by Amelia Wilde
“You look familiar, doll,” he said. “Do I know you?”
It took everything I had not to roll my eyes. This guy thought he was Lucky Luciano.
“She’s Danny’s kid,” Nick put in quietly before skittering to the other side of the bar to busy himself stacking glassware.
Messina looked at me up and down again, this time a bit more critically. “That’s it. You got the face. Them freckles like his. Guys, you see them freckles?” He looked back to where his cohorts chuckled, but when he turned, his eyes hardened. “You wearing a wire, cutie?”
I sighed, then undid the top two buttons of my sweater and spread it across my chest so he could see that there was no listening device.
Messina eyed my modest cleavage appreciatively. I clapped my sweater closed, and his belly jiggled when he chuckled again.
“Pants too,” he said as he beckoned with a few beefy fingers.
I grimaced, but unzipped my jeans to reveal the top of my underwear.
“Lace, huh? Very nice. We got a fancy girl here,” Messina leered.
“Everything okay?”
I whirled around to find Brandon striding quickly down the long tunnel of the bar front. His eyes flicked angrily down to my undone pants, which I quickly refastened.
“Fine,” I told him, giving him my best “get the hell out of here” look I could muster. “You can wait for me outside. We’re just finishing up.”
Brandon ignored me and moved smoothly around several bar stools to come next to me. Reluctantly, I turned to Messina, who was watching with obvious suspicion, an expression mirrored by the trio of goons at the card table.
“Who’s your friend, Red?” Messina asked in a not particularly welcoming voice.
The sound of the familiar moniker made me want to smack his doughy face, but I did my best to ignore the impulse. “Just a friend helping out with my dad.”
Inwardly, I cursed the way my voice cracked at the mention of my father’s condition. The men behind Messina snickered too, and I wondered which one of them was responsible. Had only one of them beaten him nearly senseless, or had they taken turns targeting his various body parts?
“Skylar’s a friend of mine,” Brandon reiterated. “I was in the neighborhood, so I thought I’d help her out.”
I didn’t miss the intensification of his accent as he spoke. I wondered if the sudden change was on purpose. He showed no signs of anger or frustration—only the slight emphasis on the word “help.”
“Boston, eh?” Messina asked. “South end?”
Brandon’s jaw locked, his body assuming an eerily still pose. “Dorchester.” He set a hand casually on the bar top behind me, his body language clearly marking me as his territory. I didn’t hate it.
Messina raised an eyebrow knowingly. “Born and raised?”
Brandon nodded again. “Near Fields Corner. You know anyone up there?” By this point his accent was so thick the words “near,” “corner,” and “there” sounded like they didn’t include the letter “r”: “ne-ah,” “cah-nah,” and “they-ah.”
“Yeah, yeah, I got a few acquaintances,” Messina said.
They were clearly talking about the crime syndicate in Boston, and I stared at Brandon. He hadn’t mentioned those kinds of connections before—was he faking it?
“Yeah, I went to school with Mickey Larsen and Doug Murphy,” Brandon was saying. “We used to run together before they got locked up.”
“How ’bout that?” Messina asked, his eyebrows now rising in clear recognition. His thick frame relaxed at the names, and I exhaled a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding. The pissing contest was officially over. “How’re they doing? Mickey’s still in the joint, ain’t he?”
“They both are.”
Brandon and Messina launched into a short conversation about the various times they’d both had with Brandon’s old friends, getting into enough detail that Messina completely forgot to ask Brandon’s name, particularly after Brandon bought him a drink.
“I suppose we should get back to business,” Messina said reluctantly as Nick poured two more hefty fingers of bourbon into his glass. “You all right with that, sweetheart? I’m happy to have my associates escort your tall friend here to give us some privacy.”
The way he said the word “privacy” made my spine clench, and Brandon stiffened, his fingertips suddenly white on the bar top. There was no way he was leaving unless he was unconscious.
“Um, no, he can stay,” I managed.
Messina leaned heavily on the bar. “If you say so. Well, honey, I’m sure you know that your father’s in a bit of trouble.”
I took a deep breath. “Yes, I know. I’d like to pay his debt.”
Messina raised a caterpillar-shaped brow. “All of it?”
I nodded. “Whatever it is, I can manage it.”
“Well, I tell you what, gorgeous, since I like you and your friend here, I’ll make you a deal. If you can get me twenty-five percent of the two-hundred K your dad owes me by Monday, you can have until the end of the month to give me the rest.”
I swallowed. Dad’s apology made me think it was a lot, but I wasn’t expecting that much. It would take every penny left in my trust to make just the first payment, and Bubbe would probably have to take out a second mortgage for the rest. But there was nothing to be done about it. If we didn’t pay, Dad would have his other hand ruined, or worse.
“Okay,” I breathed, willing myself to sound steadier than I was.
“Skylar—” Brandon warned.
“It’s fine,” I said a little louder, looking straight at Messina.
I pulled out the checkbook I’d brought with me for this exact purpose and started scribbling numbers before I was interrupted.
“That’s very cute, sweetheart, but I’m gonna need cash.”
I gulped. Of course. How stupid. Slowly I put my checkbook away and looked up. “Should I leave it here?”
Before he could answer, a paper bag I hadn’t realized Brandon was carrying slammed on the bar between Messina and me.
“That’s half,” Brandon uttered casually, the only sign of his tension a ticking muscle in his jaw as Messina pulled out ten thick stacks of hundred-dollar bills.
“Lucky you got a friend who knows something about how these things work, sweetheart,” Messina remarked as he picked up the stacks and thumbed through them appreciatively before shoving them back into the bag and tossing it to his associates. “Count it,” he barked.
“Where did you get that?” I muttered into Brandon’s ear behind me.
“I came prepared,” he whispered back.
I frowned. How had he known we would stop here? Was he planning this the entire time?
Messina turned back to us, this time with renewed interest in Brandon.
“Danny knows where to deliver the rest of the money,” Messina said as he perused the tower of tension standing behind me. “He’s done it plenty of other times.”
I bit back a reply as I watched the men count the stiff bills. This had been going on for a lot longer than I’d thought.
“And, gorgeous, it goes without saying, but if I even smell a whiff of the cops…”
“You won’t,” I said sharply. “And you’ll get your money.”
“Excellent. Shall we have another drink to celebrate our business together?” Messina leered at me, his portly face twisting in a complete perversion of a smile.
Brandon grabbed my hand. “No, we’ve got some things to do,” he said tightly.
I nodded my agreement, and Messina shrugged.
“All right, then, sweetheart,” he said as he looked over his shoulder to check on his lackeys’ progress. One of them gave a nod, and Messina looked back at me and winked. “I’ll see you in a month, Red.”
At that, Brandon practically dragged me out of the bar, barely allowing me to wave at Nick before we plowed back into the sunshine. Brandon kept my hand locked in his until we were back inside the plush interior of the car.
“Go,” he barked at David, who immediately pulled away while Brandon checked over my shoulder to make sure we hadn’t been followed. Now he was involved in this mess, and it wouldn’t be good if Messina or his nameless henchmen caught wind of Brandon’s money. I slumped into my seat.
After we had turned the block, Brandon finally looked to me, eyes blazing.
“What the fuck were you doing in there?” he spat. “That was really fuckin’ stupid, Skylar.”
His accent was even more pronounced now than it was in the bar. This time I didn’t think it was on purpose.
I gaped. “Says the man who was carrying a hundred grand as walking-around money. Are you serious? What were you even doing with that?”
Brandon’s blue eyes flashed. “Your dad’s in trouble. I didn’t know how much he owed, but it was enough to get the shit beat out of him, so I estimated. I didn’t know we were going to meet up with Messina today, but it was bound to happen. I knew what I was doing, Skylar. You have no idea what those kinds of people are capable of.”
“Actually, I do,” I retorted. “It was my grandad who ended up floating in the East River, and it’s my dad who’s laid up in the hospital, not yours. In case you forgot, this isn’t the first time he’s gotten in trouble!” I laughed, a shrill, harsh bark that seemed to echo around us. “I didn’t want to drag you into this mess, Brandon, but you seem dead set on it. So you should know that this isn’t the first time I’ve had to deal with Victor fucking Messina.”
In the front seat, David’s eyes flickered back to mine in the rearview mirror before turning forward again.
“David,” Brandon barked. “Headphones.” He pressed his lips together, considering while David followed orders. “How many other times?”
I crossed my arms and slumped further. I hated that I even had to tell him any of this. “Twice before. Once when I was in high school. It wasn’t a huge debt, just ten thousand, but we had to sell most of Bubbe’s jewelry and take a bit out of my college fund to make good on it. The last time was during my first year at Harvard, and I also paid that off from my school fund.”
I didn’t mention those were only the times we’d had to deal with Messina—I wasn’t even counting the other petty debts Dad had run up around the neighborhood when I was just a kid, usually after one of the times my mom would leave. Those, thankfully, hadn’t been too life-altering, even if some shady characters showed up on our doorstep every so often.
“And do you really think paying these shitheads off helps?” Brandon asked incredulously. “Who do you think it is that gets him back to the tables and track?”
“You don’t know that,” I said weakly, although I was already distinctly aware that Dad had probably been conned into this mess at some point.
“I know how people like this work, and so do you. Your dad’s a target, Skylar.”
“And now so are you!” I exploded, rubbing my fingers over the bridge of my nose. This entire situation was giving me a massive headache. “You think I don’t know Messina’s a cockroach? That piece of shit and people like him have been making my family miserable my entire life. But until I can get my dad out of this goddamn city, paying him off is the best I can do!”
We sat in silence for a few moments. Brandon sighed.
“Where are you going to get that kind of money?” he asked quietly.
I looked down where my hands were now clasped in my lap. “Not that it’s any of your business, but I still have some left in the fund my mother gave me for school. I was hoping to gift it to my dad for his retirement, but obviously it’s needed now. I’ll pay you back the other half once I start working this fall.”
I didn’t mention the fact that we’d still have to take a loan against the value of the house. It wouldn’t be as much as I thought, but it would have to be done.
Brandon rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “I’ll pay it,” he said. “And we’ll get your dad the hell out of New York and into rehab before he ends up back in the hospital.”
“He won’t go,” I said. “Believe me, I’ve tried. I begged him to come to Boston with me, but, Brandon, he won’t budge. He’s got four years left before he makes pension. His band is here, and my grandmother would rather kill herself than leave her house. She’s lived here her whole life—I bet I could count on one hand the number of times she’s even left the Five Boroughs.”
Brandon opened his mouth to argue, but I held up a hand.
“Besides, it’s like you said, he’s a target,” I continued. “You know how these people work. You did a decent job of convincing him that you probably got that money the same way he gets his, but if Victor Messina ever gets even a hint of who you really are…you better believe he’ll ask for a lot more than just my dad’s debt.”
A simple Google search would do him in; I thought again how lucky he was that Messina hadn’t asked for Brandon’s name, or even seen his car. The idea of those thugs showing up at Brandon’s posh townhouse, threatening him or doing worse…suddenly I saw Brandon in the hospital bed. The thought made my blood run cold.
The car pulled to a stop. Brandon just stared out the window at the shabby brown house where Bubbe had lived since she’d gotten married. She’d had my father in that house. She’d raised me in that house. I knew my family; they’d never leave.
“All right,” he said at last with a lot more conviction than I knew he felt. He took my hand and ran his thumb over my knuckles. “But I’ll still give you the money for it.”
The hell you will, I thought. “It’s really fine—”
“No, Skylar.” Brandon’s tone was quiet, but final.
He ignored my glare, opened the door, and slipped out before I could respond. He walked a few steps toward the rusty metal gate and waited for me there. After a few more moments, I followed him. Brandon could have his way for now, but there was no way in hell I was going to let him pay off this debt.
Brandon waited while I fished my keys out of my purse. Before unlocking the door, I looked up at him.
“You can go if you want,” I said quietly.
His face screwed up with confusion. “What? Why would I do that?”
“I know you’re upset with me.” I gave a weak shrug. I wasn’t going to change my mind, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t see his side of things.
Brandon nodded his head from side to side as if weighing my statement. “You must be crazy if you think I would leave you alone after today. After that.”
“I am not crazy!” I wanted to shout, but had to settle for an emphatic whisper, knowing Bubbe was likely lurking around the windows. “And nothing is going to happen. You heard him; I have until the end of the month. I’ll be fine.”
“Okay, fine. But, baby? Red? I’m not.”
The tenderness of his words cut the argument right out of my mouth, and I stood there, my lips hanging slightly open as I processed his words.
“What do you mean?”
“Skylar, I lo—” Brandon cut himself off with a quick chew of his bottom lip. “Red, if something happened to you, I wouldn’t forgive myself. And if I’m stuck at that hotel or on the way back to Boston wondering if you’re okay, well, I’ll be the crazy one then, all right?”
“I’m not cra—”
My mouth was swiftly covered by his, silencing any reply with the gentle force of his lips and tongue. He cupped my face, and I melted, opening myself up to his touch. After the stress of the last twenty-four hours, I was ready for this—just to be held, to be cared for. When it ended, I lay my head against the solid strength of his body.
“Please,” I said into his chest. The image of Brandon hurt appeared in my mind again, and I suddenly felt broken, hollow.
“What is it, Red?” he asked, stroking my hair from my face.
“Just leave it alone. Promise me you’ll leave it all alone.”
Brandon sighed, his handsome features contorted with frustration. But he must have seen something that changed his mind; his frown disappeared and was replaced by sadness
and maybe a little understanding. He exhaled through his nose and touched his forehead to mine.
“All right,” he said quietly. “We’ll do things your way for now. But if things go wrong…”
“You can step in,” I finished. I tipped my head up for another kiss. “That’s a promise.”
33
“All set?” I took the discharge papers from Dad and handed them back to the nurse.
She nodded. “That’s it. An attendant will be up shortly with a wheelchair.”
Dad was already trying to swing his legs out of bed, but the nurse stopped him with a wave of her hand.
“If you just wait, sir, the attendant will help you,” she said. “Hospital policy.”
“Better do what she says, Danny.”
Brandon hovered in the corner, nodding to the nurse as she ducked out of the room with a schmaltzy smile. I rolled my eyes at her—several of the hospital staff—male and female—had been making excuses to come into the room since Brandon had arrived with me this morning. To his credit, he hadn’t been anything but distant and polite to any of them, but it was irritating just the same.
Dad sat back with a resigned sigh. The nurse had helped him dress in the sweats I’d brought from the house, so at least he wasn’t stuck in a hospital gown anymore. Before he could respond, a loud buzz from Brandon’s phone rang out.
“I should probably take this,” Brandon said. “Hello?”
A shrill female voice blared unintelligibly throughout the room, and immediately Brandon’s easygoing demeanor vanished.
“She fucking WHAT?!” he exploded. He looked up to find Dad and me both staring. “Hold on. I’m at the hospital with Skylar.” Brandon covered the phone speaker with his hand and looked at us with an uneasy expression. “I, ah, need a minute. If I’m not back by the time the attendant comes, I’ll meet you downstairs. David is already there with the car.”
Without waiting for a response, Brandon ducked out. I turned to Dad, whose bemusement was evident even beneath the layers of bruises and a nose brace.
“Got a temper, doesn’t he?”