“Sasha, you’re a great worker, but ever since Dunkin’ Donuts moved in down the street, our sales have tanked. We’re overstaffed, and since you have the least seniority, I’m going to have to let you go.”
I hadn’t listened to whatever else Bill had said. My brain had already been shuffling through my options and thanking the heavens that Nick had come along with his remodeling work when he had. Only instead of using that money for my future apartment fund, I’d have to use it to eat. And anyway, Nick’s work was just temporary. How in the fuck am I ever supposed to get ahead?
All I’d wanted to do was get home and talk to Nick. I knew the guy was tight on cash, but I’d been hoping to convince him to give me more hours. Even if he didn’t have the money to hire me on full-time, he might be willing to recommend me to another contractor. I didn’t mind the work, and with my affinity for houses, maybe I could put my talents to use elsewhere too.
I hadn’t gotten the chance to ask him, though, because as soon as I got home, I’d discovered Nick was in as much financial trouble as me. Who was this Frank Diamond? Some sort of loan shark? A drug dealer? Whoever he was, I’d have to pull my shit together quick, because I was about to meet him.
Standing inside the door was a guy who looked like he ate steroids for breakfast. He gestured us in without speaking. Inside, a bald toad of a man sat in a large leather chair behind a heavy desk covered in ashtrays and paperwork. Frank Diamond.
He stood and offered his hand. “Nick Cooper! How’s it hanging?”
My sight twisted, and I saw a ghostly blood splatter on the wall to the side of Frank’s desk. My gaze traveled down to a phantom puddle on the floor. I swallowed the rising bile in my throat and willed myself not to stare at it.
“Hey, Frank, this is my friend, Sasha. He’s helping me with the house.”
My stomach did a little flutter being introduced as a friend and not just an employee. I was crushing like a thirteen-year-old, and that shit had to stop. I made a silent vow to work on my social life.
“Nice to meet you, Sasha.” He examined me through his pop-bottle glasses. “You box?”
“No, sir.”
“You have the right physique for it. Muscular, but not bulky. Long reach. You ever want to try it out, you come by and see me. Have a seat, boys.”
We sat in the cracked vinyl chairs across the desk, which presumably were purposely low so Frank could glare down his nose at us.
He turned back to Nick. “How’s the house coming?”
“Good,” Nick replied a little too cheerily. “Demo is done and electrical’s almost completed. It’s gonna be beautiful.”
Frank’s protruding eyes drilled Nick, and his benign friendliness turned scary. “Let’s just hope it gives us the return on our investment that you projected.”
“Don’t worry,” Nick replied, clearly trying to pretend he wasn’t intimidated. “You’ll get your money back. And that’s what I came to talk to you about. You know these old houses, once you open them up, you find additional damage that drives up the costs.”
“What kind of costs are we talking about?”
“Another fifteen grand?”
Frank leaned back in his chair and took a puff on his cigar. “That’s a lot of unsecured debt you’re adding on top of the hundred I already gave you.”
“At the interest you’re charging, it’s easy profit. At only sixty-five grand, I got a hell of a deal on the place. If I put fifty into it, I can sell it for two eighty or three hundred easy.”
“If you can sell it.”
“You know my brother is one of the best realtors in the city. Trust me, the property will move.”
Frank steepled his fingers. “I don’t know, Nick. This investment is making me nervous. I don’t like being nervous.”
“Don’t worry about it, Frank. Especially now that Sasha agreed to help. He’s got a real vision for houses.” Nick kept talking—probably to distract from the strangled sound I’d made in my throat. “He saved me a boatload of money by suggesting this cool accent wall in the downstairs. It’s going to really enhance the vintage character of the home, which means we can expect higher offers come sale time.”
Frank examined me through narrowed eyes. “You partners now?”
I sat dumbly, not sure of what Nick wanted me to say.
“No, but a couple of weeks ago, I twisted his arm to come work for me. He knows his shit.” I just bobbed my head and tried not to look like I was going to swallow my tongue. “So you see, your investment is safe. We plan to not only finish on time, but we’ll make the place even more incredible than my original plans.”
Frank’s expression was unreadable. After a long moment, he said, “If I do this for you, I’ll need to renegotiate the terms.”
Nick tensed. “Figured as much. What are you thinking?”
“The current deal is twenty percent interest due in twelve weeks. I’ll give you the extra money, but the interest on the entire amount goes up to twenty-five percent.”
“Still the twelve-week timeline?”
Frank paused, as if trying to make Nick sweat. Finally, he nodded. “You can have your twelve weeks, but that’s it. I like you, Nicky. Don’t make me have to show you what happens to late payers. I’ll have the cash ready for you tomorrow.”
Nick stood grinning. “Great! Text me when to come pick it up.”
“One more thing.”
“Yeah?”
“Next time you see Marty Weise, tell him I wish him a speedy recovery.”
A muscle in Nick’s jaw ticked. “Marty?” he gulped. Like really for real gulped. “Sure, Frank.”
I followed Nick out of the facility, rushing to keep up with his hurried pace. We got into the truck, and Nick pounded the steering wheel with his fist. I kept quiet. Giving him time to process whatever the hell it was that I’d missed in there.
After a moment, Nick turned the ignition and pulled out onto the street. The uncomfortable silence grated on my nerves.
“Who’s Marty Weise?”
He squeezed the steering wheel in his fists. “A guy from my gym.”
“Is he sick or something?”
He coughed out a humorless laugh. “Nah, he was jumped a few weeks ago by a couple guys with baseball bats. Shattered his jaw, broke both arms, and banged up his spleen beyond repair, so they had to remove it.” He stopped for a red light, then shot a glance at me. “I guess that was Frank’s way of warning me not to renege on our deal.”
“Jesus fuck, Nick! Frank did that to him? What are you doing getting involved with people like that?”
Nick’s face was pale, and his jaw ticked. Finally, he said, “Marty was an idiot. I’m sure he made bad loans with unachievable terms. I have a plan to pay back my debt, and once I do, I’m out. I should make enough on this place to have a good down payment for my next project.”
I still didn’t like it. “Hey, man, I know you need cash, but you don’t have to do this if you don’t want. We can find another way to get the money.”
That made him laugh for real. “Oh, we will? How?”
I didn’t need to think about it. We both knew I had no ideas. If I did, I wouldn’t be crashing in an abandoned house. “I don’t know. You’re a smart, capable guy. I trust that you could come up with another option.” I paused. “I’ll help.”
Nick didn’t laugh as I’d expected him to. He just sighed and turned the truck toward home.
The sun was still up when Nick left. He said he needed to run errands, but I’d seen how agitated he’d been since his meeting with the loan shark, and I didn’t blame him for ducking out early. It scared the shit out of me that he was so involved with these people. But then, why did I care what Nick did anyway? Maybe this was a sign that I needed to get over whatever thing I had for him and concentrate on my next plan to crawl out of my homeless hole.
I paced my room, restless and angry. Not having to get up for a job in the morning meant I had no incentive to make it an early night, so I slung
my guitar on my back and hopped a bus down to Water Street. Weeknights weren’t the best time to go busking, but I could pop into the bars along the strip to see if they were hiring bar backs.
I lucked out. A big Broadway musical was playing at the Marcus Center, which had a modest crowd of dressed-up yuppies milling around the street. I propped open my case on the corner and tossed a couple of bucks in to prime the pump. Then I strummed the strings a few times, reacquainting myself with the feel of my instrument before launching into an acoustic version of “She Moves in her Own Way” by The Kooks. The bouncy beat always worked well to get people’s attention. When it was over, I slid right into an Ed Sheeran medley.
At the end of every song, a few people would step forward to drop a dollar or two into my case. I’d smile and nod gratefully, flirtatiously with the women as long as there didn’t appear to be a man around.
I was just finishing a raucous version of The Lumineers’ “Ho Hey,” with the crowd singing along merrily, when someone announced the show starting. A few more dollars dropped in my case as the crowd funneled inside. I scraped the bills out and jammed them into my pockets to count later.
“You’re good,” said a man standing off to the side.
He casually cruised me, so I gave him a once-over back. He was older than me . . . older than Nick even . . . but he wore his age well. The silver in his hair made his blue eyes bluer. His body was on the thin side, but the designer jeans were tailored to show off his assets. He wasn’t as sexy as Nick, but not bad.
“Thanks. You headed in to the show?” I asked, nodding toward the theater.
“No. Just walking down to the brewery for a drink. Care to join me?”
“I don’t know . . .”
“Come on. One drink. If you’re not into it, you can leave. No hard feelings.”
The guy did have amazing eyes. And a nice smile. I slung the guitar case over my shoulder. “Only if you’re buying.”
He smiled. “Sure thing.”
I fell into step beside him, and we walked the block down toward the Water Street Brewery.
“I’m Trevor. You?”
“Sasha.”
I shook Trevor’s offered hand. His skin had a softness to it that I associated with office workers. Nick’s hands would be calloused. Stop comparing him to Nick! With effort, I excised Nick from my thoughts and turned my attention to Trevor.
Inside the brewery, a handful of patrons sat at the bar nursing pints of beer. Trevor waved to the bartender and led me to a wooden booth along the back wall. He was obviously a regular.
A pretty waitress took our drink orders, and I was pleased that Trevor ordered a beer instead of some pretentious wine. He looked surprised though when I asked for a regular ice tea.
“You’re not underage, are you?” he asked, seeming genuinely worried.
I smiled. “No. I just don’t drink. Alcoholism runs in the family, and I don’t like to tempt fate.”
He relaxed at that, and we made small talk until the drinks arrived. Trevor was a finance guy, but he also served on the board of directors for a local LGBT center. He was new to the dating scene after the recent breakup of a long relationship. He owned a condo here in the city, a cabin in Door County, and a vacation home in Florida.
In order words, he was way out of my league.
I played along anyway. I told him I lived on the south side (truth), attended Marquette (true in the past tense), and that I planned to be a music teacher (not even remotely true anymore). He acted sufficiently interested, and by the time he finished with his second beer, we were getting along rather well. I didn’t feel the same spark that I did with Nick, but at least Trevor batted for my team.
“What happened to your arm?” he asked, reaching out to run his fingertip lightly over an ugly purple bruise on my forearm. His concern was touching.
“Oh, nothing. I’ve been helping someone remodel an old house, and I banged it on something when we were tearing down the walls.”
“It doesn’t hurt?” he asked. He circled the bruise again with his finger.
“Only if I press on it. Why?”
Trevor drew his hand back and grinned. “Just making sure you’re okay.”
“If you think this one is bad, you should see the one on my leg.”
Trevor ran his fingers up and down the neck of the bottle. “Wanna get out of here?” he asked with the hesitation of a guy out of practice.
Did I? Trevor was nice. Seemed to have his shit together. And the longer I hung out with him, the more attractive he grew. I didn’t see anything long-term with him, but there was nothing wrong in showing him a good time.
“Yeah, I’d like that.”
Before we left, I made a quick pit stop in the restroom, where I stuck some quarters into a machine and got a condom and a single-serving packet of lube. I didn’t care how together this Trevor was, I never went to a party unprepared.
When I returned, Trevor was standing at the bar settling our bill. His jean-covered ass was sexy as hell with him leaning forward on his elbows, his one foot propped up on the rail below. My cock twitched in anticipation. Fuck my sleeping bag on the floor. Fuck being homeless. Fuck lusting after straight guys. My pulse increased with the desire to welcome Trevor back to the joys of single life.
I sidled up behind Trevor, placed my hands on his waist, and leaned into his ear. “Want to show me your place?”
His body tightened, and his ass rocked back slightly. I rolled my hips forward, mimicking his response, and letting him feel my growing erection against his crack. I bent my head to place an openmouthed kiss on his neck.
“Fuck yes,” he moaned.
I grabbed my guitar and followed him outside, where he hailed a cab. While the driver stashed my guitar in the trunk, I climbed into the back with Trevor. He immediately pulled my mouth to his. The guy could kiss, but he tasted like beer, which I found a little gross. I tried to ignore the taste by concentrating on the sexy spice of his cologne.
We were still making out like teenagers when the cab stopped in front of a high-rise condo building. Trevor paid while I retrieved my guitar.
Inside the elevator, Trevor hit the button for the fifteenth floor, and then shoved me against the wall, sucking on my neck and collarbone. I looked across at the reflection of us in the darkened glass. I pictured Trevor’s arms with larger, harder muscles, his back broader, his hair darker. Would Nick be an aggressive lover? I bet he would be.
Shit, I had to stop thinking about Nick.
The elevator dinged at our floor, and I followed Trevor down a short hall to his place. He unlocked the door with a brass letter C on it, and I stepped into an Architectural Digest spread come to life. But before I could admire the open-floor plan or the large leather furniture, a tingle rolled up my spine and made me feel like an animal caught in a trap. I pressed my hand to the entry wall to steady myself and was flooded with dark emotion. The building couldn’t be more than ten years old. No way should there be so much negativity accumulated unless something really bad happened here. Many repeated somethings.
Trevor dropped his keys on the entry table and walked over to the open kitchen. “Can I get you a drink?”
“Uh, no.” I hoped he didn’t hear the hesitation in my voice. Where was all this heaviness coming from? “How long have you lived here?”
“About eight years. My partner and I bought in when it was brand-new.”
Lie. There had been no partner. Don’t ask me how I knew. My vision flashed, and I saw the same room but different. There appeared to have been some sort of altercation. Tipped over furniture, a shattered glass coffee table, a potted plant flung against the wall leaving a trail of black dirt stuck to the textured drywall. For the millionth time, I wished I could see people in my visions. What the hell happened here?
As soon as I thought it, the vision morphed into a different scene, making me momentarily disoriented. Again, same room, more disorder, but focused on the kitchen this time. Broken dishes, a spilled b
ottle of red wine soaking the rug, the refrigerator door hanging open.
Get out. Get out. Get out.
“Are you okay, Sasha? You’ve gone pale.” Trevor ushered me farther into the room and gestured for me to have a seat on a stool at the breakfast bar.
I shook my head to clear the vision. “Sorry. Low blood sugar.”
“No, I’m sorry. We should have ordered food at the bar. I can fix you a chopped salad. I went to the farmers’ market yesterday and bought loads of fresh vegetables.” Trevor circled the kitchen island and reached for a knife in the butcher’s block.
Get out. Get out. Get out.
No fucking way was I eating anything he made for me. I wasn’t a hundred percent sure what the danger was yet, but this didn’t feel right. The violence in the atmosphere was so different from the boxing club. There, the room had been filled with physical exertion and the pain that came from a hard workout. Here the violence was . . . sexual.
“Um, no. That’s okay. I think I might actually be coming down with something. My sister had the flu earlier this week. I better go.”
I headed over to the door, but before I could twist the knob, Trevor rushed up behind me and pinned me to it, twisting my bruised arm behind me. “You never mentioned a sister when I asked about your family.”
Was he still holding the knife? I couldn’t tell. Which meant I couldn’t fight back or I’d risk getting shanked. My mind raced back to our conversation in the bar. Shit, he was right. I’d told him I was an only child. My heart was speeding, but if I wanted to get out of here, I had to play it cool.
“Hey, ease up, man. She’s a stepsister. Less than that actually. The daughter of my mom’s boyfriend. But we grew up together off and on.”
He relaxed enough for me to turn sideways, but I still couldn’t see if he held a knife in his right hand. The blue eyes that seemed so warm before had turned hard as steel. They were the eyes of a predator. “I don’t like to be lied to.”
I gave him what I hoped was a natural-looking smile. “I didn’t lie,” I lied. “We’re not technically related, so I didn’t think to mention her.”
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