by Flite, Nora
“Something like that,” I said in between sips. Roach shuffled uneasily, it was obvious that he had something else to say and it wouldn't be any more strained niceties. “The hell is it?” I looked up at him. “You wanna offer me your shoulder to cry on?”
The apprehension in his face soured, but his expression lightened as he began to speak. “I wasn't listening in...”
“You—” I shot to my feet. I wasn't exactly discreet while talking to Poet, but eavesdropping on club business? A guy like Roach should've been smart enough to know that shit like that was bad for his health.
“Wait, wait! I wasn't listening in but!” Roach threw his hands up and shuffled backwards a step. “I may be able to help you out of your... situation.”
I was drunk, pissed off, and in no mood to have my patience tested. “Talk fast.”
“Okay, Okay. Listen, it sounds like that girl upstairs is nothing but a problem. I can take her off your hands for you, maybe smooth all this over with the Knights.”
“The fuck are you working with the Knights for? You switch sides on us, Roach?” I grabbed a wad of his sweater vest and jerked him towards me. “You know the Steel Veins' policy on rats.”
“I'm not working with them, but of course I know them! They come by every month to collect their extortion money—”
“Last I checked, the Veins compensate you for that.”
“As long as I keep providing information! How the hell am I supposed to give your MC what they want if I don't know the enemy?” Roach's explanation was quick and emphatic.
He was worried that I might put him through the same hole in the wall that my fist made earlier. I thought about it for a minute; Roach was sleazy by nature, I'm sure he would've deserved it, regardless.
I let him go. I wasn't thinking clearly, I was trying to solve problems, not make more.
“Okay,” he said, breathing a little easier, smoothing out the wrinkles in his shirt. “I'll call them and set a pickup for the girl tomorrow night in exchange for them dropping whatever beef they have with you.”
I eyed him skeptically. “You don't strike me as the benevolent type, Roach. What do you want from me?”
“I want this arrangement to end. I want my debt with you cleared. No more favors. Every time you come into town, you drag trouble to my fucking doorstep, and when you leave I'm stuck cleaning up after you. I'm a legitimate business owner now, I can't be dealing with—”
“Legitimate?” My abrupt snort cut short his self-righteous rambling. Yeah, and I have a bridge in Brooklyn to sell you, you fucking con man. “Tell me again who caused that fire at your old motel?”
Silence.
His mouth closed into a scowl. Suddenly, defending his own honor didn't seem as important to him. The only thing that mattered to Roach was that he was insured for arson. Ethics were disposable to men like him.
He swallowed, cleared his throat, and tried to salvage his dignity by changing the subject back to the situation at hand. “Do we have a deal?”
I'd heard that question asked countless times by dozens of people in my run with the Steel Veins, and every time it felt like a victory, like an agreement reached where I, or the club, came out on top.
This time was different. I couldn't place it, but everything felt wrong. Why? This was the easiest way to smooth things over with the Knights. Once they had what they wanted, the tension on the Veins would lesson and they could vote me back in without fear of retaliation. By the end of the week I could be back under their protection and living life on my terms again.
This was everything I wanted, wrapped up in a nice bow.
I opened my mouth to agree, but a flash of doubt skittered across my heart. I gritted my teeth instead, exhaling forcefully through my nose. Not only did it feel like I was behind the eight ball, but also that I was betting with somebody else's chips. It was very unsettling and not how I usually did business.
Flora.
I thought of the girl locked in the room upstairs and felt guilty. Tash, the little Irish number I'd met a few days earlier, slipped into my head as easily as she'd slipped out of those denim shorts. Yeah, I'd felt guilty then, too...
Right before taking a brick to the back of the skull and getting robbed.
I wasn't a hero. I had to stop pretending, or it'd get me killed.
Finally coming to terms with what I knew I had to do, I glared at the weaselly man.
“Set it up.”
Chapter Five
Flora
I didn't know how long I spent under that cleansing torrent of hot water. I just knew that, when I finally turned everything off, my limbs were swollen. Wrinkles crawled over my fingertips, the skin around my nails white and loose.
I looked like I'd been lost at sea for days and I...
I didn't care.
Shoving the curtain aside, I snatched a towel and rubbed myself raw. If I could have erased all the evidence of my kidnapping, I'd have done it. The red needle marks itched, no matter how hard I scrubbed at them.
The wounds represented both my mistake, and my success. Yes, succumbing to Fiddle's drugged drink had gotten me onto Claudine's path, but the scars were terrifying. I'd resisted every offer to try heroin as a teen. In my shitty, bored town, the kids sucked that stuff up.
The pressure had been constant at every turn. From everybody except my sister.
Claudine.
Grimacing, I squeezed my shoulders, eyeing myself in the mirror. My sister was an addict, but she'd always insisted I stay away from such things. Without her, I can't say I would have been strong enough to resist. Especially when things were extra depressing at home.
My bare toes touched something rough. At my feet, my clothes lay in a pile. Now that I was clean, I could really see how filthy I'd been. The stale, sour scent of sweat came off of everything like a summer heat.
I nudged the clothes again, sighing. It's like I shed my skin. I liked that idea. Didn't snakes only leave their skin behind because they'd grown larger? I didn't feel larger, not exactly, but I did feel different.
Maybe some kinds of growth can't be measured so simply, I mused. Kneeling, I checked the pockets of my jacket. My phone and wallet were long gone, someone had taken those early on—probably Fiddle. Swallowing nervously, I dug deeper, my anxiety growing. Come on, come on. Finally, I felt the hard corner of something flat. Breathing through my nose, I lifted the photo into the flickering bathroom light.
Yellowed on the edges, bent and crinkled, it was a wonder the picture had held up. There weren't many photos of Claudine and I together, we weren't that kind of family. Having this one had been a solid comfort over the years.
Now, it was my lifeline.
Hugging it to my chest, I brushed my thumb over the surface and held it in front of me. In it, the two of us were smiling, Claudine wearing the most ridiculously bright purple lipstick ever. She was always the one to glow, to stand out. I'd never been jealous, though part of me did envy her lack of fear.
We were leaning on the shiny handlebars of her brand new motorcycle. She'd been so proud of that thing, she'd saved up for it forever. The first time she'd taken me out for a ride, I'd been terrified.
But then, she'd shown me what it felt like to fly.
Nothing was better than the wind playing with my hair, kissing my cheeks. The road was our path to freedom, an escape from the dreary slum of our town and home. Once, she'd promised me we'd leave together. Just go, never looking back.
I'd been naive enough to believe her.
Well, we're both away from home, now, I thought bitterly. Clutching the photo, I fought down a fresh wave of sorrow. No. I can't get swept up in this, not here. There was too much to do.
And I needed to do it now.
Sliding the picture back into the jacket pocket, I put everything on the top of the toilet. I'd take it all with me, but changing into it now felt like a step backward. Clean and clear-headed, I wanted to take advantage of my evolving mood, find a plan—any plan.
> Spotting a white robe behind the door, I slid into it smoothly. It was a little big, but it would work for now. My wet hair tumbled over my shoulders, fighting my attempts to untangle it with my fingers. I need to think. How do I get out of here?
Peeking from the bathroom, I confirmed that I was still alone. I couldn't resist testing the doorknob once more. There was no surprise that it jiggled uselessly, but my frustration still grew. What was that guy thinking? What gave him the right to make me some weird sort of prisoner?
He called me a damsel. That word floored me with disgust. I'm not a damsel.
What would Claudine do if she were here?
Pacing, I studied the room for inspiration. There was very little to look at, just a tiny dresser that held nothing but a Bible, the bathroom I'd already explored, and a bed that was good for one thing only—sleep.
There was a small window as well, but when I spread the blinds, I saw it would be no help. It was a straight fall to the ground below, nothing to grip or help me climb down. I'd snap into several pieces if I tried to scale the painted sides of the building.
Downstairs, something loud crashed. Jumping, I froze, ears straining to listen for more noise. What the hell? Whatever had happened, it had a distinct, destructive edge to it. Minutes later, nothing beyond silence kept me company.
Chewing the inside of my cheek, I went back to pacing. Adrenaline was rising in me, fueled by the unknown. I was out of my element, dropped into a new world with drugs, guns, and slavery. Here I am, wanting to go back to the latter, I thought with a laugh. That's why Ronin thinks I'm crazy. Or suicidal. Or both.
Thinking about the biker again, I warred with my mingling emotions. If he really thought he'd been saving me, it was hard to be mad at him. Then again, when I'd tried to reason with him, he'd responded by calling me a junkie and a liar.
He was my only method back to the brothel... back to Claudine. He had transportation, and he also knew the way. But, if I couldn't get his help, I had a vague idea of the direction we'd driven. If I just had access to his damn bike, I could get to a main road. Surely, I'd find someone who knew of the brothel. It had been too busy for it to be an unknown.
So much was up in the air, and all of it relied on me getting out of here. Eyeing the room again, I crinkled my mouth. A weapon, maybe. I could catch Ronin off guard, knock him out and run. Would that work?
It was an exciting idea, but beyond the Bible, there was nothing to wield. Plus, I was much shorter than the guy. Hitting him in the head with a book was comical. If I had anything bigger, it still might not work. He looks pretty tough, guess he'd have to be to stand up to those bikers.
Even with my foggy memories, I knew Ronin had been stunning in his confidence. A straight on attack from me was pretty stupid to try.
But what else was there?
My attention roamed back to the bed, gliding absently over the blankets. Wait. I stood perfectly straight. Beds can be used for more than just sleep. Oh god, was I really going to do... that?
Lowering my hands, I tightened the strap around my bathrobe. Never in my life had I tried—or even thought about trying—to seduce a man. It wasn't a skill in my possession, not by a mile. I wasn't some shy virgin, sure, but handling a boyfriend was nothing like tempting the enemy.
The enemy...
Rustling my hair, I rocked on my heels. This is a dumb idea. You won't know what to do. Then again... Ronin had 'won' me in that crazy poker game. He hadn't known me from a hole in the floor, didn't that mean he had to like me, even just a bit? Who would risk their life for someone they weren't interested in?
Crunching my molars, I glanced at the door. Don't over think this. Just give it a shot. If he falls for it, he'll be vulnerable. I can probably slip the keys to his bike from his clothes. My stomach did a little flip. Fuck. That means he'll have to take his clothes off.
How far was I going to go to get out of here?
In my mind, the smiling face of my sister flickered by. Clenching my hands, I took a deliberate step towards the bed. Claudine needs me. I can do this. I told Ronin I'd do anything to get what I want and I...
I meant that.
Stretching across the blanket, I splayed against the pillows. I'd seen enough lingerie magazines to know the 'sexy' pose the models would strike for their shoots. Logically, I did my best to contort into that position.
Reaching down, I tugged the front of my robe open until I thought I was showing the right amount of cleavage. Then, as an afterthought, I lifted the hem of the cloth over my hip. With nothing on beneath, I was sure I had to look at least a little seductive.
Now, just act casual, and when he gets here—
I'd figured I had plenty of time to think my plan over. I wanted to predict the possibilities, and to practice my sensual, casual smile when Ronin arrived.
When the brass knob suddenly turned, letting him into the room, I wasn't ready.
Wide-eyed, I froze in place, the both of us locking stares. Clearly, he was just as surprised to see me as I was to see him. Maybe he'd expected me to be sleeping, or to have tried my little 'surprise attack' plan. Whatever he'd predicted, it wasn't this; me, sprawled out invitingly on the bed.
Slowly, one corner of his mouth lifted. “Don't you look comfy.”
It took every ounce of control not to clasp my robe shut. “That's... um.” Shit shit think! Just get talking! I grasped for a thread of useful conversation. “What was that noise earlier?”
His confident smile cracked. “The gentle rapping of consequence, of course.”
What the hell is he talking about? Pushing aside his strange answer, I shifted on the mattress. It was subtle, but the motion revealed more of my upper thigh. Ronin watched me, not hiding his interest.
The comfortable tilt to his hips went deeper, arms crossing. “Good to see that there's still some life left in you. You seem much more 'revived' than earlier.”
Again, I stretched my leg out. Ronin's eyes twinkled, sending shivers up my spine. Could he see my goosebumps from where he was? “I... I am alive. All because of you.” My nails dug into the pillow under me. Walking the line between the truth and my calculated lies was making me nervous. “If you hadn't saved me tonight, who knows what would have happened to me.”
“Hmph,” he chuckled skeptically.
“I'm sorry, I'm not very good at this kind of thing. But...” I sat up quickly. It was a wonder that the robe didn't fall straight open, exposing me entirely. “I want to apologize for how I acted earlier. I was confused—terrified, really.” This came easier, my reality something tangible to mix into my facade.
Ronin tilted his head, the rest of him an ancient stone. “Can't say I hate the idea of an apology. Don't get many of those. Lot's of begging, crying and 'sorries,' sure, but that's just another day at the office.”
He said it so casually, referencing the death of others like an afterthought. And how could he still be smiling? Everything about this man stunned me, but I didn't have the time to wallow in surprise.
Standing, the squeak of the bed springs rang louder than thunder. Move, I told myself. Impossibly, I did, swaying towards Ronin as sexily as I could manage. If he sensed my unease, he didn't show it. He wore that same mask; a smirk that could cut diamonds and eyes that pierced through my flesh.
My mouth was dry, words frail. “What I'm trying to say...” Reaching out, I bumped the door shut behind him. The click was as good as a gunshot. “Is that I want to thank you, Ronin. Properly thank you.”
I caught the glint of his teeth. “Yeah? Propriety isn't exactly my strong suit. How does that kind of thank you work?”
Though I was panicking inside, I ran my shaking hand down his arm, grazing his vest as I went. He didn't pull away, and that by itself was encouraging. “I have a few ideas.”
He leaned a mere inch forward, the simple motion sending that intoxicating scent of his right into my brain. “Enlighten me,” he whispered.
For a second I locked up, lost in the heady, warm aro
ma of his being. We were close enough that I could see a small scar on the side of his jaw, the ruddy color of his unfairly full lips. Men shouldn't have such glorious eyes, especially men I was supposed to seduce.
My confidence was cracking under the rumble of warmth in my stomach. Ronin hardly blinked, eyes half-lidded, lazy in his expectation. I was learning the type of man he was very quickly, but each new layer I revealed just exposed a more enticing one.
Was the situation making me unstable, or was it the heat of his body?
His lips twitched, and my inhale was so crisp and loud I made myself blush. “So,” he said, drawling out his word. “If 'proper' is to just stand here, blessing me with silence, I'll take the alternative. It's not a terrible thank you, I guess I just expected a bit more.”
More.
The word implied a million things. All of them were decadent, sinful and tantalizing. My plan was fading in the wake of Ronin's impossibly raw presence. It wasn't supposed to go this way. How did women make this look so easy in the movies? They'd touch a guy on the chin and he'd drool right into her palm.
Except, with Ronin's mouth inches away, I felt like drooling. Dammit.
Biting my tongue, I dove into the brief pain—chased it and let it clear my mind. Claudine, the motorcycle keys, the escape. Focus! With new determination, I pushed my body against his, driving him into the wall. The 'thud' was cathartic, the glimmer of intrigue in Ronin's stare enhancing my awareness.
In just the bathrobe, my collarbone scraped over the smooth surface of his leather vest. Lowering my palms, I stroked the material, trying to covertly feel for his keys. Ronin made a small noise. “That's more like it.”
Glancing up at him, I tugged his vest away. He watched it go, following it as it landed on the floor. I thought there was a shade of something tragic in his eyes, but I couldn't be sure. I had other things to worry about.
I reached for his belt, planning to carefully search his pockets next. His fingers darted out, catching my wrist firmly. “Slow down,” he hushed, pulling my attention back to him. “You don't need to rush. Not like we're going anywhere tonight.”