Hammered: A Shadows of Chicago Novel

by Rose Hudson

  “Lydia. Go to sleep.”

  “That’s no fun.”

  “Just pretend it is. Sleep.”

  We lay there in silence for a second before I register the quietness of the neighborhood outside her window and the ticking of a clock somewhere in the apartment. My hand smooths over her back and I stare up at the ceiling,

  “Thank you for staying until I fall asleep. It doesn’t come easy for me.” Her voice almost makes me jump purely because she’d been so quiet I thought she’d fallen asleep. I look down at the top of her head, surprised.

  “Yeah? The neighborhood’s quieter than mine. Surely that’s not it?”

  She shakes her head against my chest. “No.” She pauses. “I have this same dream over and over. It keeps me awake a lot.”

  I’m no stranger to nightmares. I had them often for the first year after my parents’ death and I would scream and cry in my sleep. I would get so embarrassed when Celia would come in and try to console me. I get how she feels.

  Makes me wonder what’s happened to her though.

  “What of?” I ask. Her voice is quiet and almost sounds far away when she speaks again.

  “Her on the floor. All the blood.”

  My jaw flexes and even though it’s dark, I close my eyes and hope that unlike me, hers isn’t a nightmare translated from reality.

  I lie there and replay the words over and over in my mind until I know she’s asleep. I war with myself for a long time before finally getting up to check all the windows, locking the front door behind me, and slipping out into the Chicago night.

  When I looked forward into what this year would hold for me, pulling into the driveway of an elected officials house mere days before the inauguration of our new president was not in my plans.

  I ring the doorbell, thankful for the shelter of the front entrance to cover me from the cold, heavy rain. The door promptly opens and a middle-age woman answers.

  “Can I help you?”

  “Stone Keeling to see Senator Cameron.”

  “Come in.” She gestures to a sitting room to the right. “Please, have a seat and I will let Mr. Cameron know you’re here.”

  Of course, the house is massive, all the houses in Arlington Heights are. The fifteen-foot ceilings seem to swallow me whole and the shiny hardwood floors are polished to a perfected gleam. I hear footsteps for two whole minutes before a visual is produced.

  “Stone ‘The Hammer’ Keeling in my house. How are you, son?”

  I wince inwardly at the use of my fight name, a name I’ve worked hard to shed.

  The older man carries a wide-toothed smile as he makes his way over to me, but his eyes say I’ll throw you to the fucking sharks. And apparently, he’s done his research on me or else he wouldn’t know that I used to fight, and he damn sure wouldn’t know what I was called in the underground syndicate.

  “Just Stone, sir. Don’t fight anymore.” I go with the truth, shaking his hand as he extends his.

  “Is that right? Well, have a seat and let’s get down to it. Shall we?”

  I sit in the armchair across from his.

  “Quite a predicament these boys have gotten themselves in, isn’t it? Rush planning to ride a wrestling scholarship to Northwestern next year, Joseph playing basketball for Michigan State. And now, to piss it all away for a pricey fistfight. What do you think they were thinking, Stone?” My name squirms off his tongue like a snail rolled in sea salt, respect nowhere to be found among the disdain. “And why are you cleaning up his mess and not Mr. or Mrs. Sorrels?”

  “Because they don’t know anything about this and wouldn’t know how to handle it if they did. I’d like to offer whatever I can to make this go away so that they don’t have to be involved.”

  “I called you here today because I have a proposition for you that I think could help us both.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “Now regardless of position or pull, I’m not one who likes to play dirty, but if it means keeping my son’s nose clean, I’ll do what I have to. Do you understand what I mean by that? You could take these bare-knuckle fights for instance. I’m sure most of you don’t fight purely for the sport, right?”

  I eye Senator Cameron expectantly.

  “I’m sure most of you are blue collar people trying to make better lives for yourselves. That’s why when I found out about these fights, I chose not to expose them. I took the information and put it in my pocket for another day.”

  “Another day?”

  “I’ve heard stories about you,” he continues, ignoring my question. “Why’d you quit? Rumor has it that just a year ago, your winning purse got up to twenty-five thousand dollars. For a boy from Humboldt Park, I’d say that was a week in the green.”

  “Good for you, you’ve done your research. Now get to the point because I thought I was here to talk about my brother.” ‘Cause I know there’s a point. There always is with motherfuckers like this; never happy with what they have, they want to take what others have and they want.

  “What I propose has promises of a very good outcome for your brother. But I guess that decision lays with you.”

  The joints of my knuckles burn hot with the need to knock this bastard out of his high-backed chair. I knew it. I knew there was no way in fuck this would end in mine or Rush’s favor, but I made myself think otherwise, if only for my soul’s need to believe in people again. I lean forward, elbows on knees and give him a look I know says more than enough.

  “My patience suddenly ran out, senator. Point. Now.”

  “In short? You fight. But not just any random sidewalk brawler; Borya Ivanoff.”

  “What does me fighting some Russian going to do for you?”

  “I’ve got a campaign to fund, but I think what you should worry about is what this will do for you, or more specifically, your brother. You fight Mr. Ivanoff and I make certain this incident never sees the light of day and Rush attends Northwestern blemish free.”

  “And if I don’t?”

  “Well, I’d hoped you wouldn’t even need to consider that, but since you asked; I play dirty and keep Joseph’s nose clean. Rush? Well, he will have some feats to overcome. And considering he’s only a couple months from turning eighteen, I doubt very seriously the judicial system would go easy on him.”

  “It must be nice to sit on your fucking hill in the mansion corruption built. Instead of pulling me up here to waste my Sunday, why didn’t you just send me a fucking bout card, huh? Give me a time and a place on the day of the fight like we do things in the real world? Let me guess, Ivanoff needs to train? Prepare?” I stand, taking two steps until I’m directly in front of him. “I don’t need to train, Cameron. I’m ready right fucking now.” I take a step toward the doorway and I see him stand in my peripheral.

  “Ah, you’ve been out of the game for a while, Stone. But I take it I can send them your acceptance?”

  “I don’t give a shit what you tell them. I wouldn’t fight for you if you had my dick in a vise. You can go to hell.”

  As I make it to the hall I run into the lady who answered the door and her face reads one of horror. My jaw grinds and my eyes briefly clench shut as I open the door because I realize the man I didn’t want to be anymore, is back.

  Jerry drilled into my head the mentality that you never stop, that your best was never good enough. And in those teachings, he created a fucking savage.

  I HOLD MY GROCERIES UP with one knee as I unlock my apartment door with my free hand. As soon as I open the door, my cell rings from my pocket and I have to drop the sack on the couch to pull it out, struggling to pull it free before it goes to voice mail.

  “Hello?” I didn’t even get a chance to see who it is, and I’m almost certain I’ve missed the call in the brief silence before he answers.

  “Are you available?” Stone’s words are clipped, impatient.

  “Uh, I’m home. Just walked in.” My eyes narrow in confusion.

  “Hotel Blake. Twenty minutes.”

/>   “Why don’t you just come to my place? I mean, you were here last night.” I try not to let the surprise that he’s calling me show in my voice. Not to mention surprise at his effortless nonchalance over my breakdown last night.

  “Because I need to fuck you and I’m sure your neighbor would appreciate the distance,” he pauses and I hear his thin thread of restraint in that silence—the demand. “This won’t be slow, and it won’t be easy. I’ll text you the room number.” The line goes dead.

  My head swirls with questions and my heart hammers with anticipation. My usual compulsion for answers is overridden by the growing part of me that submits to his demands. I like that I don’t have to think with him, just do. No thinking twenty steps ahead, just right now, in the moment.

  As in control as I usually require myself to be, it’s a refreshing and necessary change.

  I run to my bedroom, shedding clothes as I go, until I’m naked in front of my dresser, digging for pretty panties and a bra, ones that still have tags on them because, until now, I’ve not had anyone to wear them for. Piling my hair on top of my head, I flip the shower on and jump in to wash off the remnants of my run, careful not to get my hair wet because there’s no time to fix it once I’m out. The excitement of knowing what I have to look forward to sends adrenaline through my body, I’m running on pure sexual desire.

  After throwing on some leggings and an oversized sweater, thanking God for the creation of dry shampoo, I toss on my favorite Gucci ankle boots and head for the door. There’s no time to call Tony, so I walk around the corner and hail a cab. I don’t wait for long before one pulls up to the curb.

  “Hotel Blake, please.” I jump in and he resets the dashboard meter. I use the time to apply light makeup and attempt to settle my nerves.

  When I woke this morning in just my shirt and panties, I had to lie there for a minute before I remembered how I got there. After I had given myself the initial fuck me reprimand for how drunk I’d gotten with the band, and the near life-altering decisions I made trying out the new me, I remembered the things that really mattered; Stone bringing me home, to my apartment, him undressing me and getting me into bed, him laying with me when I asked him to stay.

  Telling him about my nightmares.

  Shit.

  It’s not that this—us, was ever going to follow Elite rules if it became a regular thing, but we had established our own rules. Rules that both of us need in place to be comfortable. Last night I managed to break all of them.

  So much of what happened last night, even long before my drunkcapades, was against our rules. It was personal. And it was everything but sexual.

  I’m floored that he’s not only called but now I’m pulling up for our third rendezvous in one weekend. He made himself very clear as to what he wanted, and holding me while I cried about some damn nightmare until I fell asleep was not in his “expectation explanation”. Which is why I wasn’t surprised to find him gone this morning, and not appalled either. Relieved. Relieved that I didn’t have to do the whole wake-up mortified and apologize for my boundary crossing. I was sure my pride couldn’t take the inevitable look I was sure to see on his face.

  The look that I’m hoping isn’t there as I exit the elevator and make my way to the room indicated in the text I received just minutes ago.

  Before the echo settles from my knock against the door, it swings open, revealing a Stone I don’t recognize. A Stone that looks like he could eat me alive. He pulls me in, slamming the door behind us and grabbing my purse and throwing it to the floor.

  “Are you ok—”

  “Fuck the formalities.” He takes my mouth, rough and punishing, the concern I felt overcome by lustful submission almost instantly. He doesn’t even take us to the bed. Rather sits me atop the oblong desk against the wall just inside the door, removing my boots and throwing them to the floor.

  One part of me wants to ask questions and one part of me wants to act just as crazed as he is. He pulls the sweater over my head, pulling the cups of my bra down and taking my exposed breasts into his mouth, one after the other as his hands squeeze brutally.

  “Stone, don’t stop, but talk to me. Please,” I beg.

  But he doesn’t answer, instead grabs my ass, pulling me from the desk and walking us to the bed.

  “There’s nothing to say. I just need to have you.” He sucks and kisses his way from my jaw to my neck, between the valley of my breasts, across my stomach until reaching the waist of my leggings.

  I lean up and reach for his jeans, unzipping to pull him free. I stroke the rock-hard length of him and he slides a hand inside my panties, two fingers spreading the lips of my sex to find me wet and waiting for him.

  “Do you have anywhere to be?”

  Confused, I shake my head in answer.

  Grabbing my hips on either side he flips me over before I know what’s happening, ripping down my bottoms and thrusting into me. The force of him excruciating pleasure as my body welcomes him and I can’t breathe from the way it feels.

  “Again,” I plead and he slaps my ass so hard my eyes water. “God. Again.”

  He pulls out and slams in so hard the mattress frame slams into the wall. Already my vision blurs, my spine tingling almost as much as my ass when he slaps the other side. I fumble behind me, trying to grab his thighs and pull him into me again, needing to feel that same sensation over and over. But he grabs my wrists, pinning them behind my back with one firm grip, while the other grabs the pile of hair now fallen to my neck.

  He pulls so hard the back of my head meets the skin of my back and I almost can’t breathe from the way my throat tightens at the force. I don’t care. I’d fucking suffocate before I ever let him stop.

  I can see his eyes and he can see mine and all I can hope is that what I’m reading in them is true. Insanity creeps through my veins as he drives me out of my mind, the need so fucking palpable that it’s the only thing either of us could survive on in this moment.

  He releases my arms and my hair, causing me to fall forward to the mattress, his body following, covering mine completely.

  “It’s not enough,” he says in my ear. “I fucking want it all, goddess.” His hand snakes between us, fingers rubbing over my swollen clit and causing the storm to grow inside me. “Tonight, I need to own this.” He slams into me.

  “Ah.” The sound screams from my mouth.

  He slams into me again, the string twisting tighter and tighter inside me, pulling me higher.

  “You do,” I say in a breath. He twists my face toward him, his lips barely touching mine.

  “Then come on my dick and show me,” he says into my mouth, taking my lips with his as my orgasm breaks free of its restraints as he fills me with his own. He pulls from me and replaces his cock with two fingers, pulling them out just as quickly before invading my mouth with them.

  “Suck,” he demands, and I do. “Taste how fucking good we are together?”

  He rolls me to my back, hovering over me. He kisses me, tongue twisting with mine, punishing and leaving me as breathless as he ever has.

  “I’ve craved the taste of you on my lips all fucking day, Lydia. And that’s not the last time I’ll have you.”

  ALARM CLOCKS NEVER GO OFF when you need them to.

  Okay, maybe not never, but damn. They go off when you want to sleep in, and don’t go off when you need to be at work on time because it’s the one day a week that you must sit in on client meetings.

  For a split second last night, I found myself wanting to be that monogamous girl my parents raised. But when I woke up this morning and felt better than I had in months, I knew there was something to exquisite sex with an incredibly gorgeous stranger. I can totally do this.

  It seems so weird to think someone I know nothing about seemingly knew my body so well, to the point of teaching me things I didn’t know about myself. I didn’t know there was an edge that I’d never crossed between pain and pleasure, and even more so, that they could be one in the same. I mean, the
man bit my pussy. B-I-T. Bit. And the insane part is I’d never felt something so phenomenal in my life.

  Of course, it was strange to wake completely sated and refreshed, only to then look over and see the other side of the bed empty. I feel like I missed some rite of passage in my early adolescence that I’m just now getting a taste of.

  I skipped washing my hair like I normally do on Mondays since Stone and I’d showered together before he left last night. In lieu of all the works, I go light powder and gloss. I managed a pencil skirt and a blue, silk shirt, finally hopping my way to my front door as I slide on my heels.

  When I get to the elevator and click on the screen of my phone and can barely make out the numbers, I realize I’ve forgotten to put my contacts in. I’m blind as shit and without those contacts I’m as useful as a box of rocks in the conference room today. I dig through my massive tote and locate my spare reading glasses. Maybe the thick black rims will be enough to distract from the fact that I have barely a swipe of makeup on and my hair is wound into a low bun.

  I’m surprised when I see Tony’s car sitting by the curb when I step off the elevator and into the lobby. Amid insanity this morning I hadn’t remembered to call him. Has he been waiting here for an hour?

  I push through the doors, a half smile on my face.

  “Either this is a really slow day for you, or you’re my guardian angel,” I say as he rolls down the window.

  “I haven’t missed a Monday in five months, wasn’t about to get a demerit today, Miss Norberg.” He winks.

  I hurry into the seat and close the door as he pulls away from the curb.

  “You really are the best. My alarm didn’t go off and I’ve been running around like a lunatic, forgot to call you.”

  “I figured it was something like that. Although the thought did cross my mind that the date from New Year’s could’ve become serious over the weekend. I was about two minutes from buzzing your apartment when you came down. Thought you might not be here.”