In Autumn's Wake

by Maguire, Megan

  “I wasn’t.” But yes, I was.

  “We used to go to his other house in the burbs.” She pauses to smoke. “Nick said he was protecting me from having my face plastered all over the news. It was sleazy now that I think about it. I wouldn’t be surprised if he took other women there. I was stupid for thinking I was special.”

  “You are special, Autumn.”

  She flicks the cigarette out the window, waits a minute for the smoke to clear, and seals us in.

  I can tell she’s tense, brushing the bottom of her dress, wringing her hands. Like all of us, Autumn’s damaged. She’s not an oddity who doesn’t feel, who doesn’t have moments of pain or regret. No one’s an escape artist when it comes to emotions. No one can make it through life without experiencing an event that changes them considerably. I think Nick was Autumn’s event. But like me, she doesn’t want anyone’s pity. She just needs to vent. We all need to vent. And often.

  “I don’t know if you should hear any more about him,” she says in a hushed voice.

  “Yes, I should. You sound bothered when you talk about him.”

  “I’m not bothered; I’m embarrassed. He humiliated me. He turned one of the most precious things a woman has into some weird operating expense. Unreal.” She takes a clutch purse out of the glove compartment, her pink handgun exposed before it’s snapped shut. “I didn’t make the best choice when I was with him, but it was definitely my own. He didn’t force me to do anything I didn’t want to do; he just distorted the idea of what I thought it was.”

  “You plan on killing him?” I nod at her purse.

  She laughs. “Of course not. If I wanted to kill him, I would’ve done it two years ago. He’s a total scuz-bucket, but a necessary friend if I want to be successful. My job would be over if the mayor turned against me.”

  “So I don’t have to beat him up tonight?” I smile.

  She smiles back and shakes her head. “No, but when you meet him, keep in mind that he has an agenda. Don’t be fooled by anything he says.”

  “An agenda with who, me?”

  “Everyone. He’s a politician. What he asks of people is for his own personal gain. Be cautious of that.”

  “Did that ‘personal gain’ come into play in your relationship?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “How?” I glance at her. “Can’t you tell me what happened so I stop daydreaming about it? Like, was he rough and tied you up?”

  “Hmm.”

  “Hmm? Hmm what, Autumn?”

  “Last turn is up ahead. Pull into the second driveway and park around back. There’s a lot behind the house for visitors who come to tour the home.”

  “Don’t dance around this conversation.”

  She reaches into the back seat and pulls out a small gift, wrapped in black paper with a gold bow. “Dylan, I don’t have much else to say about my sex life, other than it’s been almost nonexistent since him.”

  I park in the space farthest from the mansion. “Quit holding back on me.” I grab her arm, so she doesn’t get out of the car. “If you like me, if we’re together, then don’t shut me out. It’s better if I know what this guy did before I meet him.”

  She glances at me out of the corner of her eye. “Okay,” she says in a hushed voice. After a slight hesitation, she sucks in a breath and holds it. “We were together for a few months.” She exhales. “I gave in when he told me he loved me. Then he paid me.”

  “For sex?”

  “For my virginity.”

  “Ugh.” I close my eyes. “He paid you? You agreed to that?”

  “Jesus, Dylan.” She gives me a harsh look. “Of course not. I didn’t know that was his plan. He left me with a grand after we fucked. That’s all he wanted from me. I was duped and treated like a prostitute. I spent months with him thinking there was more, and he spent months waiting for it, just to toss me aside when it was over.”

  I rub my temples, feeling another throbbing headache coming on. “Sure I can’t beat him up? Or kill him?”

  “It made me stronger,” she says.

  “It shouldn’t have happened.” I pause, wanting to apologize for something I didn’t do. “Autumn…” I rest my hand on her cheek, staring deeply into her eyes. “…I’m sorry that happened. Someone needs to say that to you.”

  She draws in her bottom lip, flashing a cute half-smile. “You don’t think any less of me now?”

  “No, I’ve lost all respect for him. You actually still talk to this creep?”

  “I told you, I don’t have a choice. Nick’s the mayor. This is political.”

  “Sounds like my relationship with Ed.”

  “Exactly.” She places the gift in my lap, gesturing to unwrap it. “We’re done talking about it. Open my gift so we can go inside and get a drink.”

  “You got me something?”

  She nods. “Open it.”

  I put the bow on the dash and tear open the paper, lifting the lid off the box. “Holy shit.”

  “It’s a Glock.”

  “I know what it is.” I pull the gun out, immediately feeling an incredible surge of power.

  “I’m not dating a man who doesn’t carry.”

  I hold it up higher, and she forces it down.

  “It has a belt clip. Put it in the back of your pants for now. And be careful, it’s loaded.”

  “I’m not taking it inside.” I start to place it back in the box.

  “Yes, you are. You’re taking it everywhere.”

  “After what you just said about Nick? No way. I have to leave it out here.”

  She stops me from putting it away. “I’ll take care of things if we get frisked at the door. Take it.”

  “Autumn.”

  “Dylan, listen to me.”

  I can’t stop staring at it. My hands are even shaking a little bit. She got me a gun. Autumn got me a gun. “Thank you. It’s terrific.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  I look down at the heart tattoo on her finger, and up into her eyes, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear. “Remember that thing you said about people only being interesting when they have a story to tell?”

  “Yeah.”

  “That includes you. Don’t be afraid to open up to me, no matter what.”

  “Let me add to that.” She opens her door. “It’s quite all right to tear out some of the pages of the story.”

  I grin. “True. I have a few I’d like to put through a shredder.”

  We walk through the parking lot, my eyes drifting over the mansion, darkness upon us. I listen to the distant voices coming from inside and wonder which is Nick’s.

  Autumn takes my hand and gently swings it as we step closer to the door. My skin crawls and burns, knowing the gun is on me.

  Maybe I won’t feel contempt when I see him.

  My usual calm when I’m with her wanes, replaced with a sense of some impending doom. My fingers twitch, something ugly brewing inside, poised on the end of my tongue.

  Maybe this one time I’ll be able to keep my mouth shut.

  22

  “Call Nick.” Autumn folds her arms, sticking her nose in the air at the security guard working the front door.

  I knew I should’ve left my gun in her Forester, but Autumn said she’d take care of it, and she is.

  “Autumn. Autumn Black. Tell Nick we have a Glock and a Walther. It’s my Walther P22. He knows it. We’re not carrying anything else.”

  The guy listens to Nick on the other end of his cell. “Sir, you sure about that?” With his mouth closed, his tongue moves over his bottom teeth, causing a bulge under his lip. “Whatever you say.” He puts his cell away and hands me back my gun. My gun. Mine. “Mayor Faulkner said to keep it out of sight. If it comes out, you’ll be taken out.”

  Nick Faulkner—mayor, scum, the ass who hurt my girl—just welcomed me into his mansion with a threat. I’m gonna be taken out? Well, fancy that.

  Autu
mn takes my hand and pulls me down a long hallway filled with gold furnishings and dark portraits of old men, through a set of double doors, and over to a cloakroom attendant who checks our coats. We head toward a second set of double doors elaborately carved with dead game birds, powder horns, and oak leaves. I reach out to touch the imagery, but the ornate doors swing open to a majestic ballroom before I have a chance.

  “Whoa.” My head tilts back, gaping at a Civil War battle scene painted on the ceiling. “Where are we?”

  “Don’t expect puffy clouds and cherubs from Nick.”

  “I can see that. It’s mind-blowing.”

  “Pompous.”

  “Maybe so, and oozing with testosterone.” My eyes travel quickly over the two-story room. Gold chandeliers, hardwood floors so dark they look like a sea of black, and a balcony at the far end, teeming with silhouettes of men smoking cigars. “Autumn, this is way outta my league. This place is full of money-in-the-bank, gun-wielding men.”

  “Nick doesn’t carry a gun.”

  “Even so, I feel like I’m in a movie.”

  “Dylan”—she tugs my arm—“close your mouth, please.”

  My head is flooded with thoughts of her asking me to kill the mayor. “Why do I need my gun on me again?”

  “You don’t. But having it puts you in a position of power. Don’t let Nick’s security think they’re the only ones in control of the room.”

  “You’re using me.” I bet that’s true. I’m on display for her ex. She wants him to know her new man has a Glock.

  She puts her hand on my hip. “Your past was about being a street-smart snitch, and since you never ended up with a bullet in your head, you must’ve been a good one. But now you need to learn how to be savvy with a group of very different people.” She pulls me closer, whispering, “On the streets, you never mention you have a weapon. It’s always hidden. You act like a normal guy looking to score a hit. Here, you walk in and show off what you got. Flaunt it from the get-go, and you’ll be respected. Build trust from the start.”

  I nod, my anxiety off the charts. I need a drink. “Where’s the liquor?”

  “Back this way.”

  We walk through a swarm of women out on the dance floor. They sway their hips to the “Macarena” song in a continuous snaking line, smiling at whoever’s near, having a ball snapping their fingers and kicking their feet, putting their hands behind their heads, then down on their hips.

  “Heyyyy Macarena!” the crowd shouts.

  “I need a drink, fast,” I gripe.

  “Forty more feet and you’ll have one.”

  “Forty more feet? I could be dead in ten. How’d you do that anyway?”

  “Do what?”

  “How’d you get me in with a gun? Nick doesn’t know me.”

  “But he knows me.” She looks up at the balcony. “This is his city. He’s aware of Dorazio and some of what’s happening within the districts. I’m keeping him up to date on a need-to-know basis.”

  “If that’s the case, then he really shouldn’t have let me in with a gun.”

  She stops and places her hands on my chest, leaning in close like we’re about to kiss. “I said Nick could ruin my career if he wanted to, but that goes both ways. I could destroy him. Taking me to his home in the burbs and paying me for sex?” She backs away, her eyes sparkling under strings of party lights. “Not that I’d ever stoop to that childish level of revenge and go public with any of it … but he doesn’t know that.”

  “I need a frickin’ drink,” I repeat.

  I make a swift turn in the direction of the bar, coming face to face with an attractive older woman, tall and fit, with freckles and chestnut brown hair. There’s no question this is Autumn’s mom.

  “I hope your dad didn’t hear your friend swear.” Her brash voice startles me, the exact opposite of Autumn’s.

  “Frickin’ isn’t a swear word, Mom.”

  They palm one another’s shoulders, tipping forward for a cheek-to-cheek kiss. Their bodies are far enough apart for a third person to stand between them. It’s anything but loving.

  “This is Dylan.”

  “Pleasure,” I say, shaking her mom’s clammy hand.

  “Watch your language around my husband. I don’t want any problems for my daughter.” She turns to Autumn. “Are you smoking again? You smell like an ashtray.” She digs inside her purse and pulls out a small glass bottle, shooting a mist of perfume onto Autumn’s neck. “Don’t let your dad see you with a cigarette. He’ll insist we have the loft fumigated.”

  A middle-aged man with pointed brows and penetrating eyes approaches us. “You brought a man to the party?” He offers his hand, and I give a firm shake, knowing straightaway this is her dad.

  “Farren, please,” her mom says to him. “I haven’t seen her in a month. Let’s not argue about her bringing a date.”

  “I didn’t catch your name,” he says, not letting go of my hand.

  “Dylan Marzniak.”

  “Dylan? Farren Black.” He pulls away and stares at Autumn’s dress. “It’s too short and the neck’s too low.”

  “I know. That’s why I like it.” She smiles. “The lace covers the low neckline.” She slides her finger across it. “And did you notice the scarf? I think it’s tasteful for the evening.”

  “Me too,” I say. “She looks gorgeous.”

  “Who asked you?” He glares at me for a second before turning back to her. “The scarf is the only reason I haven’t told you to put your coat back on.”

  “Farren,” his wife pleads with him to relax.

  “What happened to your face?” he asks me.

  I touch the bridge of my nose as if I wasn’t aware. It’s been almost a week since the parking lot incident, the aftermath still noticeable. Autumn crushes my hand, signaling not to answer, which is fine since I can’t think of a good lie to make up on the spot.

  Farren stares. I smile. He stares more intently. I smile wider.

  “Are you deaf?”

  “Nope,” I answer.

  “Nope? Nope, what?”

  “Nope … sir?”

  That satisfies him.

  He puts his hands in his pockets and surveys the room, giving a chin lift to a group of guys sitting at one of the tables off to the side. He takes a step in their direction, patting Autumn’s arm as he passes by her. “It’s good that you’re here.” Another distant, unloving form of contact, similar to her mother’s awkward half-hug.

  “Dylan, the drinks are through that door.” Autumn points toward the back of the room. “I’ll meet you there after I finish gossiping about you with my mom.”

  I laugh openly at her honesty. They can talk about me all they want. I’m inept around parents anyway.

  I glance back at her on my way to the bar area, her mom giving me the once-over, whispering something to Autumn. I can’t remember a situation that has made me feel clumsier and more out of place than this one. I’m here because I want to impress a girl, be the highlight of her night, the guy she thinks about even when she sees the man who stole her virginity. But that’s what’s wrong with me. I realize it now. I know I’m blind. I’m on the shady side of the tree, stalking her while being hunted by others, expecting her to change my life instead of changing it on my own. Damn her for turning my heart soft, and damn me for loving it.

  A waiter slides a pocket door open. I step out of the ballroom and into a dimly lit room where men with whiskey breath linger close, dropping cigar ashes on my only pair of black dress shoes. The space is loud and overcrowded with men discussing politics while the women are out on the dance floor sipping red wine and commenting on one another’s hair. There’s a distinct gender split happening here, very fifties-ish. No matter the decade, I’ve stumbled into a place I don’t belong. These men aren’t the most welcoming, not like my dad and I are with the customers at our bar. We don’t circle our patrons like sharks. That’s no exaggeration either; two are right up
in my face.

  I hold my ground, refusing to leave before I get a drink. “What’s up, fellas?” I ask them.

  “Mayor Faulkner wants to talk to you. Upstairs,” one of them says, pointing to a back staircase.

  I rock on the balls of my feet. “What for?”

  “Just a friendly conversation.” The other one opens his coat and shows his gun.

  “Just like that?”

  “Just like that,” they echo.

  They take me up a corkscrew flight of footworn wooden stairs, landing in the private balcony area that overlooks the ballroom. Rivulets of sweat run down my sides. I can barely see my hands in front of my face, let alone recognize anyone in the room.

  I’ll be able to spot Nick once my eyes adjust to the darkness. I’ve seen photos of him. I know his hair is black, like mine, only longer and slicked back. And he has a short salt-and-pepper beard. Tiny eyes, too—like a rodent.

  Men next to the wooden balcony railing catch sight of me, snuff out their smokes, and disperse. One by one, they vanish down the stairs like animals keen on a storm moving in. One by one, until there’s only one—a guy sitting in a rustic leather chair with his hands raised in the steeple position, the tips of his fingers touching his lips. I move closer. He’s much beefier than his online photos, with a top-heavy body and a thick neck.

  “Take a seat.” He motions to the chair across from him.

  “I’ll stand.”

  “You’ll sit,” he stresses, his voice powerful. He looks over my shoulder at a man standing at the top of the staircase. “Gage, go down to my office and get the fax that came in from District D. Bring it up here.” He leans forward, signaling again to the chair. “Are you afraid of me?”

  I kick the chair even closer to him, digging my nails into the armrests as I sit down. “I’m not afraid.”

  He leans back with a victorious smile, giving me the once-over. “I saw you walk in with Autumn. You must be Dylan, this kid right here.” He holds up his cell, showing the photo Autumn took of me the first night we met. “You clean up well.”

  “How’d you get that?”