by Jen Davis
Satisfied he’d made his point, he dropped Pete to the floor and turned his back on the pathetic excuse for a man left crying in a soggy heap. Despite his warning, he knew how all of this would end. Pete didn’t have the money today, and he wouldn’t have it tomorrow.
So, Brick would return in less than twenty-four hours to do this all again. Tomorrow it would be worse. Tomorrow, he’d leave Pete nursing broken bones. The next night, he’d leave Pete dead on the floor. There would be no deals, no pardons. None of Pete’s prayers would make a difference. God didn’t listen to prayers in this neighborhood, and even if He did, the Savior himself couldn’t stop what Pete had coming to him.
The smell outside the tenement apartment wasn’t much better than inside. It still stank of piss, although it was fainter and cut with the heartier scents coming from the dumpsters, and a whiff of marijuana. In one deep breath, anyone could pick up the stench of his world.
A dozen guys stood on the blacktop between the buildings, most of them smoking or shooting the shit. One ran a dark cloth over his Glock, as though he expected to see his reflection in the damn thing. But he shoved his weapon into the waistband of his jeans when he saw Brick coming.
The crowd parted as he made his way to his second-hand half-ton Chevy pick-up truck.
The reason you build a hard-core reputation is for moments like this. Where everyone’s eyes turn away as you walk past. Where no one dares lift a hand against you because they know you would cut it off.
Even the scariest fuckers kept their distance. Because he was the thing that went bump in the night.
He held his stony expression as he cranked the engine and drove to his apartment. He rarely had to fake the Boogeyman routine these days…except when it involved kids. This life had scooped out whatever humanity he’d been born with a long time ago.
Still, he sighed when he made it inside his apartment and locked the door. His little one-bedroom wasn’t much bigger than Pete’s place, but it was clean. And it was his.
Nothing about the apartment made it special. A drab, gray paint shadowed the walls, barely a shade darker than the low grade, bristly carpet. Threadbare fabric covered the couch cushions—green—or it had been, before age leeched all the color away years ago. The sofa could seat two, but he wasn’t even sure why he had it. He always sat in the recliner when he was home, and he didn’t invite company. Home was the only place he could relax his guard, or at least stop looking over his shoulder.
No photos. No decorations. Nothing anyone could use to get to know him or use against him. He didn’t even own a TV. The only nods to the life he once had hid beneath the false bottom of a drawer in his nightstand. Even if someone ever found the broken toy racecar, they wouldn’t know why it mattered to him—he wasn’t sure himself. The picture of him with his grandmother couldn’t cause trouble, either. Sucre worked tirelessly, exploiting that weakness for all it was worth. But he kept them hidden. The last tiny vestiges of his humanity.
Bone tired, he shuffled to the bathroom to wash his hands and face. As he dried his skin with a hand towel, frayed and ragged from years of use, he avoided the mirror over the sink.
He didn’t need his reflection to tell him what an ugly bastard he was. A face only a mother could love.
Too bad his mother was dead. His father too. Sucre had seen to it. And now he worked for the son-of-a-bitch loan shark and drug dealer who ran Atlanta’s underbelly. He was the number one enforcer in a stable of muscle growing larger and more brutal every day.
He used to dream of getting out, but he didn’t dream anymore. All dreaming ever did was leave you hurt and disappointed. He bashed heads, he earned his money, and he squirreled it away so one day he’d have enough to move his grandmother far out of Sucre’s reach. Then, his very last known weakness would be off the table, and God have mercy on any man who tried to control him again.
Because Brick would have none.
***
Liv
Liv shivered against the chill seeping into her bones as she surveyed the packed interior of the plane. About two dozen people lined the edges, their gear strapped on, ready as they’d ever be to jump into the great beyond.
The guy across from her, a ginger, probably in his thirties, gripped his crossed arms so tightly, he had to be hurting himself. She wasn’t sure if seeing her own fear reflected in another person’s face made things better or worse. The guy’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, and the decidedly undignified squeak he made answered her question.
It was worse. Definitely worse.
Unsticking her dry tongue from the roof of her mouth, she forced a deep breath and pushed her gaze away from Mr. Squeaky. The expression on the forty-something African-American woman beside him told a very different story. Her brown eyes gleamed with anticipation, but otherwise, her face looked as serene as a summer’s day. Then she winked.
“You look like you’re about to puke, kiddo.” Carol nudged her with her foot. “You’ve got to stop thinking so hard. You’re borrowing trouble. Live in the moment.”
Sage advice from a woman who knew better than most how to live for the now. Carol was her best friend, her rock. And the reason she stood ten thousand feet off the ground, strapped to a stranger, and putting her life in his hands. Liv only knew two things about her jump-partner: his name was Louie, and he said he’d been jumping out of planes almost every day for the past eight years. Either Louie was completely certifiable or proof skydiving wasn’t as suicidal as her hindbrain insisted.
Or maybe it was a bit of both.
Louie’s barrel chest rumbled behind her with a whoop she felt more than heard as the door opened. He’d warned her before they took off how loud it would be, but the words couldn’t have prepared her. The wind roared like the gates of hell had opened wide.
Still, Carol’s smile never wavered.
Not even as she and her partner moved toward the exit. Not even as she stepped out into the nothing and disappeared from sight.
Carol could do anything.
She’d survived breast cancer, not once, but twice. Her wisdom, her laughter, and her generosity of spirit kept Liv sane through her own battle with the Big-C. Through every chemo session. Through every moment of pain, of nausea, or despair, Carol was there, showing her, it wasn’t enough just to survive. They both deserved to live.
This jump celebrated their victory. The golden ticket. Remission.
No more days and nights kneeling in front of the toilet, heaving, even when she had nothing left to throw up. No more losing the thick blonde hair that reminded her of her mom. And no more weakness.
Liv was strong now, or at least getting there, and she was done playing it safe. What good had it ever done her? Every choice she’d ever made for her life, she’d based on what she thought she was supposed to do, and when the possibility of death came calling, she had virtually nothing to show for it. Her boyfriend dumped her, she had no friends to turn to, and she’d never really done anything.
If she wanted a different kind of future, she had to leave the mistakes of her past behind. So what if she didn’t know how? Fear had no place in this new reality. And if she couldn’t trust herself to make the kind of choices to change her life, at least now she had a friend who could push her in the right direction.
Carol’s face flashed before her eyes as Louie prodded her toward the open door.
Live for the moment.
The sky in front of her beckoned clear and blue and stretched out into forever.
She took a deep breath, stepped out of the plane, and flew.
Brick is available now in paperback, ebook, and audio at Amazon.
Other Romances by Jen Davis
Cooper Construction series:
Brick
Kane
Robby
About the Author
Jen started her love affair with romance novels, first as a reader, then as a reviewer and blogger. She launched a romance book blog in 2010 and jumped into Book Twitter shortly af
ter.
She is happily married to her high school sweetheart. Together, they’re raising two kids, a cat, and a dog who is afraid of his own shadow.
Jen spends her days working as television journalist and her nights curled up with a good book.
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