Hammered: A Shadows of Chicago Novel

by Rose Hudson

  “You left your sweater,” he says the words, but his face tells such tales that even I know he’d say whatever to get in here with me.

  It’s been there all night and every night before. The look of hatred laced desire that’s only grown in intensity. The unnecessary games and venom dipped words. Among all the bullshit, that same burn has remained all this time, and if I could see my reflection, I’m sure mine would mirror his.

  “I need you far less than you need me, you know that?” I lie on a breath. He steps closer and I feel like I want to scream and take his mouth all at the same time. “You hear me? Don’t get it twisted.” My voice is pleading even to my own ears. The closer he gets, the more I want to reach out and pull him to me.

  “Is that why your skin’s painted red? Why you can’t catch your breath?” He grabs my hip and pulls my front flush against his and I’ve never wanted to dry hump something so bad in my life. I need him between my legs as much as I need the air that fills my lungs.

  “I have this constant urge to touch you inappropriately—inappropriate according to you. To me, it just seems like giving that body what it deserves, what it begs for.” He reads me so well, knows what my body asks of him. I could stand here and deny it till I’m blue and bleeding, but he knows my truth. I push at his chest, managing to do nothing but diminish the little strength I have left. I close my eyes and shake my head.

  “I’m so weak, Stone.” I know one of us needs to be strong right now, resist. But I don’t know who it’s going to be. I slide around him, backing against the cold hardness of the sink.

  “Don’t make me feel guilty for wanting you.” His words are low, deep.

  “Then promise me you won’t break me.” Tonight, I’m making deals with the devil.

  “I’m not here to make promises, I’m here to make you feel good.”

  His hands go to my ass and he lifts me to the sink, wedging himself between my legs that instinctively wrap around his waist. I reach for the hem of his shirt, pulling it over his head, bending to lick his nipple with the flat of my tongue. He sucks in a sharp breath through his teeth. The large plane of his hand slides up my inner thigh, finding the spot where I want him, my hips flexing forward into his touch when he flattens it against my sex.

  “I feel you holding back. Touch me,” I beg.

  “I want to do so much more than touch you, I want to fucking ruin you.” Pure grit drips from each word. I look deep in his eyes.

  “Do it.”

  His fingers reach under the fabric of my panties, pulling tight until it rips. When he plunges two fingers inside, rubbing the wetness up and over my clit, I feel free. No second guessing myself or what I’m doing. No reservation or boundaries.

  It’s strange what desire can do, make you give over to another without knowing you’ll come back in one piece.

  “Make me hurt for you.” I unbutton his jeans, pushing them just enough to go over his hips and pull his cock out. The hard heaviness of him in my hand is delicious. I want to put him in my mouth, while he watches me. But I’m so wet and his fingers aren’t enough of him. I push his hips forward with my legs, bringing him close enough to run the head through my slick heat. He groans into my mouth.

  “Fuck. We can’t do this, Lydia. Not here.” He stands up straight, looking down between us where he’s still in my hand, merely an inch from my opening.

  “What? Why?” My words are breathy, clipped.

  “Because we’re in the fucking bathroom of a tattoo shop and you aren’t that girl.” He steps back, buttoning his pants and reaching for his shirt.

  Reason slips through my fog of hormones, and even though I agree that this isn’t the best place for this to go down, his words anger me.

  “Oh, I’m not? When did you become the morality police?” I slide off the sink, fixing my clothes and finally doing what I came in here to do and putting my shirt on.

  “You deserve better than to be fucked in a bathroom where God knows what’s gone down.”

  “But you can fuck me in a hotel shower?”

  “That was before.”

  “Before what?”

  “Before I had to prove that I’m not some low-life!” All I can do is stare at him, lips parted but unable to speak. When silence falls around us, I realize how loud we were. Just then someone knocks on the door.

  “Everything okay in there?” Stone doesn’t answer before he opens the door and storms out. I take in the look of surprise on Kane’s face before shutting the door again.

  I need to calm down and process what just happened before I walk out into a room full of people. Taking in my reflection I smooth my hair and straighten my clothes.

  I realize that I’m not angry at him or what he’s said, I’m angry at myself for making him feel like he needed to be anything other than himself. Do I agree with what he does? No. In fact, I hate it. I hate it not just because it’s heinous, but because it makes me relate us to Madison and Damon. I don’t want to relate to them. I don’t want to continue to believe that Stone is pulling wool over my eyes just like Damon did to Madi. I don’t want to think that my gut is wrong about him and that he is anything like Damon.

  I don’t like mind-fucking myself and second guessing the way I feel about him.

  Releasing a heavy sigh, I finally open the door and step out, unwilling to be locked in a room with myself and my thoughts any longer. Of course, everyone turns to look at me when I walk through the room, but that’s not what matters. I need to find Stone and apologize for putting either one of us in a position like that. I led him on and I need to fix it.

  “Do I pay you or pay at the front?” I ask Consolo when I reach his chair, grabbing my purse from the arm. “Stone already took care of it. You’re good to go.”

  I nod. “Thanks again.”

  I look around but don’t see Stone anywhere. Kane, Kelli, Tracen and a few others sit in the lounge area, but other than them, the place is empty.

  “Fuck him. Let’s go, Kelli.” I catch Kane’s eyes widening as I turn to face Kelli again. She looks a little proud and maybe a little shocked? I don’t know because I don’t care.

  I push through the door and out onto the sidewalk, the crisp breeze and mix of car horns and the chatter of people hitting me as I do. I whistle for a cab and it eases to the curb.

  “I think I’m going to ride with them,” Kelli says over my shoulder. I pause opening the back door of the cab, looking back at her. I try not to let evidence of my hurt feelings show, but I hear it anyway when I speak.

  “Maybe better luck for me next time, huh?” I give a weak smile. “Goodnight, guys.”

  DAMON DANIELS WAS A NOTORIOUSLY dirty fighter. No, nothing’s clean about the underground syndicate, but for the most part, fighters respected each other enough to fight clean. The goal for most us was to claim the winning purse, but for him, it seemed to be the opposite. I never fought the guy, never even spoke to him. But I’ve heard stories.

  To know that Lydia would put me in the same category as someone like him not only pisses me off, it makes me question myself. It makes me question every time I’ve ever struck another person in anger. It makes me question how well I know myself, and if she’s right, could I ever get angry enough to hurt her or anyone else outside the ring.

  I wanted to take her against that bathroom sink, feel her on the inside. But I kept hearing her say Demon in my mind, over and over, and I couldn’t. Knowing that’s who she compared me to was more than I could process.

  I’m surprised to see the light on when I pull up at Jerry’s and see Mom sitting at the kitchen table. I don’t know how I ended up here other than I just drove until I looked up and saw where I was. The clock on the truck dash says ten-forty, so she’s only been home from work for about thirty minutes and Jerry left for work an hour ago. I’ve raised hell about her and Rush being alone all night, but being an overnight security guard is the only job Jerry could find that pays decently.

  Tapping on the side door, I peer through the g
lass. Celia jumps a little at the sound but relaxes when she sees that it’s me.

  “Are you okay?” she asks as soon as the door opens. I nod, coming inside. “You scared me half to death. Can’t remember the last time you came by this late unless someone was in trouble. Thorn okay?” I nod again. “I was just making some tea. Want a cup?”

  “I’m good, Mom. Just driving home, saw the kitchen light on.” She eyes me skeptically over her shoulder, pouring water from the kettle into a mug with one hand, squeezing the muscle of her shoulder with the other. “Work late tonight?” I ask, noticing she’s still in her housekeeping uniform. She’s worked at the Ritz Carlton for twenty years, even when I was making enough money fighting to carry the household on my own. She wouldn’t stand for it.

  “You know how it is, people don’t show up for work, so you gotta pull extra weight.” She grins over the top of her mug, taking the seat across from me, the same kitchen table she’s had for all these years filling the space between us.

  “Between the money you guys make, and the money I give Jerry, why in the hell don’t you buy a new kitchen table? Or am I going to have to add that to the list, too?”

  “You know Rush’s scholarship isn’t going to cover everything. I’ve been setting money aside.”

  “Everyone’s working their ass off and nothing ever changes around here. I don’t get it.”

  “We’ve got bills to pay.”

  “What, gambling debt?”

  “Why’s it matter all the sudden? What’s going on with you?” She sets her mug down on the table almost too hard, glaring at me. I glare back for a long second before standing, walking to the kitchen window and looking out at nothing. “You come by at eleven, mad at the world and trying to pick a fight with your own mother. Talk to me, Stone.” I can’t think of one single time I’ve ever spoken to Celia, or anyone about a girl. I don’t know if it’s because I’m a private person, or if there’s just never been a reason to because no girl has ever gotten under my skin the way Lydia does.

  “Don’t worry about me. I want to hear more about the finances around here because it’s feeling more and more like you’re hiding something.” She turns her back to me. I walk back to the table, her looking down into her mug like she’ll find the answers there. I’ve struck a chord when I was honestly just lashing out because I’m pissed at myself.

  “Okay, I’ll make a deal with you. You tell me what’s really wrong with you, and I’ll tell you what’s really going on around here.” She looks up at me. Pulling my chair out from the wall, I sit back down.

  With elbows on my knees and teeth worrying my lip, I feel like I’ve just taken a step backward about ten years. Growing up, if we were in trouble, which was often, this is the spot we’d sit and Celia would chew on our asses until she felt she’d gotten her point across. It kept Jerry from having to get involved which was best for everyone.

  Sitting here, about to open up to her about Lydia, I realize I am in trouble. I’ve always been a creature of habit, disciplined and opposed to change. But even more than our bullshit tiff back and forth, me trying to prove she’s no better than me, she makes me want to change and be the best at everything. She challenges me and she takes no pity on me. The fire in me has burned white hot for the first time in a long time, and I’d be lying if I didn’t give Lydia the credit.

  “The attorney that I hired to help Rush, well I met his daughter the night before Rush got arrested. She works at the firm and at our initial meeting, she found out that I fight. At first I thought she was just being stuck-up, that she was just a little rich girl who thought she was better. So, I more or less set out to prove her wrong.” When I look up, Celia’s face is void of emotion or judgment. “But then she told me about her best friend and ever since it’s been more about me proving her wrong to myself.”

  “What about her best friend?”

  “She’s in a coma. Has been for months. She dated a guy who fought in the underground and apparently, he was some scum bag, almost beat her to death.”

  “So, she thinks you’re like him?” I nod. “Do you think you’re like him?” Celia scoots to the edge of her seat, concern befalling her features.

  “I’d never put my hands on a woman. Ever.” I lean back and really look at her, the woman that has been the only real mother I’ve ever had. “But I wonder if I’m any better. I mean, we were both trained to evoke pain in others and got paid to do it. Am I just as dangerous?” She doesn’t reply instantly. Instead, she grabs my hand and lets the words settle around us, the echo of them bouncing around in my head.

  “You know the answer to that, Stone. There is only good in you. I know because I’ve seen it, felt it, been the beneficiary of it. When you came into my life you not only made me a mother, you kept this family above water. You were just a little boy and you saved us. You fought because you are a fighter—not in the underground, but in life. You were a man long before you should’ve been, and for that, I take the blame.”

  “Why would you blame yourself, Mom? It was Jerry that—”

  “It wasn’t Jerry’s fault, it was mine.” My face folds in confusion and she nods. “Jerry actually saved me.”

  “From what?”

  “My father and an arranged marriage I didn’t want.” She gets up and pulls the kettle from the stove, refilling it and placing it back on the stove. “Back then everyone had someone in their family whose hands were dirty. It’s Chicago. With Capone and his guys running around, sticking their fingers into all the pies, someone you knew was in the business, and it’s just trickled down the generations since. Mine just happened to be my father.” She makes her way back over, opting to lean against the wall beside me rather than sit in the chair. “When he told me I was expected to marry this guy, I cried and said, ‘How can you expect me to marry him? I don’t love him.’ He didn’t hold his tongue, didn’t spare my feelings. He said I didn’t have to love him, but I was going to marry him. We all did it, it’s business. A part of me died. He was talking about my mother. The woman who slaved for him every damn day for nearly thirty years. My heart broke for her and for myself and I knew I had to get out.” The kettle starts to rumble on the stove, preparing to whistle. I always thought it was odd that we never had grandparents and I guess this answers that. It doesn’t make it easier to watch tears well in her eyes, though. She never cries. She takes the kettle from the stove and pours the steaming liquid over tea bags in two cups this time.

  “So how does Jerry come into play?” I ask as she hands me my cup.

  “Jerry was my best friend, or so I thought. Come to find out he’d been in love with me for years. He said I hadn’t needed a boyfriend, I had just needed a friend so that’s what he tried to be to me. But when I came to him crying, saying that I was going to have to marry some man I didn’t know, he told me he would take me away from there. He went to my father and lied, told him he’d already asked me to marry him. My father told him if he wanted me he’d have to pay. Said he’d just make us look over our shoulder for the rest of our lives, be in debt to them always.” She stands straighter, pulling the bottom of her apron up to dab her eyes quickly before smoothing it back into place

  “Monetary debt? So, what, you give them money? How much, how often?”

  “Two thousand. Every month. Like clockwork.”

  “For twenty years?” She nods and I stand, running my hands through my hair and doing the math in my head. “That’s half a million fucking dollars. What the hell, Mom?” Tears pour down her cheeks and I grasp her shoulders, making her look at me. “You aren’t doing that shit anymore. Not one more fucking dollar. If anyone comes around looking for money, you send them to me.”

  “See, I knew you would do this. I wanted to tell you years ago, but you were always so damn determined to fix everything. I just figured you’d get yourself killed in the long run, so I didn’t and I’ve hated myself for it because it isn’t Jerry you should hate, it’s me, Stone. I did this. I’m so sorry, son. I truly am.” I pull
her in for a hug, thoughts and emotions I can’t grasp or process. One thing I know for certain, is that she’s my mother.

  Yeah, there are feelings I’ll have to deal with and anger and hurt at the thought of so much of my life being spent paying for other’s mistakes, but I wouldn’t even say they were her mistakes. Any father that could put his teenage daughter up for marriage to a man for the sake of a business deal isn’t a man at all, and I can’t help but feel a bit of pride that I could help her at all because if truth be known, I’d do it all over again. Celia did for us what our own family wasn’t willing to do for us. The least I could do is hand my winnings over to them. My only regret is that I can’t do more, can’t void her debt to them entirely.

  “Listen, don’t say anything to Jerry about this. Don’t tell him I know. You’re going to quit paying this money and if anything happens, I’ll handle it.”

  “I’m so sorry, Stone.” She moves to take our mugs to the sink, busying herself because she’s never able to stand still for more than five minutes and because a person can only apologize so many times for something. I push our chairs in and grab my coat from the back, slipping it on.

  “So, what are you going to do about this girl—” She looks at me in question.

  “Lydia,” I say.

  “Lydia.” She nods.

  “For the first time in history, I think I’ll take a page from Jerry’s book.” She grins in understanding and I kiss her on the top of the head.

  Instead of discussing this over the phone or meeting him at a place of his choosing, I opt for a public place and a face-to-face conversation. Before I can finish my first beer, the senator’s town car pulls to the curb in front of where I sit at an outside table at Dino’s pizza.

  Two men exit the car and one opens the back passenger door, Joseph Cameron making his way to the table while his men, one on the phone and the other lighting a cigarette, stay on the sidewalk. When he pulls out a chair to sit, I speak before giving him a chance to open his mouth.