Tough Going (Tough Love Book 2)

by Trixie More

  “On the third floor,” Ben said.

  “Aren’t you going to tell the police? Let them follow you? Maybe trace the money?” Hands gesturing, frustration etching itself across her face, Sophia let loose all her best objections, but they meant nothing to Allison. She was always going to be in debt, so she was going to try to get the one thing that mattered most to her, Derrick’s safety.

  Derrick sat next to her, his feet on a towel on the coffee table, the bottoms of them shiny and taught, salve covering the burns. They would heal, would not become twisted with grafts and skin like hers were, but for now, they were keeping him on the ground. No ironwork for a while. She wished she could say never, but he’d made it clear, he was an ironworker.

  “Sophia,” Allison said. “We’re paying them. That’s final. Ben’s going to deliver it today, then he’s going to try to find George.”

  “Well, then you’re all jackasses.”

  Ben picked up the bag, zipping it shut. He stood looking down at Allison and Derrick. “You’re sure?”

  “Absolutely,” said Derrick. “The baked ziti market is strong right now. We’ll make it back in no time.”

  “Robots,” Allison said, and Derrick looked at her. “We’re going to make it back with robots. Firefighting, beam bumping robots.”

  “Argh!” Sophia gathered up her purse. “I’m out of here.”

  “Don’t get up,” Ben leaned over and gave Derrick a hug, came around and gave Allison one too. “I’ll drop Sophia off on my way.”

  “Be careful with my truck, man,” Derrick growled.

  Ben just gave a finger to the brow salute and walked to the door. “Ready, Sophia?”

  She was still bitching as they closed the door behind them.

  Allison turned to Derrick. “Do you think it will work?”

  “I hope so,” he said.

  Sophia climbed down from Derrick’s truck, hesitating, one foot still on the running board, looking up into the cab where Ben sat.

  “Are you sure you don’t want me to go with you?” she asked for the fiftieth time. “I could wait in the truck, call for help if you get hurt.”

  “No.” Ben looked at her, his eyes far cooler than they normally were. She wondered if that meant his infatuation with her was over. Right now, it would have been handy if she could still manipulate him with that. “Shut the door,” he said. No luck there. Sophia did as he asked and stepped back to the sidewalk. Watching as her brother’s truck, and her only lead, pulled out into traffic. She signaled to a cab and took a moment to shake her head as she uttered the most classic New York cabbie dialog ever.

  “Follow that truck.”

  “We don’t actually do that stuff, Miss.” The driver hit the meter. “Where to?”

  Shit. Sophia climbed in and shut the door, noticing the moment when the driver actually saw her face for the first time. She gave him her most blinding smile. “I’m not sure. Straight ahead for now.”

  The driver swallowed and pulled out into traffic, while Sophia craned her neck, keeping an eye on Derrick’s truck.

  “Move left,” she clutched the seat back in front of her. “And turn left ahead.” They were heading west. “Merge onto 95.”

  “You got enough to pay for this?” The driver looked doubtful.

  “You take credit cards?”

  He nodded.

  “Then don’t worry about it.”

  The cab merged onto the highway, taking the George Washington Bridge to New Jersey, exiting the turnpike near Harrison and following after the truck.

  “That’s gonna be a dead end there,” the driver said as the truck turned left down a street bordered by unloved houses.

  “Go past and pull over.” Sophia tossed her credit card on the seat. “Wait here.” Her nerves were dancing jitterbugs of anxiety, but she knew her face was smooth and calm. If the driver left with her credit card, if Ben caught sight of her, if the men he was meeting recognized her, any of that would be dangerous. If her boss found out she was here, it would be even worse, but she couldn’t just let them pay the bastards who tried to kill her brother, twice.

  Her mind made up, Sophia hurried through the backyards of the buildings, feeling as out of place in her ivory trench coat and loafers as a ballet dancer in a mosh pit. She kept waiting for one of the inhabitants of the row of three-story homes, with their rickety back stairs rising between wooden porches, to shout at her, demanding to know what she was doing. Nobody said a word. She heard a door shut as she passed the second house but that was it. She made her way through backyards adorned with miles of laundry and clotheslines stretching between the porch railings and the struggling trees. In the gap between the fourth and fifth building, she saw Derrick’s truck. Ben was standing beside it, the bag full of money in one hand, holding his cell phone to his ear. He was muscular like his job demanded, but not as broad shouldered or tall as her brother. His sandy hair gleamed dully in the afternoon light, Ben’s legs were spread, his stance tense. Sophia took out her phone and started recording.

  It didn’t take long. A heavyset white guy and a massive black guy came down the wooden stairs at the back of the house across the street from her. They walked side by side down the overgrown driveway, splitting up when they came abreast of the front of the house. One approaching Ben from the right, the other from the left. Ben took a step back and opened the driver’s side door of the truck.

  “Don’ fuckin’ move.” The white guy, a man with a mat of black hair on his arms, unshaved face and an ironically balding head, waved at the other man to hold up. The black man, on the right and blocked now by the open truck door, stopped. The hairy man took another step. “You got it all?”

  “Yeah,” Ben said. “This is everything. This is the end of it. George’s debt is paid, right?”

  “Oh sure,” the man agreed, sounding anything but reassuring. “We’re done with Georgie.”

  “No more fires. No more fucking with the business.”

  “Sure. No more fucking around.”

  Sophia grimaced. Ben and his family would never feel safe again, and these bastards had just learned they could dick around with them anytime they needed money. This was so incredibly stupid. She positioned herself lower, trying to keep to the shadows and still zoom in on the face of the man talking to Ben.

  Ben flung the bag toward the balding punk, and the guy caught it quickly, with a dexterity that surprised Sophia. The bag was unzipped and then zipped up.

  “Done?” Ben asked.

  “Fini.”

  The word scared the daylights out of her.

  Ben pulled himself up into the cab and turned the truck around, for one wild moment, his eyes sweeping the area where Sophia was hidden. Then he was gone.

  Sophia returned to the taxi, almost bending over and puking when she turned the corner and saw it still there, the driver’s face anxious at the window. She got in. She had to get her videos to someone who could help.

  “The truck drove away,” he said.

  “I know,” Sophia replied. “Take me to the Bronx.”

  Allison stood, her knit dress pants hiding her work boots, starched white blouse and black vest all in order, and surveyed the party.

  The backyard of this house looked over Long Island Sound, the kitchen she’d been using to stage the event had been created out of some beautiful home magazine spread. Cooking, warming, plating and clean up, easier than she had ever dreamed it could be. Across the yard, a temporary bar was set up, the broad-shouldered bartender looking handsome in his white and blacks, his smile visible even from here. Derrick seemed to be enjoying himself. Allison smiled at him and then turned her attention to Marley and the waitresses from Mastrelo’s, all volunteering to earn a little pocket change this afternoon. June graduations here on the island seemed to be a much calmer event than the block parties she was used to in Brooklyn. That said, her customers, friends of Helen and Carl, had been nothing but appreciative and kind. And they were paying a small fortune for the party. She was
glad it was a lovely day for them.

  At the serving station, Angelo was cleaning up the last vestiges of the roast he’d carved and served today. Rose and Ben passed the last few plates of food to the stragglers in the buffet line. Allison returned to the kitchen to finish cutting the three-tier cake, as the band started another set.

  It was several hours before they got everything piled into the Johansen’s van and still another hour before that van was back in the alley behind the shop. Derrick had changed out of his white shirt, into jeans and a plaid shirt for the cleanup. Marley and the crew had ridden back together, calling it a night already. It was just Allison and Derrick unloading and putting the supplies away in the pale light of the sunrise. It took them longer than it should have because Derrick was fooling around with her payback.

  “Sit on the table,” he said. Allison climbed up and happily sat there. Her feet were killing her, as he well knew.

  “Take off your shirt.” He left her with that command ringing in her ears while he returned to the van and brought in the next stack of chafing dishes. He eyed her up. “Too slow.” He set down the stack and went back to the van. She heard the doors slam shut, the beep of the automatic door lock. Allison’s fingers worked the buttons of her blouse. Pulling her vest and shirt off together, starting on her bra.

  “Nude, waist up.”

  God, the way he talked to her. It aroused the hell out of her. Derrick threw the bolt on the door to the adjoining bar. He turned and leaned against it, hands in his pockets, eyes hooded. Allison straightened her spine, pushing her breasts forward just a bit.

  “Play with them. Make ’em bounce.”

  She rolled her head, her hands still. He could be so crude but the idea of him, getting turned on by his words just like she was, had her lifting her palms, slapping her breasts just a bit.

  “It’s almost seven thirty,” he said.

  “Dorothy should be gone by the time we get there,” Allison agreed. She waggled her eyebrows. “Bossy sex in the magic bed?”

  He looked to the side, grabbed a blue hoodie from the apron hooks and tossed it to her.

  “Let’s go.” She started to pick up her clothes.

  “Leave them here. Let Marley find them.”

  Allison felt her face flush. “No, Derrick. Beetlejuice to that shit.”

  “Fine.” He snatched up the clothes, presumably stuffing them in her office. By the time he returned, she had the sweatshirt zipped up, her boobs braless and pointed against the fabric. They walked to her apartment, his arm around her ribs, his thumb beneath her breast, rubbing, sometimes higher, sometimes pinching her when no one was watching. By the time they got back to the apartment, they were both so hot, they could hardly keep it together, kissing in the stairwell, on the landings, outside her apartment.

  As soon as she had the door open, Derrick had her through it, slamming it behind him and pulling her to him. “On your knees.” Allison sank to the floor. “Hands behind your back. Wait, unzip, then hands behind your back.” Allison squeezed her legs together forcefully, complying as fast as she could. He didn’t give her much time, yanking down his zipper and feeding her a feast of cock while he alternated between stroking her hair and shoving his dick into her mouth. He gripped her head, holding her still.

  “Condom.” She reached into his pocket, glancing up at his face, seeing only love there, seeing only acceptance. “Suit me up, boss lady.”

  Done and done.

  “Get up, back to the door.” She scrambled, he knelt this time, untying her boots, yanking them off, her pants and underwear flung behind him. Then he was on her, in her, surrounding her, running his mouth over her neck. Allison lifted up on her toes, getting one leg up over his hip. Derrick reached down and yanked her leg by the thigh, pulling it up, her other foot barely touching the floor. He got one arm under her ass and lifted her farther, pushing inside her with all his might. She relaxed and let him in, using her back muscles to get her hips tilted, feeling the moment when he was fully seated. Derrick groaned. Allison stroked his neck. “Go on, lover,” she whispered. “I dare you.”

  Boom. She felt his chest pressing into hers just before the first slam of his hips against her. She tried to spread her legs, to get him to hit her just right, her arms around his shoulders, toes straining for purchase on the floor. He started to pump, and the door rattled and jolted in its frame. Holy fuck. She twisted to get the right angle. A loud bang came from the hallway, they both froze. Then Allison heard Dorothy say, “Sorry!” and she collapsed against Derrick, laughing.

  “It’s just as well, I needed a better angle,” Allison choked out.

  “Speak for yourself,” Derrick groused.

  “I always do!” Allison laughed as she ran into her room, leaving her clothes behind her, Derrick shutting the door as he rushed through. “OK, Dorothy!” Allison called joyfully just as her lover, her helpmate in every sense of the word, pounced onto the bed and really did try to love her right into next week.

  Sophia Moss moved through the corridor of the courthouse, the sweat from the August heat, drying on her back. Her internship was almost over for the summer. The work included attending arraignments and other hearings, and she was anxious to witness the judge scheduled for today. The current DA was an incredibly strong woman, the first female DA in the jurisdiction and a native of the Bronx. Sophia had nothing but admiration for her, and since the woman had called particular attention to the judge working bail hearings this morning, Sophia wanted to make sure she got a chance to see him in action.

  She entered the courtroom and took a seat in the far corner, where she would have the best view of the judge and the defendant’s attorney, as well as the defendants themselves. Settling onto the wooden bench, she let her mind wander while she waited for the first plaintiff. She was no closer to getting retribution for the arson attack on her brother, despite having turned the video of the payoff over to the Bronx police. She visited the station monthly where the detectives were working both the attack at the garage and the arson. Even though Debra had returned to her home, George had still not returned, and his wife remained silent on the matter. The whole thing didn’t sit well with her. Sophia crossed her legs. In her purse, her cell phone vibrated. She took a peek at the screen. A text from Allison.

  Dorothy’s party is Sat. Can you work for me?

  Sophia texted back an OK. Allison and Derrick were going to some lunch to congratulate Dorothy on a wedding that had come on so fast it made Sophia feel like she’d been on a carnival ride. Dorothy had met the guy the day after Allison’s first big catering success, a couple of weeks after the fire at Derrick’s place. Between the beginning of the summer and now, the unlikely couple had met, fell in love, and basically created havoc up and down I95, concluding the sensational courtship with a bang, here on the border of the Bronx.

  The first defendant was being brought in now. She craned her neck to get a look, only to find herself surprised. The man being led in was no native of the Bronx, she would bet her very luxurious handbag on it. Despite having been in lockup, his red hair was layered by an expensive haircut. He had a lean, clean jawline and was clothed in a suit that fit so well, it had to be tailored. His lawyer was dressed almost as grandly. Sophia was considering if this opulence was going to help the guy or hurt him when the man turned his head and looked directly at her. She braced herself for the usual wolfish inspection, but it never came. He looked at her, full-on, and his eyes never even paused. His gaze moved across her face, she was sure he’d seen her, but they moved on immediately, covering every face in the court like he was taking stock of what he had to work with. She watched as he repeated the action toward the other side of the room as he walked. She could see his back now. He was broad-shouldered, like Derrick, but much shorter, probably just a bit taller than she was. That the suit fit, was a tailoring miracle because the man was made like a boxer, just the slightest bit bandy-legged so that his walk had a rolling gate to it, a permanent swagger. But maybe that was the
money. Or just the man himself.

  Sophia still couldn’t believe the man had barely glanced at her. She shouldn’t care, should really be glad of it. After all, who wanted to be ogled by a criminal? Her mouth crimped down, a look she knew wasn’t flattering, and she pushed forward to the front row, so she could get another look at him.

  The judge was coming in now, the proceedings getting underway. Sophia wanted to focus on the judge. Indeed, she did, she had her notebook and her favorite pen, but the redheaded man at the defendant’s table had all her attention. The defendant was here to request bail for a kidnapping charge, something she couldn’t imagine the judge granting. The defendant’s lawyer was suggesting an obscene bail amount, indicating the man was more than willing to put over a million dollars on the line, peppering his comments with insinuations that cooperative talks were already underway with the prosecutor’s office.

  Seated on the bench, her eyes wide in surprise, Sophia considered this. How had this obviously wealthy man become involved with kidnapping? Suddenly, she felt a prickle on the back of her neck. She knew who this man was, and even though she should hate him completely, she also had the sinking understanding that she found him hot. Immediately, insanely, wet hot. Thank God he was going to jail. If her brother ever knew what her thoughts were, he would wring her neck. Sophia pressed back into the corner of the bench, her notebook sliding to the floor. She bent over and plucked it up, rising again and found herself staring straight into the eyes of a very, very bad man.

  October 2017

  Manhattan, NY

  Allison Walton probably shouldn’t have written the check. After all, Derrick hadn’t proposed yet, not officially. But she knew exactly who she wanted to cater the event, and the old guy was so damn pushy. Angelo put the check in his pocket and paused before he went through the doorway to the bar.

  “You sure you saw the ring?” He was still not satisfied, she could tell, but he wasn’t giving her back her money either.