Hammered: A Shadows of Chicago Novel

by Rose Hudson

  “No word, really.” I stand from my chair, feeling the need to stretch my legs for a minute.

  “I’m glad you’re here. I know you’ve been avoiding me, and honestly, I don’t blame you.”

  I press my lips into a firm line, deciding to accept his statement instead of dispute it. He’s right.

  “I know we need to talk, and I think I’m ready.”

  “You wanna take a walk?”

  “Would it be okay if I just come by the house tomorrow evening?” I look down at my jogging clothes in explanation, smoothing the sleeves of my jacket. I need a long bath and a clear mind before we have this conversation.

  “Sounds perfect. I’m sure Margaret will have dinner on the table about six, so why don’t you just join us for dinner.”

  When I look up at his eyes, heavy with burden and sadness, I realize it’s been months since I wrapped my arms around him, this man who has played such a large role in my life. I feel like we both need it.

  Not worried about the fact I smell like sweat or the fact that there are so many words left unsaid, I wrap my arms around his shoulders and hug him tight.

  I hug him for me, and for Madi.

  “SO, WHAT’S GOING ON WITH the job?” Thorn asks, pulling off his sparring gloves. I look over at him from where I’ve burned a hole staring at the wall.

  “We’re still waiting on permit approvals for the new build, but in the meantime, we need to talk about which is gonna be our smartest move on the smaller renovations.”

  Thorn pulls on his high-top Converse with one hand, lighting a cigarette with his other. I don’t even feel like arguing with this motherfucker about smoking in the gym. I’ve told him a million times, but he thinks when it’s after hours it doesn’t matter and I don’t have the patience to go over it with him right now.

  “You’re taking this partnership seriously, huh?” He chuckles. “I mean, twelve, fifteen months ago, we go from doing the grunt work to you being my boss. So, it may take me a little longer than a few months to get used to you having to consider my expert opinion on shit.” He stands and slaps me on the back. “It warms my deviant soul, brother.”

  “Well, don’t get too emotional, motherfucker. When you stepped up and offered a fifty percent buy-in, I couldn’t help but take forty-nine of it. So, don’t forget that when you think about not pulling your weight.” I look over to Rush who’s finishing up on his weight circuit. “Besides, this shit with Rush just got interesting.”

  “How’s that?”

  “The good senator is holding a fight over my head, I told him to fuck off. Initially it was to buy me some time to get shit sorted with the lawyers, but I’ve decided I’m going to fight this Russian guy he’s got lined up, end this. I’m pretty sure it’s him pulling strings and fucking with our job.” I look him dead in the eyes. “So, that means you’re going to have to pick up the slack for the next month. I gotta get back in training mode.”

  “No fucking way. Cameron’s got his finger in the pie? Guess I’ve been too busy murdering these motherfuckers to see who’s footing their bills.” He smirks.

  I glare at him.

  “Okay, man. Chill. I got it. Consider the slack taut.”

  I snort, toweling off my neck and chest.

  “What’d you read a book this week?”

  “Nah, I fucked a librarian the other night. Probably just rubbed off.”

  The bastard winks at me and puts his cigarette butt in my open water bottle.

  “Just for that, you get to take Rush back to Mom’s. I need to go run anyway.”

  “Alrighty then, Rocky. Peace out.” He salutes me and turns to gather Rush.

  I slip on a pair of sweats over my compression pants and tie the hood of my sweatshirt closed tight over my facemask, heading to my truck.

  The lakefront running trail in Chicago is worth the extra miles it takes to get there. I had to throw on an extra layer because of the brutal wind coming off Lake Michigan, but the reflection of the first cloudless sunlight we’ve seen in days reflecting off the water is heart-stopping.

  I need the sunshine.

  I need the fresh air.

  I need the quiet. To get out of my head and just be for a fucking second.

  I’m surprised that statistically success rate and death rate aren’t neck and neck because climbing this ladder day in and day out is killing me. The only thing I’ve had to look forward to purely for pleasure in recent weeks was this past weekend with Lydia. That fucking body. How I instinctively knew just what to do with it and how to open her up—how I made her talk dirty to me.

  I grit my teeth, closing my eyes at the thought.

  I shake my head, wishing I were back at the gym in front of the bags. I’ve worked hard to get to where I am today. It would be different if she didn’t want to fuck anymore because I’d been a bad lay or because we didn’t click outside the bedroom. But being dismissed because she thinks she’s better than me, feels like a challenge.

  A group of Army guys pass me going the opposite direction and like they always do, my thoughts drift to my father.

  Most of my memories of my father were when I was young; six or seven. But what I do remember is his passion for this country. He wasn’t just employed by our military, he lived it. He was fascinated by American history and made sure we learned something about it daily when he was home.

  When I was eight and Thorn was seven, we drove all the way from Chicago to Washington D.C. because Dad wanted to show us where our names came from. We were young and didn’t understand the level of gratitude my father had for our country, and now, even after serving in the Army myself, I still don’t understand completely. He was an extremely quiet man, a thinker and a reader. But that day, when we entered the Rotunda of the National Archives building to see the Declaration of Independence, he showed us the signatures of the men we were named after and I couldn’t help but be more enamored with him and the tears that ran down his face, than the document under the glass.

  Dad was gone most of the time, but he came home right before Rush was born and stayed until he was a couple weeks old before leaving again. That was the last time we saw him before our mother got the phone call that my father had been killed during a training mission.

  I close my eyes, gathering myself and when I open them again, I almost barrel into a group of tourists stopped in the middle of the running trail, taking selfies. I swerve quickly around them. I look over my shoulder and consider flipping them off, but decide to keep my man-period attitude to myself.

  I pick up my pace when I’ve gone half a mile, needing to get up my heart rate marginally. But when I look ahead and see a long black ponytail swinging in front of me, my heart rate is suddenly where it needs to be. I gain with every landing of my feet, closer and closer to the woman. If I wasn’t trying to see if it’s who I think it is, I would feel like a total creep. But when I see long legs attached to her unmistakable heart-shaped ass, I want to grab that ponytail and fuck her right there.

  Fuck that. No I don’t.

  I press on, coming up behind her before finally matching her stride for stride. She barely glances over my direction, instinctual, I’m sure. When she does a double take, realizing who I am, her gaze snaps back in my direction and her eyes narrow. I expect her to stop running, but instead, she runs faster. I’m sure she expects me to relent, but where would the fun be in that?

  I stay with her for another half mile and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t feel like my lungs were on fire with my facemask down around my neck, the cold air burning like gasoline. Apparently, she isn’t immune, either. She slows before coming to a stop, her hands coming to prop on her hips.

  Her tongue subtly wets her lips and I look even though I don’t want to. She isn’t looking at me, though. She’s looking out over the water, catching her breath and probably her thoughts.

  “Fancy meeting you here, Miss Norberg. I knew I recognized that ass.” I lean in. “Or should I say, my dick recognized it.”

&nb
sp; Her eyes snap to mine and I almost want to flinch. I don’t flinch. Not even if a big burly motherfucker comes at me with fists blazing.

  “Don’t screw with me, Stone. Today is not the day, and you are not the one.” She steps closer. “And if you’re stalking me, just know that I have a Kel-Tec P32 strapped to my ankle and a Beretta in my bedside table. I’m both certified and skilled at shooting your dick off with either one of them.”

  Usually when people talk about guns, it annoys the fuck out of me because I believe real men handle business with their hands, whether it be working, fucking, or kicking ass. But when she says that, my dick begs to get hard and I want to bend her over and spank her little spandex covered ass for talking to me like that all at the same time.

  “Don’t flatter yourself, rich girl. You better be skilled, because that weapon can be used against you just as easily as it can defend you.”

  “I’ve already taken a gun safety class, I don’t need a refresher course, but thanks.”

  We glare at each other, our breaths coming out in puffs of white against the bitter cold of Chicago January.

  “You know, you don’t have to be so fucking entitled suddenly, Lydia. If you hadn’t found out I was just a poor boy from across the river, you’d still be letting me eat that sweet little pussy, none the wiser if I hadn’t stepped foot in Daddy’s office.”

  “Are you serious right now?”

  I don’t know why I let it, but my control slips and my words fly like daggers.

  “What’s their situation anyway? Do you have a two-daddy household or what? And you can’t tell me in all their time as attorney’s they haven’t ever represented someone outside their fucking social class—” The slap that lands across my cheek feels like a thousand shards of glass against my frigid skin.

  “Screw you and your little pity-party. Aston and my father are partners in that firm and they built it from the ground up, not that you’d know anything about that. You make your money beating the life out of people with your bare hands. Don’t talk to me about social class. You’d have to be a human being first.” She steps away from me slowly. “And people like you aren’t human beings. You’re animals that belong in a cage.” She lets the words sting for a second before turning on her heel and jogging back in the opposite direction.

  I don’t follow her.

  I stand there and let her words wash over me, and it hurts that some of them are right. I haven’t felt like a human being for some time. I’ve felt like a machine.

  Who the fuck does she think she is?

  I’ve seen that look before, several times.

  She’s no different than the senator.

  But I don’t need her approval for her father to represent me. If I didn’t know for a fact that he was the best defense lawyer in all of Chicago, I’d take my business elsewhere. But this is my brother we’re talking about; his future is on the line and I can keep my eyes straight ahead and my lips shut long enough to get this taken care of.

  She was a great fuck while it lasted. And to be honest, she was getting in my head a little more than I like anyway, so it’s for the best.

  If only money could buy humbleness instead of coming with a lifetime supply of arrogance. She doesn’t see my bank statements, so she wouldn’t know that my account is probably as padded as hers, and it’s not because of fights. I’ve been giving that money to Jerry for years.

  That night, after a day of giving my body a beating and Lydia giving my mind one, I sit alone in my house—the house I built from the ground up in West Loop. So yeah, Lydia, I do know what that’s like.

  I tried to think of a million reasons to hate her for what she said. I tried to rope those words in with all the pompous, high-handed shit she said in the days after our meeting at her office, but they didn’t fit. These words felt like a plea and an insult all at once. Like she was begging me to touch her and demanding I stay away.

  I pull out my phone and pull up the text thread between her and I that started days before. Smiling at myself, I take the rest of the Patrón in my glass and let it burn all the way down as I decide to fuck with Lydia a little. And I can’t think of anything she’d appreciate more than my dirty mouth.

  THE CAB DROPS ME AT the curb and I make my way inside, stopping at the front desk to let them know I’m just there to pick up some papers from Rush. The guy nods and escorts me back to what appears to be a private training room on the opposite side of the main area.

  “I think Rush might have hit the showers. I’ll go holler at him if you’d like to have a seat over there.”

  I nod and make my way to the small seating area equipped with an armchair and loveseat, occupied by one woman. I give her a smile and take a seat looking through the glass out into the training room. I lean forward in my seat slightly and squint my eyes. Is that Stone? Fighting a kid?

  I stand and walk to the window to get a closer look. I watch as they circle around each other and when I see that it’s him I shake my head, words falling from my mouth uncontrolled.

  “God, they start them out early around here.” I take my seat again and give the woman, who’s now looking up from her magazine, an apologetic smile.

  “Mr. Keeling’s done wonders for my kid. He helping yours, too?” The second she says “helping” my eyes narrow.

  “What’s he done so far for yours?”

  I avoid her question and go straight for the information.

  “Oh God, Charlie was ready to give up on life itself when my brother, works the front desk sometimes, told me about Stone. He’d been getting bullied for years, but last year when he started junior high, things got physical. He’s only been working with him for a few months, but he’s a completely different kid already.”

  I stare at her, going over what she’s said in my head.

  “Is your kid getting bullied, too?”

  I blink, swallowing to speak. “Uh…no. But I’m glad you told me about the classes, you know, in case…” Rush walks past the glass on the other side and I stand. “Thank you,” I say to the woman. “Hi,” I say as Rush rounds the corner.

  “Hi. Here’s those pap—”

  “You’re blocking the doorway.” A voice cuts in—his voice. Rush turns to the side and Stone stands behind him, the boy beside Stone. Our eyes meet and I know we’re both thinking of yesterday. The feeling in my gut is unmistakable. I feel shitty for saying what I did, and I know I owe him an apology, but at the same time, I feel like those feelings are contingent upon his involvement in the underground syndicate. I internally smack myself because I’m being a child. I’m sorry for what I said to him, not how I feel about what he does.

  Rush and I move to the side and Stone and the boy goes around us and out to the sitting area with his mom. When Stone ruffles his hair and the boy smiles, I feel remorseful, curious…proud. I shake it off, looking back to Rush.

  “Thank you for getting these.” I take the papers. “It will prove helpful.”

  “I doubt you’ll need it, but you’re welcome.”

  “What do you mean?”

  He looks over my shoulder, then back to me. “I’m sure Stone will handle it like he always does.”

  The way he says it gives me an uneasy feeling, but it holds a level of appreciation and loyalty. Before I can question Rush further, I feel his presence behind me.

  “What brings you down to our level, Lydia?” He’s right at my ear, voice both disdainful and caressing against the skin of my neck. My eyes close briefly and I remind myself that I’m the one who owes him an apology.

  “Thanks again for getting these, Rush.”

  “No problem. Let me know if you need anything else.” Rush gives his brother a look before turning on his heel and leaving. I turn my head and look up at Stone, who still stands at my back. When he steps around, coming to stand in front of me, the silence around us thickens and I realize we’re alone.

  “Do you do that for a lot of kids?” I speak, my voice sounding small to my ears.

  “
What’s that?” He points to the papers in my hand.

  “His mother said you’ve helped him a lot.”

  His eyes narrow fractionally, but he doesn’t respond. Instead, he grabs a bottle of water from a nearby bench, downing the contents.

  “I owe you an apology,” I say.

  He hesitates as he pulls a shirt from his gym bag, taking his time, causing my eyes to watch each flex of his body intently, but not chancing a glance at me. I’m sure he’s pissed, offended at the misplaced anger in my words yesterday. But I should remind myself that he doesn’t understand where I’m coming from, and honestly, I don’t understand his position either.

  “Why? Because you come here and see me working with some kid?” he says flatly. He walks up to me, bag thrown over his shoulder.

  “I owed you an apology before I walked through the door tonight, but I won’t lie and say it doesn’t make it easier, knowing you’re doing something helpful instead of harmful with your skills.”

  “What did you get from Rush?” he asks again, unflinching at my comment or his avoidance of it.

  “Academic records. In case we need to lay a foundation for a defense. Do you think we’ll need them?” I don’t want to out Rush, even though what he said seemed insignificant, to Stone it may seem disloyal.

  “Hope not.” His eyes are serious, tone absolute.

  “You gonna lock up, boss?”

  We both whip our head to the doorway, the guy from the front desk poking his head in. Boss? I look back to Stone. He looks away and back to the guy.

  “Yeah, Evan. I got it. Goodnight.”

  Evan waves and walks out of sight.

  “Did you drive?” Stone asks and I return my gaze to him, swallowing.

  “Cab. Let me get out of your way so you can lock up.”

  “I’ve just got to check the changing rooms and showers, then I’ll give you a ride.”

  My eyes widen and I guess he mistakes my shock at his kindness, for fear.

  “Give me a break, Lydia. You spent nearly an entire weekend with me, I’ve been inside your apartment—I’ve been inside you. Give it a rest already.”