But he also sees the feminine side of me, and likes that too. He drew me as I am, and took me somewhere romantic and exciting that I’d never been. Best of all, he looks at me like I’m the sexiest woman he’s ever seen.
Hell, a large part of me wants to invite him over for Sunday dinner with the family so I could see how he gets along with Patrick and Dad, but that’s something we’re going to have to ease into, obviously. Matthew’s appeal is creeping into other parts of my life outside the sexual.
And it feels good.
I don’t give a shit about his last name—or the assholes threatening me.
LATER AT HOME I PACE around, thoughts of Matt crowding everything else from my mind.
Anyone could have walked into the shop and busted us going at it and I knew that but kept going. The shop could have started on fire and it may not have caught my attention while he was inside me.
He said he’d missed me. Maybe he meant he missed the competitiveness when I wasn’t racing with him, but he missed something about me. The sexiest man I’ve ever licked thought about me when I wasn’t there, and came to find me—and came prepared with condoms.
Maybe that was a bit presumptuous on his part. But the first time we were together, he was so fiercely protective of me, worried about the assholes at the race—as if I was worried about them.
The look in his eyes made my legs hollow. I want to make him look at me like that again.
Ugh, I sleep with him a couple times and I’m already a fiend.
I send him a text inviting him over.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Matthew
I could sure go for some company right now. Any recommendations? ;)
Yeah, find someone who isn’t a total waste of your time. Instead, I type: I’d be there if I could. Bro needs me. I miss you like crazy, Wild Woman
She replies right away. Aww. Give him a hug from me. And take one for yourself as well...
Not going to happen, but the idea of giving Luke a squeeze from Andy Perris makes me smile.
I put the smile away along with my morality, and tuck the cell into my pocket, returning my gaze to the woods around me.
Aaron Samson made me a deal I couldn’t refuse.
One night. Five packages. In exchange for delivering them, he’ll wipe away the rest of Luke’s debt—just shy of forty thousand dollars.
The unspoken threat was there if I said no, but I wasn’t about to turn that deal down. Another unspoken part of the deal, was that if I do this, Aaron leaves Andy alone.
Dad and Kingsley’s efforts have dried up the past week or so, and they were getting more desperate, applying more pressure on me to go harder. I could rob ten stores and not wipe out the debt like this one night’s activities will do. Both are risky as hell, but at least there aren’t any cameras in the deals I’ll be doing.
Choices. Take all five packages at once, meaning less trips, less time out on the street, but a higher risk if I’m caught, or if someone tries to jump me. Or, I deliver one package at a time, taking the money to Samson after each drop.
I choose the latter. If something goes wrong like it did with Luke, and one of the “clients” robs me, they won’t get all the drugs and all the money. It would still suck, but this lowers the potential of what I’d have to replace.
Lowering my sentence as well, if I’m busted.
I straddle my bike, idling for a quick getaway, but not revving it to draw needless attention. The campsite’s pretty quiet, but I don’t want a concerned parent worrying about the bad biker, or someone calling the cops for a noise complaint, busting me with a saddlebag full of heroin.
Or a bunch of money I can’t explain earning.
The first two exchanges go smoothly, as do the drops for Aaron. After the initial pick-ups, I leave the cash with a woman behind the counter of a coffee shop, and grab the second package from a garbage can in the kitchen. The second time, I meet a guy in a crowded club to drop off the envelope of cash and have a drink to make it look less suspicious if I’m being followed. By the time I get back to my bike, there’s another package of dope in the bag with a location scrawled by hand on the envelope.
I’ll say this for Aaron Samson—he knows what he’s doing. So far he hasn’t touched the cash or drugs I have, which would mean I couldn’t implicate him if I was picked up by the cops. He hasn’t been a part in any of these exchanges. It’s smart.
Third exchange. It’s not any easier than the other two. Sure, it goes smoothly, but knowing I’m part of the reason this shit ends up on the streets, ruining the lives of the people who buy it, makes my stomach turn.
After fifteen minutes of waiting, a thin guy with a black jacket and baggy suit pants approaches. “You a cop?”
“No.” Not like I’d tell him if I was. I’d return the question, but the dark circles under his eyes, and the way he keeps sniffing back his post-nasal drip indicates he isn’t a cop either—and tells me he samples his own product. Bad idea for a dealer—you only end up being your own best client and worst nightmare.
He hands me an envelope full of cash. It’s not my job to count it and hold these assholes accountable; I’ve only got to give them their gear and get their money to Samson. The less time of my life spent interacting with these people the better.
I’ve also kept my gloves on the whole time so as not to leave any fingerprints on anything. I may be desperate to help my brother, but I’m not stupid. If Samson tries to double cross me, or these pricks try to sell me out if they get busted, they’re going to have to work for it.
Something in this guy’s posture makes me wary.
“You new?”
I don’t answer. He sniffs and looks me from head to toe. Maybe he’s toying with the idea of jumping me. Maybe this is a test from Aaron, but I don’t have time to waste on this piss ant. I toss the well-wrapped package of drugs a few feet behind him, and take off on my bike when he turns to grab it.
No bullet hits my back, and I breathe a little easier. If the little tweaker’s annoyed, that’s his deal—I don’t care if he’s happy with the envelope’s contents. I’ve got his money, two pick-ups, and two more drops to make.
And it’s only two AM.
THREE-THIRTY-SEVEN finds me pulling up to an upscale apartment building and ringing buzzer 1909. I don’t like this. The other meetings and drops were in public, easy for me to get lost in the crowd, or lose someone quickly, even raise a stink and get a lot of attention if need be.
The door buzzes open without a word spoken, so they must be watching me on the security cam. Tension clings to me with every step to the elevator and up to the nineteenth floor, hooks itself into my gut as I walk down the hall, and tugs when I knock on the door. What am I walking into? An ambush? A sting? Is Aaron going to use this opportunity to teach my family a lesson through me?
I knock twice on the door.
“It’s open.”
This apartment probably isn’t his main residence—I’m under no illusions Aaron trusts me, or would live in a place without gated security or a guarded perimeter—but it’s damn nice. Top of the line everything floor to ceiling.
He’s standing behind a dark wood wet bar in the corner of a spacious living room. The air conditioner is on full blast to counter the blazing fire in the marble fireplace. “Can I get you a drink?”
It would be stupid to reject his hospitality with one foot over the finish line. Besides, my nerves could use it after tonight—not that I’ll let him see that. “Sure.”
As I take a seat on one of the stools, he pops the top from a bottle of beer he pulls from the fridge, setting it on the coaster in front of me.
One of the baddest guys in the state uses coasters.
He tops up his scotch and appraises me with his gaze. “I’m impressed.”
“By what?”
“You nailed every drop and pick up, didn’t get caught, and you did it twice as fast as anyone I’ve ever had.”
His praise doesn’t make me feel all warm a
nd fuzzy. “Yeah, well, you don’t have me. This was a one-time thing, remember?”
He takes a sip from his drink, ice cubes rattling against the glass. “Oh, I know. I could make it worth your while, though. People try for years to get on my crew, Matthew. I’m offering you a position. I’d set you up in a place, upgrade that bike of yours—not that there’s anything wrong with it. I’m not talking low placement, either. You’d be a valuable asset, have some power of your own. In a couple months you’d be set for life.”
“Or doing life.”
He shakes his head. “Not you, man. You’re smart. Careful. Rob told me how you threw the gear behind him and took off before he even pulled anything. You read the situation but didn’t add heat or overreact.”
“That was a test.”
He smiles. “Had to try and see if you’d keep your head if things went sideways. You did.”
“Why me? You have a whole slew of people trying to get into this empire you’ve built. What makes me the one you want to be a part of things?”
“You’re good at what you do. You’re thorough. I need tough guys who are also smart and honest—at least when it comes to me. I know I’d never have to deal with you skimming off the top.” He smiles. “At least tell me you’ll think about it.”
“I liked where I was at before all this shit went down. No offense.”
“None taken. There’s a lot of money to be made. And you know what that means?”
I sigh. “Yeah. People trying to take it from you.”
“Security.” He sits forward. “It’s knowing you’ve made something. People respect that.”
“They fear it.”
“Same thing,” he says dismissively. “Give me six months. I’ll make us ridiculous money.”
“You already have ridiculous money.”
He grins. “I know. I’m offering to deal you into the table.”
Literally. If it wasn’t for the knowledge of the truly horrific things he’s done—or had done—to people, I’d almost want to accept. Aaron’s charismatic and is offering the kind of lifestyle most people will never even touch. But at the end of the day, I know that what I’ve already done tonight is going to be hard for me to live with. Six months of this? He’d have me doing worse and worse things until all I could do was stay in the lifestyle and surround myself with people as equally bad or worse just to make myself feel better by comparison until it all came crashing down like it inevitably does.
I hold out my hand. “Sorry. It’s still a no. Thanks for the exchange tonight. Luke and my family and I appreciate it.”
He shakes my hand. “If you weren’t as good of a guy, it would suit me better.”
I smile grimly. “If I wasn’t as good, you’d need to be worried.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Andy
NAILED is a small salon crammed into a space barely larger than a walk-in-closet, run by three glorious women who only seem to know English when it suits them.
Chug recommended the place, and we’ve been coming here ever since. On her first visit, she got a surprise upper lip wax, as the eldest esthetician, Maxi, said it would make her look ‘more charming’ and ripped the peach fuzz from Chug’s face before she knew what was happening. Apparently I’m charming enough, or my fuzz is too light to offend Maxi, as I’ve never been the recipient of such a vicious attack.
Becka paints the stain on my eyelashes with a disposable mascara wand. “You want eyebrows too?”
Hmm. Mine aren’t invisible, but it might be fun to try something slightly more dramatic. I love the way Chug’s dark arches frame her eyes. That would be way too much with my hair color, but if it was subtle enough it would be okay. “Sure, but—”
“Hold still.” A cold cream is combed onto my brows before I can utter another syllable. She must have been about to ambush me with a surprise brow tint anyways, and asking was a formality.
Hopefully she hasn’t gone too dark.
She finishes with my lashes and does something else to my eyebrows that involves more cream and some tutting, and I lie here for a few more minutes, waiting for the brows. The door opens and a bell tinkles. “Hey, Andy. Everyone.”
I lie still as Chug’s heels clicking on the floor draw closer to me. “Hi.”
“Hold still,” Becka admonishes as she swoops in to complete the brows. More cream, then it’s wiped off and I’m spun around in the chair for a look.
“Oh, that’s nice.” I tilt my head from side to side, checking out the angles with my new dramatic eyebrows. I don’t look like a Gaga makeover gone wrong; it’s subtle, but makes me look well-groomed and my eyes seem more striking. It’s like wearing makeup without wearing makeup. This is definitely an addition I’ll be adding to my regular treatments. “Thank you!” I grin at Becka and make my way to a manicure station beside Chug. “What’s new?”
She selects a dark polish and turns to me with raised brows and a smugness curling the corners of her mouth. “A little birdie told me you were on a date with a certain bad boy.”
Way to dive right in. “Jesus, Chug, who’s your source? I’m impressed and a bit unsettled.”
“That would be telling. Well? It’s true then? Don’t deny it; your face says it all.”
After carrying this secret around to hide the truth from Dad and Patch, finally being able to talk about Matthew sends a rush of excitement through me. I nod. “We’ve been seeing each other.” I pick out the matte and shiny black polishes for my fingers, and a pretty pale pink for my toes.
Chug levels me with a stern look. “This has nothing to do with those races I gave you shit about, does it? You don’t have some weird fast and furious and gone in sixty seconds thing, right?”
“Nope.” Mostly.
“How much of Matthew have you been seeing?”
She is shameless. My face flames, and at her cackle I redirect the conversation to her. “What about you? No one new twirling your sockets?”
“You need to work on your innuendos in the off season.”
I grin and waggle my eyebrows. “Hopefully there won’t be an off season.”
“Ooo, sounds juicy!” She holds up a hand. “Don’t make a joke about juiciness.”
“Gross. Seriously, I’m not used to it. He rides, so he gets that side of me.”
“The front or the back?”
“I thought we were over innuendoes?”
She inspects a nail. “No, you were the one taking a break to work on technique. My game is tight.”
“Oh? You’re seeing someone?”
“Maybe I’ve got my eye on someone, but we were talking about you and Matthew Mercy.”
“He’s a good guy.”
Sensing drama, Becka raises her own very groomed eyebrows and focuses on my cuticles.
“Ah, so how good is he?” Chug leans in. “You can tell me.”
As much as I’d love to swoon with Chug, it’s so outside my norm, shyness silences me. “Are you sure you wouldn’t rather talk about work?”
Withering scorn radiates my way from her, Becka, and Chug’s manicurist, Gina.
“Fine!” I hold my free hand up. “He’s amazing. We were racing, and I kicked his bike, trying to take him out of the race.”
Chug snorts. “You really need to fine-tune those flirting skills.”
Gina nods.
“Well, whatever. It worked for us, and after some, I don’t know, unconventional flirting, we went on a date.”
“Where did he take you on your first date? Boosting cars by candlelight?”
I lift my chin, fiercely annoyed at the gentle teasing.
“Hey,” she lowers her voice. “I’m sorry. I was just poking fun, I didn’t know it was serious.”
“It’s not that it’s super serious. It’s that he gets a bad rep, you know?”
“And if he’s really not a bad guy, then that’s unfair. But be careful, okay? You’re not the most cautious person ever, and I don’t want you to get hurt. On the racetrack or off it.”
I nod. “I’m as careful as I can be with racing. I’ve even taken a little break lately.”
“Then maybe I should be taking him out for a thank you dinner.”
I smile. I’d actually love for them to meet and hang out. They’d get along really well. “I mean, he definitely has a past, Chug, but he’s really not the hard ass everyone thinks he is.”
She scrunches her face. “Not a hard ass? Is it saggy? Does he have old man butt?”
And like that, my good mood is back. “Oh, no. You could bounce quarters off that sucker.”
“And the date he took you on?”
I close my eyes, remembering the way he moved me around the floor, and then the way we moved together when the music slowed down. “He took me dancing at Leche.”
“What? No monster trucks?” Chug feigns outrage. “Seriously, though, wasn’t I right about Leche?”
“You were.”
Her smugness is overpowered by her curiosity. “He may have good taste, but can he dance?”
I nod and sigh as Becka seizes my other hand. “Oh boy, can his hips move. He’s got stamina and rhythm for days.”
“Andy Perris, you sound dangerously like you’re enjoying yourself!”
“I have been.” I grin, thinking of Matt. “He gets me and accepts everything about my lifestyle without trying to force me into changing.”
“This sounds like more than a fling. I’d slap you for holding out on me, but my nails are wet.”
I hope it’s more than a fling.
Manis finished at the same time, the girls turn us from the tables and start on our feet. For a while we just sit with our eyes closed, enjoying the slide of lotioned hands kneading their way up and down our feet and legs. I almost groan it feels so good, but given our last topic of conversation, that might give Becka the wrong idea.
“You said there was someone you’re interested in?” I prompt Chug.
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