getting out of the car. This place looked like the kind of spot my father and his “business associates” convened, not the kind of place a popular club would be stationed.
“Eight blocks. Ten max.” After giving her wild hair one more shake and tease, Serena flung open the car door and slid out.
“And there’s no place closer we can park?” I sighed as I joined her on the sidewalk. Living in a big city, I knew I should have been used to walking, but I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been able to walk around downtown. Bolting in and out of a car, buttressed by a duo of armed guards, was all of Chicago’s street life I’d seen for over a decade.
“Not really,” Serena answered in a tone that gave her away. She was hiding something, although I didn’t have the slightest idea what.
Outside of the car, the street seemed darker. Thick blackness was broken every hundred feet by weak street lights. I’d worn my beige trench coat—much to Serena’s leather-loving dismay—thinking I’d be too warm, but I found myself cinching the belt tighter and picking up my pace.
“Hey, I’m in stilts here. Mind reining it in, scaredy-cat?”
Serena’s heels clapped against the pavement behind me. A ways behind me. I glanced back and realized how far ahead of her I’d gotten. Taking a breath, I forced myself to wait and to stop acting like danger was lurking in every nook and cranny. “Sorry. I’m just a little—”
“Scared shitless?” Serena suggested.
I answered with a half smile. Not the words I would have chosen, but exactly what I was feeling.
“Hey, it’s okay. I get it. You’ve been a caged bird most of your life, and here you are, walking the streets of one of the biggest cities in the country late at night.” When she caught up with me, she linked her elbow through mine. Probably to make sure I didn’t get another half block ahead of her. “But instead of the fear owning you, own your fear.”
“How do I do that, oh wise grasshopper?” I teased, nudging her.
“By making it your ally instead of your enemy.”
My eyebrows pulled together. I’d felt plenty of fear in my life—like I’d been steeped in it—but I’d never once seen it as an ally. “And how do I do that?”
Serena lifted a shoulder. “That’s up to you. Each person needs to decide how they’re going to handle it. There isn’t a universal answer to the riddle that is fear.”
I shook my head. “Word of advice? Might want to ease up on the philosophy courses next semester. You’re starting to sound like a real know-it-all.”
Serena laughed as she steered us down a different block. Finally, there was some light and signs of life. I let out the breath I’d been holding for so long I should have been blue.
“That’s because I am a know-it-all,” she said.
“That explains a lot.”
After walking a couple more blocks, I noticed something that made my stomach twist and my hand reach into my purse. Only when my fingers wrapped around the permanent fixture at the bottom did I find my voice again.
“We need to go back,” I whispered as if we were at the opera instead of walking down a bustling street. “We’ve crossed The Line.” My gaze shifted from one side of the street to the other. Every other shop had a neon sign of a clover or a prominent Irish flag flapping in the breeze.
“Of course we crossed The Line. Why do you think I parked so far away? My car doesn’t exactly get lost in the mix of ho-hum sedans, and I didn’t want to come back to four slashed tires.” Serena’s voice was calm, her demeanor the same.
Mine was the opposite. “We can’t cross The Line.” My voice was shaking. Or was that my body?
“Ehhh . . . we kind of just did, Josette.”
“Well we need to go back. Fast.”
Every stranger who passed us was a threat. Everyone who gave us a second look had me pulling my stun gun that much further out of my purse.
“The club’s just right down there.” Serena pointed down the street. “We’re not going anywhere until you’ve had the good time I’ve promised you.”
I couldn’t see the place, but I could hear it. The music wasn’t quite deafening, but it wasn’t muffled either. Surely I was missing something. Surely my cousin hadn’t thought that my first “field trip” in years should include a trip into Moran territory. The Heat blended in so well with the other city dwellers that a person couldn’t tell them apart until it was too late. “Are you suggesting we go to a club in the territory of my family’s number-one rivals?”
“It’s not a suggestion. And it’s my family too. You don’t see me about to have a full-fledged panic attack while I stun seven million volts into half of the city, do you?” Serena’s gaze shifted to my hand.
We were almost to the club when I stopped. “I’m going back. Are you coming with me?”
As a crowd of young men wearing Notre Dame shirts passed us, they whistled. One gave Serena a look that had me blushing. The look she returned made me blush even more.
“Sure, I’ll come back with you,” she said. Just as I pulled on her to turn her around, she stepped toward the club. “Once we’re done having the night of our lives.”
“Serena,” I warned, shaking my head. I felt naked without my scarf, sunglasses, and armed guards. I felt like a million bullets were about to blast my way from every direction. The scar on my temple pulsed. “Bad idea.”
“Josette,” she threw back in a mocking tone. “Best idea ever. Own your fear.” She took a few more steps toward the club.
As she approached the entrance, I let out a shaky groan and followed her. I don’t know if I went after her because I couldn’t let her go into that place alone or if I’d found a ration of courage I never knew I’d possessed.
Serena threw me a smile when she saw me behind her. “We’ll be as safe here as we would be watching movies and eating pizza in your room, you’ll see.” She squeezed my hand as she handed the guy outside of the club her I.D.
I froze. I didn’t have a driver’s license because drivers took me wherever I needed to go. My father required his family to carry their passport on them at all times in case of emergency—like needing to flee the country without having time to go home. I’d carried my passport as religiously as I had my stun gun, but if I handed it to the guy scrutinizing Serena’s I.D., I wouldn’t be leaving this club the way I’d entered it. Even if he didn’t work for Moran’s Heat, the green clover tattoo covering the side of his neck said he was obviously Irish proud. He no doubt had connections to the inside, and coming across Josette Costa in Moran territory would earn him a reward that would keep him comfortable for the rest of his life.
I was preparing to turn around and go, hoping I wouldn’t raise too much attention, when Serena slipped something into my hand. A driver’s license with my picture, but not my real name. I’d barely had time to inspect it before the man reached for it. My palms went clammy as my knees felt shaky. Serena steadied me by wrapping her arm around me.
The man handed back the I.D. and inclined his head for us to go inside. I let out a sigh of relief only to realize I’d made it past one cub, and I was now entering the lion’s den. The urge to bolt was so intense, I repeated Own your fear to myself until we were stopped by another guy.
“Other than these, I’m not carrying any,” Serena said to the guy behind the cage window as she flexed one of her arms.
I read the sign above the window. “Gun check? This is your idea of safe? A place where people check guns instead of coats?”
Unfazed by Serena’s wittiness and, after taking one look at me, the man waved us through. I wasn’t sure whether to be insulted or complimented that one look at me was enough for him to decide I wasn’t packing a gun.
“If everyone has to check their guns out here, that means it’s safe in there.” Serena’s arm pointed in front of us, toward the sound of a live band and the smell of beer.
When we emerged into the main part of the bar, I saw it was more of a pub than a club. Almost every stool and bench was filled as people sipped (or chugged) black beer from tall glasses. The band was playing music I wasn’t used to but was still able to identify. In the center of the open room, a flag as large as a truck hung from the rafters.
“I always knew someone might betray me for the bounty Patrick Moran has on my head, but I never thought it would be you,” I muttered as my eyes flitted about the room. I wondered if even Ireland was this Irish.
Serena groaned and tugged me toward the bar. “You do realize not all Irish are Moran Irish, right? That’s like saying every Italian is Costa Italian.” When she got the bartender’s attention, she lifted two fingers.
“That might be true,” I conceded. “Just not in this city.”
There wasn’t a free stool at the bar, so we leaned against it as we waited for the bartender. My hand never left the stun gun in my purse, and my heart rate never went below a million beats a minute. Every person who glanced my way, every customer who ambled up to the bar near us, every one of them was a threat. Any one of them could have been the one to finish the job my tutor had started.
When the bartender returned, he set a couple of glasses of the black drink in front of us. Serena went to hand him some money, and he shook his head and smiled. “Now why haven’t I seen you lovely ladies around here before?” His eyes lingered on me for a moment.
Just when I was certain he’d figured out who I was, Serena smiled at him over her beer. “Because we’re the smart ones.”
That made the bartender laugh, which calmed my nerves . . . somewhat. As I took my beer from him, I inspected his left hand. Not for a wedding ring though. The Moran ring looked like a traditional Claddagh at first glance, but instead of a whole heart, the Heat’s rings held a heart broken in two pieces. The rings weren’t a symbol of the men’s own hearts being broken, but of the hearts they left broken in their wakes. The hearts of the family members of those they’d killed.
The Heat had taken a beautiful ring and it’s even more beautiful meaning, and twisted it into an evil one that Moran’s men wore like a badge of honor. I’d only ever seen one in person, and that had been the day my tutor came at me with a gun. That was what I associated the Dark Claddagh ring with—death.
The bartender didn’t have a ring on his left hand, but that didn’t do much to give me a warm fuzzy feeling. No doubt someone or someones here wore the Dark Claddagh. Taking a sip of the beer to calm my frayed nerves, I nearly spit it out. The bartender looked at me as if I’d just committed a capital crime. Serena just shook her head and took a long swig of her beer.
“You don’t like Guinness?” he asked.
If I could see his heart, no doubt I’d be witnessing it breaking. I curled my nose and slid the full glass back toward him. “I like orange soda.”
Now Serena was laughing, not even trying to hide it.
“Orange . . . ?”
“Soda,” I added as the bartender did a proverbial scratching of his head.
As he turned to go get what I hoped would be an orange soda, Serena patted my hand. “Way to blend in.”
“That stuff tastes like motor oil. How can you drink it?” My nose curled again when Serena held her half-empty glass up to my nose.
“I drink it like I’ve been injected with blue krait venom and this is the antidote.”
“There is no antidote to blue krait venom,” I whispered, thankful the band was playing especially loud. Mentioning anything blue krait related, the person or the snake, in that bar was like setting a lighter to the Irish flag. Not a good idea if one had any self-preservation instincts.
“Well, technically there is one. It just doesn’t work in lots of cases.” Serena took another drink and shrugged. “Which seems kind of like an oxymoron to call it an antidote.”
“You’re an oxymoron,” I muttered as the bartender returned with a bottle of orange soda.
She was mid grumble when he slid the bottle in front of me and said, “I had to go deep into the bowels of the basement for this. I’m pretty sure it’s older than you are, but it’s orange and possibly still carbonated.”
When he popped the top off for me, no fizzy bubbles swam up the side of the bottle, but flat orange soda was a hundred times better than motor oil. “Thank you. I’ve never had vintage orange soda before.” It was a night of firsts . . .
“And thank you, too,” he replied, leaning far enough across the counter that I could smell his spicy aftershave.
“For what?” My eyes dropped from his penetrating stare, and I took a drink of . . . yep, totally flat orange soda.
“Well, you see, I thought I knew what beautiful was,” he said, his voice as smooth as his expression, “but then you walked into the place and proved me wrong.”
Serena choked on her beer. I kept staring at the counter. Finally someone at the other end of the bar got the bartender’s attention.
“God, I love an Irish man,” Serena said, wetting her lips as she watched the bartender approach another customer.
“Why’s that?” I asked. Sworn enemies who would rather see us dead than alive didn’t seem like the kind one would be attracted to.
“Because Irish men worship women,” she said with a dreamy sigh.
“And Italian men don’t?” I took another sip of the flat soda and loosened the knot on my trench coat. It was warm in there, almost hot. I could almost feel sweat trailing down the back of my neck.
Serena glanced at me with a raised eyebrow. “Italian men worship themselves.”
That made me laugh, and whether it was the laugh or the soda or the sheer irresponsibility of the entire night, I moved toward the packed dance floor. When my conscience caught up with what I was doing, I tried to stop myself. I tried to return to the bar and my soda and avoid being noticed, but my feet kept going forward. Serena jogged up beside me, appraising me with a look that told me, for the first time, she was actually surprised by something I was doing. That made the both of us.
“What are you doing?” she hollered, smiling at every young man we passed.
“Not sure,” I replied, wondering if this was what it felt like. Owning my fear. Letting it be my ally instead of my enemy. I could still feel it pulsing in my veins, but instead of turning and running, I wanted to throw myself into the middle of it. For the first time, I wanted to live life instead of bolting away from it. “But I’ll let you know when I figure it out.”
“Then let’s dance until we do!” she shouted.
She pulled me to the center of the dance floor, shaking and shimmying the whole way. Dancing was awkward at first, probably because I was the very definition of awkward. Having never gone to school dances or ballet studios or clubs, the extent of my dancing experience included moving around my room, fake microphone in hand, as a favorite song played. The few times I’d caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror as I “danced,” I’d looked more like a lame chicken with a stiff neck than anything human. But what did that really matter since no one was around to witness my
weak moves?
But now, smack in the center of the dance floor, it felt like everyone was watching . . . even though no one really was. Copying Serena, I lifted my arms in the air, rocked my hips from side to side, and circled around. By the end of the first song, I felt like I knew what I was doing somewhat—at least I didn’t feel like the person everyone was pointing and laughing at. By the end of the third song, I was busting out some of my own moves from someplace I didn’t know existed. From a few of the looks Serena gave me, some of those moves should have stayed buried.
Serena was still dancing like a fiend when someone slid up beside me. Dozens of people were packed around me, but this one stood out. Partly because he wasn’t dancing, but mostly because of the look on his face. It froze me in place, my breath catching in my throat.
“Your friend.” His voice was as cool as his expression as he lifted his chin at Serena. “She’s one of them, isn’t she? She’s one of the Krait’s.”
Ice entered my veins. Fear flooded me. Everything inside of me wanted to grab Serena and run for the exit, but somehow I held on to enough of a scrap of reason to recognize that running would only confirm the man’s suspicions. Not to mention two young girls running from an Irish pub, in the Irish part of town, could not hope to make an easy getaway. Or any kind of getaway.
Claim ignorance—that was the best response. Making sure I looked him in the eye, I lifted a shoulder. It felt more like I was lifting a boulder with my pinky. “Am I supposed to know what you’re talking about?” I was surprised by how even my voice sounded. Inside, I was a reed shaking in the wind, but on the outside, I was the picture of strength.
“You don’t have to suppose anything, because I know who she is.” As he watched Serena, still oblivious and dancing, he cracked his thick neck and crossed his arms. He wasn’t particularly tall, but he was as wide and muscled as Luca. Unlike Luca’s eyes though, this man’s were dark and full of hate. When his eyes circled back to me, he studied my neck like he wanted to wrap his hands around it. “The question is . . .” His head tilted as his eyes narrowed. “Who are you? You might not look like one of them, but you sure aren’t from around here. And if you’re not from around here, then you’re from around that other place.”
Crossing Stars Page 3