by S. M. West
“Oh, before I forget, I’ve got this fundraiser event for the hospital tomorrow night, will you go with me?”
He sits beside me with his arm resting on the sofa at my back.
“Tomorrow? Not a lot of time to find a dress.”
Barbara used to be his plus one and for a split second, I wish they were still together. I hate these things, but I quickly dismiss the crazy thought. Barbara didn’t like me, and if Max had been serious about her, I’m not sure what that would have meant for our friendship.
She likely would have made him choose, and I shudder, a quickening in my heart rate at the inconceivable. I’d like to think Max and I would always be friends, no matter what, but romantic relationships can change friendships.
“A dress? You have easily six dresses for the occasion.” He smirks, all too familiar with my many evening gowns.
Clothes—designer clothes—are a weakness. And despite how small my apartment is, I have multiple portable clothing racks taking up at least half of my one-room place.
“Fine. I’ll be your date.” Nibbling on my lower lip, I falter on my choice of words.
For the first time in a while, we’re both single. A strange heat coils around my insides at the thought of our kiss earlier tonight. Dynamite. I’ve never felt like that before and while exciting, it also scares me.
No, definitely not a date.
Max
A constant buzzing causes my eyes to blink open. I’m in my living room. The phone is face down on the cushion beside me, vibrating, and my bicep is numb, with Tommie’s head resting on my muscle. She’s sleeping and Gunnar’s head is perched on her thigh.
I don’t want to move. She smells so good. Feminine and sexy. And I like having her in my arms, burrowed into me and comfortable. Soft and warm. We’ve fallen asleep together before, but never after kissing the daylights out of her.
I kissed her.
I wasn’t thinking last night. All I saw was her. Waiting for me. Fucking beautiful and beaming. She was so happy to see me, and I felt the same way about her. Two weeks had seemed like an eternity to go without seeing her, and while we had texted during that time, it wasn’t enough.
The phone rings again and I grumble under my breath. Gunnar lifts his head and I shift my gaze to the phone and its offensive sound. I pick up. Witch, my nickname for my mother, flashes across the screen.
Cradling Tommie’s head, I get up and rest her head back on the cushion. She curls into a ball and her glossy dark hair cascades over the side, her long eyelashes fanning across her golden cheeks.
My breath stutters in my chest. I just want to curl up with her in my arms. She’s so peaceful sleeping. Gone is the little crease between her eyebrows when she mulls over a problem. And her lips. They are so soft and plump and even though I shouldn’t have kissed her, for many reasons—we’re friends and she has a no kissing rule—I want to do it again. To feel her lips on me, an open-mouthed kiss, tasting and taking from her.
The phone buzzes again and I jog to my room, wanting not to wake Tommie. I’m surprised she hasn’t even stirred. By the time I close the bedroom door, the buzzing has stopped, and a ping signals an incoming text. An address followed by nine-one-one. That’s her code for urgent, to get there as soon as possible, no excuses. Dammit.
I dress and tiptoe out of the apartment with Gunnar to take him to relieve himself. Once I quietly deposit him in the apartment—Tommie hasn’t budged—I grab a cab to the same warehouse as the other night.
During the ride, I text Tommie to let her know I had to leave, and in the same instant, a text from my mother comes in, frustrated I’m not there yet. She’s always ticked at me and while I’m not thrilled to have left Tommie, maybe I’ll find out why she wants me to be there more regularly. I’m curious, because anything that involves my mother is bad news.
Since last I was there, checking on the guy with the gunshot wound, she hasn’t called, which surprises me but I’m not going to ask questions.
Tiny is once again waiting for me. Dread like a guillotine looms above my head. Mother isn’t here and the warehouse is deserted this time. The hefty guy opens a door into darkness and it’s only when he flicks on the flashlight that I make out the staircase descending into a pit of black.
I hesitate, unease tingling up my spine, and he pushes me forward. They’ve never taken me into the basement of any of the warehouses before. Makes me wonder what’s down here and why now?
Once in the bowels of the building, he turns on a heavy switch, almost like a breaker, and the place is instantly flooded in a garish white beam. Like a maze, there are long concrete corridors branching off into dark hallways. But the stench is putrid and unmistakable. Urine, blood and disease.
Used to illness and not-so-great smells, I battle with myself to follow him. What the hell is going on down here? We walk down the main artery, past several junctures where haunting whimpers and pleas of help or mercy from faceless women bounce off the walls. What the fuck?
Women? While I don’t like to be ignorant, I don’t want to know about my mother’s business. But from what I’ve overheard through the years, she’s into guns, drugs, gambling, and I’m sure more. But I’ve never heard anything about women or prostitution. Is that what she’s getting into? And if so, why does she have women down here?
An indescribable chill permeates my very core and my gaze sharpens on Tiny. His look is indifferent, nudging me onward with a harsh grunt to obey.
We stop outside a cell where a woman with long stringy dark hair, barely clothed, lies on a narrow cot, writhing in pain and clutching her abdomen. Her hands are coated in blood, as is her abdomen and the bed.
The tinny smell, one I know so well, is overpowering, and despite the familiarity, my last meal roils in my gut. Weak in the knees, I fight past the nausea and disgust. I’ve only ever tended to thugs and goons. Who is this woman? Why is she in a cell? Are all the other women I heard in cells as well? How many are we talking and why are they down here?
And what the fuck do I do about it? How can I get them out of here?
The medical bag my mother keeps for me is on the floor, open and waiting for me to use its contents. I remove a pair of nitrile gloves and iodine, forcing my breaths to slow and even out. My hands are moist and I’m not sure if any kind of treatment is going to make a difference as it looks like she’s already lost a lot of blood.
I need to focus. I’ll be no good to her if I lose my shit. With one more steady breath, my doctor mentality is in check and I perch beside the woman.
“No. Not her.” Tiny yanks my arm. “The cunt dies.”
Sloughing off his hold, I press several gauzes against her gaping wound, trying to stem the bleeding.
“I said no.” He pulls me to standing and spins me to face a man I hadn’t noticed until now. “Him.”
Franz, one of the more sadistic men among my mother’s ranks, is hunched over in a corner, also holding his stomach. I’d been too shocked and concerned when I laid eyes on the woman, I didn’t realize someone else was hurt. And suddenly this makes sense.
The woman and Franz got into an altercation. I indulge Tiny and examine Franz’s wound. Knife injury. He’s not bleeding nearly as much as the woman and the cut is relatively small and shallow. He needs tending to but I’m triaging, and the woman is priority one.
“I’m taking care of her first.” Not waiting for Tiny to allow it—screw him—I’m at her side again.
It’s a gunshot and it doesn’t look good. With my hand on her back, I search for an exit wound. She moans in agony. There isn’t one. Fuck, this is a mess. The bullet is still inside her.
Tiny growls, towering over me, and his hand digs into my shoulder.
“Back up and I’ll be quick.” I’m insistent on helping her despite knowing, deep within me, that it’s futile.
I don’t have the proper instruments or drugs or a surgical team, and she’s lost a lot of blood. Even if I could get out the bullet and stave off infection, she needs a
transfusion.
This time Tiny is rough, pushing me from the bed onto my knees. The muzzle of a gun presses into the back of my head.
“Fuck her. The bitch stuck Franz. She got what she deserves.” His fingers burrow deeper into my shoulder and it feels like he could snap the bone in two.
Punching him in the throat or worse, stooping so low as to belt his balls, is tempting. But he’s got the gun and if I’m shot, I’m no use to anyone. And I can say goodbye to any chance of saving this woman. She’ll surely bleed out.
I work on Franz as quickly as possible and once he’s stitched up, I order Tiny to get him someplace dry to rest. It’s way too damp down here. The big guy wraps his meaty hand around his buddy’s waist and hoists him into his arms. Franz is pale and clammy, but he’ll make it. Thank Christ for small mercies.
“Let’s go, doc.” Tiny motions with the gun for me to follow.
Appearing to agree, we walk toward the exit but I veer to the side at the last minute and come to a crouch by the dying woman. My hand rests on her burning forehead. Her breathing is labored and she’s moaning in agony. She’s ashen and limp; this doesn’t look good.
“No. Leave her.” Tiny’s bulky shadow looms above me and if I had the time, I might reconsider my disobedience.
“No.”
Ignoring his intimidating presence, I rifle through my medical bag for painkillers. It may be the only way I can help her now. To make her last hours somewhat bearable.
Tiny grabs my collar, hauling me into the air and slamming my chest into the wall. Oof. My ribs rattle, feeling as if cracked, and I wrestle to break free. But his large meaty hand cups the side of my face, grinding it into the concrete.
Ragged and abrasive, the wall scrapes my face like a grater on cheese. Ouch. His knee jams into my back, constricting my torso, and it’s suddenly hard to breathe.
Air rushes into my lungs as he whips me around to face him. My fists are out and swinging but I’m not fast enough to block his right hook to my jaw.
Thud.
My head bounces back against the wall and my teeth come together in a cringeworthy crunch. Ah, fuck. I duck the next punch, roll along the wall and break from his grasp just as his knuckles slam into the unyielding wall, right where my head should have been. Tiny wails, now clutching his sure to be swelling hand.
“I’m gonna fucking kill…” He lunges at me and I weave away, still bracing for a potential hit.
“Enough.” Taya’s shrill command stops her man from coming at me.
Relief should override anything else but rage bumps through my veins. I want to get a few hits of my own in, if only to blow off some of my anger.
“You’ll do no such thing. Take Franz. Go.” She points in the direction we came, and without a word, Tiny obeys.
“What the hell is going on?” I point a finger, which is vibrating with fury, at the dying woman. She looks worse than before my fight with Tiny and I leap toward her.
“She’s paying for her mistake. Let’s go.” Mother wraps her hand around my bicep.
“With her life?” I wrench myself free. “I can’t leave her like this. Let me at least give her something for the pain.”
I don’t wait for a response, grabbing the morphine-filled syringe from my bag. She curls her fingers around my wrist, nails cutting into my flesh.
“No. You’re not to waste another moment on her.”
I jerk from her hold. Whimpering, the pallid woman opens her eyes, dark like night, and our gazes clash. At first, her stare is glassy and wild, but in a beat or two, a clarity that wasn’t there before seeps into her orbs.
“Please…” Her voice is reed thin and the little color she has left drains from her face. Just talking to me is taking a toll.
“What?” I lean in closer to hear when I should be telling her not to speak.
To save her energy. But for what?
There is no hope.
Taya’s hand is back on my shoulder but not pulling me away. She leans in closer, also wanting to hear what the woman has to say.
“Freedom...” Her eyes close and just when I think she is lost, they flash open again. “Comes at a price.”
Tommie
Arms above my head, I lean to the left and yawn. A crack from my back ripples through my body. Ahhh, much better. But that’s not all. A sharp pain sits along the side of my neck and my fingers work to loosen the knot that took up residence while I slept on the couch.
Gunnar thumps his tail on the floor and my hand runs through the thick fur on his head as I push up to stand. “Hey, Gun. Mommy needs coffee and some stretches to feel human again.”
Despite the aches and pains from being curled up on a couch for nearly ten hours, it’s the first time since the alert that I’ve had a full night’s sleep. Most have been restless with worry as I try to anticipate his move and decide what I’m going to do.
But last night, I fell asleep on Max’s shoulder and slept right through the night—so much so, I didn’t even hear him get up. Before going to look for him, I grab my phone and there’s a text from Max from about three hours ago. He had to leave.
I’m disappointed that he isn’t here but I shouldn’t be surprised. He has a patient recuperating from heart transplant surgery for crying out loud, of course he’s at the hospital.
Yet melancholy seeps into my bones, weighing on my still sleepy form. We had last night to catch up, but it wasn’t nearly long enough. I still have so much to say to him.
I traipse into the kitchen, making a beeline for the pre-programmed waiting-for-me-to-push-the-start-button coffee machine. Thank you, Max. While it brews, I have a quick shower and throw on last night’s clothes, all the while and so not like me, going over last night in painstaking detail.
Last night. Wow, it was just all around bizarre and not necessarily in a bad way. Thrilling and pleasing and confusing… more confusing than anything else.
We slept together, which isn’t new. I’ve crashed here before when I’m too tired to go home, and sometimes we’ve even slept in the same bed. But never tangled up in each other’s arms like we’re a couple, and never after he’s kissed me.
Max kissed me. The heat of his hands on my face and the soft, strong press of his lips upon mine still linger, the sensation so strong it’s as if he’s kissing me right now. And it wasn’t a peck on the lips, and it wasn’t to tease or annoy me. No way. That was a full-on tongue-and-teeth kiss.
A seesaw of emotions confuses my mind. Pleasure and elation, and anxiety and regret, and each one competes for the top spot.
He’s my best friend and an awesome catch. Not only smart, funny and caring, but also hot as hell. And I’d have to be dead not to have thought about what it would be like to be with him.
But I won’t risk our friendship for… for what? Amazing chemistry? A night of hot sex? A romantic relationship? I snort and twirl my hair around my finger. No, not a relationship, and that’s at the crux of all my concern. We can’t have a relationship. I’d mess it up, for sure. All I know is pain and loss.
And then what? Max is good for me. An awesome friend. I feel whole and safe with him and I can’t wreck that. Or worse, lose our friendship. Lose him. He’s good for me in so many ways. Take last night as an example. I’ve been unable to sleep for days, yet only hours with him and I’m snuggled in his arms. Safe and secure, sleeping like a baby.
No… My phone buzzes on the counter and Van’s name flashes on the screen. No, I can’t lose Max.
“Hey, you. Are you back?” The steaming coffee cup presses against my lips as I take a careful but much needed sip.
“Yeah, late last night.” His voice is throaty, almost as if he just got up too.
“You sound tired. Did the job go as planned?”
“Yup. All is good and I’m beat but glad to be home. When are you coming in, thought we could have lunch? You up for it, Tommie girl?”
“Yes to lunch.” I beam, warmth spreading through me, dampening the persistent dread of what I
have to tell him. “I should be at the office in about an hour. I just wanted to take Gun for a walk.”
At the word walk, the dog trots over to my side as if to say he’s ready to go. I can’t help but smile. Even though Max’s text says he already took Gunnar out, and the dog walker will come later this afternoon, I could use the exercise and time to clear my head.
“Okay. Are you going over there now?”
“I’m already here. I stayed the night.” I no sooner say the words than I inwardly groan.
“Really, so you and Max, huh?” I can definitely hear the cocky grin in his voice.
“It isn’t like that and you know it, so don’t go implying something that isn’t there.”
We’ve been having this conversation for months now. Van insists Max and I are going to be a thing, and while teasing is totally in character for the man I think of as my older brother, relationships or, more specifically, my relationships, aren’t his favorite subject. In fact, he’s been known to talk about anything, even nail polish or fashion, to avoid discussing who I’m seeing.
“I know your friends. But… I don’t know, there was something in your voice.”
If we were talking about anything else, I’d push him to finish his train of thought, but this isn’t something I want to pursue.
“Can we move on?”
“Have you given any more thought to something more with Max?” His question hits a little too close to my own thoughts this morning and I nearly spit out my coffee, coughing.
“No.” This isn’t an out and out lie. My inner thoughts of what ifs aren’t something I want to share with Van or anyone.
“You have chemistry.”
All taste for coffee or breakfast evaporates and I grab the leash to get Gunnar ready to go outside. “Chemistry or not, Max is just a friend.”
“You sound a little flustered there, Tommie.” His teasing tone is back, and I wish he was in front of me so I could hit him. Playfully. Of course.