Fury on Fire

by Sophie Jordan

  She swung her satchel over her shoulder and then secured the lid on her coffee mug before she scalded herself with hot coffee. That would be the perfect way to round out her morning. Snatching her keys off the table, she opened the front door and stepped outside into the already muggy morning.

  Crack.

  She glanced down.

  “What on earth . . .” Crumbled bits of chocolate chip scones littered the ground alongside the cracked remnants of her plate. Aside from the scone Serena had eaten, it appeared as though all three were accounted for.

  And her plate was broken!

  She snapped her gaze to glare at his door. What kind of neighbor returned a plateful of scones?

  “Jerk,” she muttered.

  After stepping back inside her house, she dropped her stuff onto a kitchen chair and snatched up a roll of paper towels to gather the mess.

  Squatting, and now certain she would be late for work, she started picking up pieces of plate and scone, noticing the ants swarming her mat. At least someone enjoyed the fruits of her labor.

  As far as she was concerned, this said it all. She and North Callaghan were never going to be all warm and fuzzy borrow-a-cup-of-sugar neighbors. The most she could hope for at this point was that they could stay out of each other’s way. She ripped off more paper towels with a vengeance.

  When they did cross paths, hopefully they could act civil. She was accustomed to coping with difficult personalities at work, after all. This would be no different than that. And really, how often would she have to see the guy anyway?

  North swung by Joe’s Cabaret on his way home from work. Not because he was especially into hanging out at strip clubs, but because he’d made a promise.

  Joe was a middle-aged man with a gland problem. That could be the only explanation for his perpetual sweating.

  North had spent twelve years at Devil’s Rock, smack in the middle of West Texas. The summers were brutal and inmates spent a good amount of time out in the yard. That said, North had never seen anyone sweat like this poor bastard.

  Joe reigned over his establishment like a cock ruling the roost, and despite the blast of air-conditioning, sweat stains bled through the cotton fabric of his polo. His office was located near the back door, a large glass window allowing him to look out over the seedy business of his club. Calling it a cabaret, as though it were some classy establishment with highly choreographed music and dance routines, was wishful thinking on his part. He would stand at his glass window, mopping his brow with a handkerchief. According to Serena, he was an adequate boss. Fair. He never made the girls do anything they didn’t want to do. That was important. He needed to know that. For Piper’s sake.

  He inhaled and then regretted it as the stink of the place assailed him. Stale body odor and the sickly sweet smell of the fog machine.

  North was most assuredly flawed, but he’d made a promise, and his word was all he’d had for so long. When he was without a home, family—freedom—he’d just had his word. His fists. And the allies he had formed in prison.

  Cruz Walsh had been one of the few he could call friend after Knox and Reid left him. He’d stood with North when others circled him, sniffing out his sudden vulnerability. North owed him, and he wouldn’t break his vow to him even though two years had passed.

  He stepped deeper into the dim confines of Joe’s. Only two areas were lit—the bar and stage. It was purely for purposes of profit. You had to see the booze and the girls. More conducive for customers to give up their hard-earned cash that way.

  A few of the waitresses greeted him, recognizing him from previous visits. He might even have slept with a few. He couldn’t be sure. When he first got out, those days were a blur.

  It was a Wednesday night, but you wouldn’t know it. The chairs edging the stage were full. Construction workers and suits alike were salivating over the dancer dressed like Little Red Riding Hood. All that remained of her costume was the red cape and basket she swung provocatively as she strutted down the stage in a pair of fuck-me red stilettos.

  He hadn’t noticed her before, but her eyes zeroed in on him standing at the edge of men circling the stage. Her hands swept over her belly and up to fondle her breasts, her eyes all the while fixed on him.

  “North!”

  He turned at the sound of his name. Piper rushed forward, balancing a tray of drinks with one hand. She stood on her tiptoes to hug him. Even in her high heels, she was a tiny thing. Nothing like her big bruiser of a brother.

  “How are you?” she asked.

  He nodded. “Good.”

  “Haven’t seen you in a while.” She looked up at him with a sunny smile. “Not that I blame you. You could do a lot better than hang around this place.” She shot a glance around with a sniff.

  Her reminder stabbed at him. He hadn’t been in Joe’s in a while. When he first got out of prison, not a week passed that he didn’t pop in to check on her—and threaten any bastard that looked at her wrong or got too handsy.

  She’d resented his presence at first, insisting she didn’t need looking after, insisting it was going to cut into her tips, but she soon realized that his glaring persona contributed to even better tips. She stopped complaining at that point. She needed the money too badly. For herself and her sister.

  “Been working a lot.”

  “Mm-hm.” She propped a hand on her hip. “Serena loves to share that she sees you plenty outside these walls. Makes the other girls jealous.”

  “I see her occasionally,” he allowed with a shrug.

  “Uh-huh.” She nodded at the table closest to him. “You staying for a bit? Want me to get you a drink? The usual?”

  “Sure.” He nodded.

  “Serena’s not on tonight, but Little Red Riding Hood is totally giving you the eye.”

  He sent the dancer a quick glance. “I came here to check on you. I didn’t come for that.”

  She shook her head with a chuckle. “No, you never come here for that, but funny how you always seem to find it.”

  Still laughing, she walked away, weaving between tables. He glanced back to the stage. Red was definitely giving him a solid fuck-me stare, and not just because it was part of her job. He knew that look and he knew the real thing. This was the real thing.

  Piper returned soon with his beer. “Place is pretty busy tonight or I’d stay and chat.”

  He lifted the beer in salute. “I understand. How’s your sister?”

  “Good. Doing great in school. On a soccer team now.”

  A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as he imagined Piper’s fourteen-year-old sister tearing up the soccer field. Like Piper, she was a little thing, but also like Piper, she had spunk. “Glad to hear that. Cruz must love that.”

  Her smile dimmed a little as she said with a little less conviction, “You know it.”

  “Piper!” The bartender shouted her name and pointed a table waving for a waitress.

  “Gotta go. You should text me and come by for dinner.”

  He nodded. “Will do.” Except he wouldn’t. Rare were the occasions he ate dinner with the Walsh sisters. It was just like when he took dinner with Knox and Briar. Sitting at a table, sharing stories, acting civilized, laughing . . . it wasn’t easy for him.

  The blonde finished her dance as the music ended. A new song kicked on. She exited the stage, but not before sending him another smile over her shoulder, this one full of promise. Settling back in his chair, he watched Piper work, making sure no one got too fresh with her. Several of the customers felt his stare and sent him wary glances, probably assuming that Piper belonged to him. He let them think that. Their relationship wasn’t anyone’s business. She was Cruz’s sister. That made her like a sister to him, too. Almost like Katie.

  At the thought of his cousin everything went cold inside him. The twisting mass in his chest pushed harder, making his lungs constrict, air difficult to draw in and out. His grip tightened around his beer bottle.

  “Hey, there.” Little Red
Riding Hood dropped down in the chair opposite of him, bringing with her a sour waft of nicotine. “I get off in an hour.”

  His fingers lifted and flexed around the sweating glass of his bottle and he deliberately chose not to think about how kissing her would taste like an ashtray. He wasn’t particular. He wasn’t looking for anything—anyone—permanent. “Ten.”

  “Ten?” She cocked her bleached blond head to the side as though she wasn’t familiar with the number.

  He leaned forward, balancing his elbows on the table. “I’m leaving this place in ten minutes.” He lifted his beer and gave it a little slosh side to side. “The time it takes to finish this beer. Either you leave with me.” He shrugged. “Or you don’t.”

  She stared at him, a slow smile curving her lips. “I’ll go get my things. I suddenly think you’re worth any dock in pay I get.”

  She hurried from the table. He watched her go. His only concern was in lightening that pressure in his chest so that he could breathe easier again.

  Holding bags of groceries, Faith kicked the door shut with one foot and rushed to set them down on the counter before she dropped them on the floor. Her favorite hot sauce was in a glass jar at the bottom of one of the bags and she didn’t want it to crash everywhere.

  It was her third night in her new house. She’d yet to meet her neighbor, although there was evidence aplenty of him. Twice now she’d returned home to find her spot in the driveway already occupied with his bike. She’d had to park on the street. She understood if he’d felt free to use her portion of the driveway while the house was vacant, but it was occupied now. It was occupied and he knew it, which only seemed to further signify that North Callaghan was an ass.

  Today had been a good day at work as far as days went. She’d checked in on some of her cases and the children were doing well. They were safe and thriving. She didn’t have to remove anyone from an abusive or neglectful environment. She didn’t have to sit through a tedious court hearing.

  And Brendan Cooper had finally asked her out. Wendy, who sat in the cubicle beside hers, had insisted he was going to, but Faith had her doubts. She couldn’t help thinking that moving into her own house had brought her a little luck. They’d worked in proximity for over a year, after all. It took him this long to ask her out.

  Deciding to treat herself, she fished her phone out from her bag and ordered chow mein from her favorite Chinese place. And what the hell. She ordered a side of egg rolls and crab rangoons, too. She’d go to the gym tomorrow. As much as she hated it, she dragged herself there a couple times a week.

  She’d met Brendan several times at the courthouse over the better part of a year. Even Hale knew him and had nothing but good things to say about him, which was something, since Brendan was a criminal defense attorney. She’d noticed him right away because he was one of the only attorneys without gray hair—or rather with hair—wandering through the halls of the courthouse.

  She kicked off her shoes and started putting away her groceries with a goofy smile on her face. He said he’d call her to make the arrangements, but they’d both agreed on this Saturday.

  The other night she might have rashly decided to have meaningless sex rather than keep waiting for Mr. Right. Madness. Clearly. Mr. Right might be closer than she thought. She shouldn’t give up on her dreams because her ears—and other parts—had been burning up from the sounds of wild sex. She could have both. Wild sex and Mr. Right. She wouldn’t give up.

  After stacking her last Greek yogurt on the top shelf, she closed the door. She’d meant to get to the store yesterday, but she’d had to conduct a home visitation that ran late. She hadn’t gotten home until after seven. At least now she had food for breakfast.

  The doorbell rang as she turned for the stairs, intending to get out of her work clothes and into something more comfortable, preferably with an elastic waistband, for the night.

  She opened the front door to the already dark night and accepted the piping hot bags of Chinese food, then paid the deliveryman. After shutting the door, she set the bags on her coffee table. Skipping up the steps to her bedroom, she hummed lightly under her breath. She stripped off her blazer and hung it back up in her closet. She tossed her blouse and slacks into her laundry hamper and slid on a pair of well-worn yoga pants followed by a T-shirt.

  Faith snatched up a hair band from where she had discarded it on her nightstand and pulled her hair up into a messy ponytail. She started out of her bedroom door, her steps light and happy. She had a date on Saturday night and Chinese food waiting downstairs. Life was good.

  Until it started again.

  No, not it. Him.

  He was at it again.

  She twisted her neck around to scowl at her bedroom wall where her neighbor’s headboard was slamming with a vengeance. Again.

  “Oh, c’mon. Seriously?” she muttered, turning to glare at her bedroom wall. Propping a hand against her headboard, she pounded on her wall with the side of her fist. It didn’t seem to matter. The activity on the other side of her wall didn’t subside.

  It hadn’t even been a full three days. For heaven’s sake, it was a Wednesday night. Then she winced, realizing how very old she sounded. As though sex could only happen on weekends at a designated time in the evening. Was it Serena? Was she back again or was it someone else?

  Almost in answer to her thought, she heard a woman’s moans. Different than before. More whimpery. It wasn’t Serena this time. Faith had that sound etched in her ears.

  She shook her head. The guy must have a revolving bedroom door. She glanced at her bedside clock. It wasn’t even eight o’clock. This couldn’t be a regular occurrence. Please, no. That would be awful and . . . uncomfortable.

  Uncomfortable?

  Yes. Merely uncomfortable. Not bothered. Not hot and bothered.

  One thing was for certain . . . it was time to meet her neighbor. Maybe if he realized her bedroom was on the opposite side of his, he would exhibit a little more restraint, because this was just ridiculous.

  She toyed with the idea of knocking on his door, but given his current activity that seemed destined for awkwardness. Clearly, they needed to meet, but not tonight.

  Tomorrow, she would descend on him. Turning, she fled her room as the sounds grew louder. She took refuge on her first floor, relieved she could no longer hear the activity next door nearly so well.

  Tomorrow would be soon enough.

  FOUR

  The following day, Faith stepped outside into the early-morning light and observed North Callaghan’s truck in its usual place—and his bike inching over onto her side of the driveway. The guy knew no boundaries. Annoyance punched her in the chest. Just another point of contention to be discussed.

  She swung her gaze to glare at his door for a long moment in the already humid morning. The cicadas’ song congested the air as the moment stretched. She plucked at her silk blouse to keep it from sticking to her skin. Pencil skirt. Fancy blouse. Heels. Today she’d gone all out. She had to testify in court and had dressed for the occasion. There was also the chance she might run into Brendan.

  She continued to glare at that door. At this early hour, she didn’t know if his guest was still visiting or had left sometime in the night. There was no strange car parked along the street, but that didn’t mean anything. Perhaps North Callaghan drove her home—or not.

  Last night, she’d eaten her chow mein downstairs and watched Chopped at full volume, but that didn’t stop the faint sounds of opera sex from trickling down and attacking her ears. Honestly, she didn’t know how many more nights like that she could endure.

  Seized with sudden impulse, she dove back inside her house. In her kitchen, she scrawled a quick note on a piece of paper. Finished, she stared at it for a moment, making certain it said everything she wanted it to say.

  We need to talk at your earliest convenience.

  Faith Walters, your next-door neighbor (833-555-1201)

  Polite. Succinct.

  Nodding to hers
elf, she swung her purse and satchel back over her shoulder and exited her house, heels clicking on the concrete. On her way to her car, she stopped and stuck the paper between the windshield wipers of his truck. Feeling pleased with herself, she dusted her hands and climbed inside her car.

  Now she only had to wait.

  Once in her car, she went straight to the courthouse. It was only a fifteen-minute drive from the outskirts of Sweet Hill to the city’s small downtown area. Fortunately, she was the first witness called in to the custody hearing over eight-year-old Noah Grimes. Faith had worked his case upon moving back to Sweet Hill after grad school. The parents, in and out of jail for various drug charges, had failed to send him to school—despite all their promises. A bus picked up within walking distance of their home, so that wasn’t an issue. He should be in the second grade by now, but he was at a kindergarten reading level. He knew his alphabet and a few common sight words. That was it. No more. His math ability was deficient as well.

  In addition to the truancy matter, prior to removing him from his family Faith had noticed he looked thin. Too thin. When she offered him a granola bar, he’d eaten it without taking a breath. The boy’s maternal grandparents were applying for custody and had already been vetted as appropriate guardians. They were loving grandparents who had effectively lost their daughter years ago to her drug addiction and just wanted to save their grandson.

  They sat in the courtroom now, solemn-eyed and attentive to the proceedings. After delivering her testimony, Faith stepped down from the witness stand. She mentally sighed as Noah’s mother buried her face in her hands and wept. They were always sorry. Always remorseful. Her husband, a tall, cadaverous-looking man whom Faith knew to be twenty-eight but looked more like thirty-eight, pushed up abruptly from the table where he sat. The action sent his chair banging to the floor.