by Roxie Rivera
His smirk faltered, and he let go of my hand. Glancing away from me, he fished a key ring out of his pocket. He gestured to a container near the end of the row. I walked beside him in silence for a few seconds. "Money," I said eventually. "It's the smell of money."
He cast an amused glance my way. "Oh, is that what it is?"
"That's what Daddy called it. It's the smell of opportunity."
"For people like you? Yes. For people like me? Not so much."
I rolled my eyes and let it go. Twenty plus years had etched that chip into his shoulder. There was no way I could buff it out in the short time we were going to spend together.
Out of necessity, I silently added. I'm only with him because I have to be.
But that wasn't really true, was it?
"You were close to your father?" He sounded genuinely interested.
"Yes. After my mom…" My voice faded as I tried to find the nicest way to put that story. "After my mom…died, he took me out of private school and had me tutored at home. He would drag me from one business meeting to another. Before I knew it, I was sitting in the corner of his office every day, doing my math homework and listening to conversations about arbitrage and financial instruments."
"He was grooming you to takeover someday." Ben stopped in front of the container and flicked through his keys until he found the right one. "You're lucky that he loved you so much. A lot of kids aren't that lucky."
Did he count himself among the unlucky? I wanted to ask about his parents but something about the hard set to his jaw warned me not to do it.
He jammed the key into the padlock and gave it a twist. After removing the lock, he shoved down the levered handle of the door and started to push the heavy slab of metal to the left. "Well, here's your Baby."
But she wasn't there.
*
Ben's stomach dropped when he realized the container was empty. He shoved the door all the way open and stormed into the oversized metal box. Dread gripped his gut. Swearing up a storm in English and Albanian, he rushed out of the container and straight over to the one across from it. He found the right key and made quick work of unlocking the door.
When he shoved the door aside, he discovered the Ferrari that should have been there was missing too. His stomach clenching, he moved to the container to the left and the one on the right, finding them all empty. The fifth and final container he searched was the only one that held a car. He let out a relieved sigh upon finding the '69 Chevy Camaro.
"Ben?" Aston's soft voice interrupted his racing thoughts.
"Not now," he growled unkindly while digging his phone from his pocket. He should apologize for his rudeness to her, but he had a bad feeling about the missing vehicles. This was the sort of thing that got men killed. He had been the last man here. Was he followed? Who had the balls to rob the Albanian fucking mafia?
He pinched the bridge of his nose while he waited for Besian to answer. He mentally calculated the time difference. It was very early morning in Tirana. What a fucking wakeup call the boss was about to receive!
"Someone had better be dying," Besian snarled, his voice husky from sleep. He was still recovering from the bullet wound that had nearly killed him. Although he waved off everyone's concern, Ben knew him too well. Besian was hurting and struggling to get enough rest. His responsibilities weren’t making it easy for him to recuperate.
"I'm at the holding pens. The cars we boosted tonight are gone."
"Gone." Ben heard the rustle of sheets and a hiss of pain. "What do you mean they're gone?"
Not wanting to get into the side deal he had made with Aston, he chose to lie. "I lost my phone and thought I might have left it in the last car I parked in the containers. Nothing looks disturbed. The locks weren't cut or broken."
"But the cars are gone?"
"All but the Camaro."
"Did Zec give you a pickup time?"
"Tomorrow night," he answered and checked his watch. "He's probably just getting close to US airspace now. When I spoke to him while he was in Dubai, he said he would arrive around three this morning. He would have called me if he wanted to move up the timetable."
Besian made an angry sound. "I need to make some calls. It could be someone from the outside, but if the locks weren't broken…"
"Yes." He hated to think one of their own men would betray them. He shuddered to think what Besian would do if the culprit came from their own ranks. It would be bloody and brutal and the sort of work Devil relished.
"Look, if it's the cartel coming back on us for all that shit that went down with Abby Kirkwood and Jack Connolly, I want you to stay out of it. There's enough bloodshed going on in Mexico. We don't need it here. I've already spoken to Lalo about the contracts we had with him. We've settled it, and we're done."
It was the one point of business Ben didn't agree with and the only time he had dared to argue with Besian. Lalo Contreras, the one-time low-level enforcer and now kingpin, was good for business. He always needed modified cars for his dealers, and Ben excelled in building traps, the hidey holes the dealers used for stowing drugs, money and guns. When Besian had cut off that business, he had cut Ben's earnings in half. It wasn't an easy thing to swallow, but he had choked it down because that was the decision the boss had made. His loyalty wouldn't allow him to do anything else.
"Listen, I want you to—"
"Ben?" Aston whispered urgently. "I think—"
He cut her off with a wave of his hand and prayed the boss hadn't heard her in the background. Apparently he hadn't because he kept talking and laying out his plan.
"Ben!" She was slightly louder this time but still he didn't turn around. Instead he tried to pay close attention to his orders.
"Right. Okay. I'll get it done."
"Good. Call me if anything changes."
"Yeah." His phone was still pressed to his ear when Aston planted both hands against his back and shoved him forward. He lost his balance and tumbled onto the hood of the Camaro. Whirling around and braced for an attack, he spotted a flash of blonde hair as she leapt into the container with him.
"Help me! Hurry! They're coming!"
"What?" He didn't wait for her answer. He rushed to her side and hurriedly shut the door, leaving only a small crack so he could see. "Who?"
"I don't know." She clutched onto his arm. He was surprised that he didn’t have the slightest inclination to shake her off. Instead, he slid his arm around her shoulders and dragged her closer. "I walked to the other end of the container while you were talking. I thought maybe I might find something. Tire treads or whatever," she explained. "I saw two SUVs and panicked. What if the people who stole Baby are back for this one?"
"If it's them, we need to get out of here." She was a liability. She had no weapon and no fighting experience. If anything happened to her, there would be too much heat and attention turned onto the family. Besian really would have his balls if they ended up on the front page of the newspaper.
Glancing back at the Camaro, he decided that running was their best option. His bike would leave her too exposed. He angled his face and peered through the small slit he had left open to see the SUVs coming closer. There wouldn't be much time to do it right.
"Get in the driver's seat. The keys are in the ignition. We'll only have a few seconds," he warned, already putting his weight against the door.
He expected her to protest but she ran to the driver's seat, managed to get the door open wide enough to slip inside and started the classic muscle car. The second the engine purred to life, he threw open the door and turned back to see her rolling down the passenger side window. He jumped out of the container, giving her plenty of room to spin out of the box and jumped back when the car hit the ground. Grabbing the roof, he swung his legs through the window and wriggled through it as she punched the gas hard enough to throw him into the dash.
"You should probably put on your seatbelt," she warned, slamming the gas pedal even harder.
"No shit," he grunte
d while bracing his boot against the dash. Reaching down, he jerked free his backup weapon, cursing his mistake of leaving his favored one locked in his desk, and twisted in his seat to see if they were being followed. He turned just in time to see the lead SUV slam into his motorcycle. The impact tossed the bike into the air and into the closest container. His anger soared, but he didn't have time for plotting his revenge. A young kid, maybe twenty-one, armed with an automatic weapon leaned out a window.
"Keep your head down!" He put his hand on her soft blonde hair and applied pressure. "Keep driving."
The first gunshot missed the car but the second, third and fourth ricocheted off the trunk and roof of the Camaro. Praying that she wouldn't wreck, he fired back at the SUV in the lead. He was careful with his shots and mindful of his short supply of ammunition. Instead of trying for the tires or the engine block, he aimed at the driver, contorting his body into a position that put him at high risk of being hit to get the best shot.
Three rounds fired—and the final hit its mark. The SUV careened into a container and crumpled. The vehicle following it clipped the rear end of the wrecked SUV but didn't stop. He started to fire again to stop the second SUV, but Aston gripped his shirt, her fingernails scratching his stomach. "Hold on!"
He had only a moment to react. He slid back down into his seat just in time to see her take a turn that most stunt drivers couldn’t make. Her pretty little foot, encased in that outrageously expensive high heel, moved expertly between the clutch and the gas and ghosted over the brake while her hand worked the gear shift without hesitation. He wasn't sure whether he should be terrified his life was in her hands or aroused by how damned sexy she was behind the wheel.
She barreled down a side street and made another wicked turn that almost sent him flying out the window. Remembering her earlier comment about the seatbelt, he grabbed the thin strap and hurriedly jammed the latch into place. The lap belt wouldn't be much use in a head-on collision but it was better than nothing.
With her lips pursed and her jaw tight, Aston put more distance between them and the SUV trying to catch up. She hooked another wicked right, but he was ready for this one and had his hand on the door panel to stay in place. He wasn't sure how the hell she managed to stay in her seat—or how she managed to look so fucking hot doing it. Something told him Jack McNeil had taught his daughter more than just business tactics.
The SUV chasing them misjudged the turn and lost control. It hit the corner of an abandoned building and would drive no farther tonight. She didn't slow down though. Punching the gas, she tore down the street like a bat out of hell and didn't ease up until she hit the 225.
As if overcome by the adrenaline, she started to giggle. The sound made his lips twitch with amusement. Her childish giggles morphed into throaty belly laughter. She tossed her head back—and he felt himself teetering on the precipice and in real danger of falling.
He didn't think he had ever seen anything so beautiful as Aston McNeil laughing, her cheeks flushed with adrenaline and her eyes sparkling with relief. She held out a trembling hand. "Look at me! I'm shaking."
Unable to help himself, he reached for her hand. The spark of contact made her inhale sharply. He interlaced their fingers and grinned at her. "You crazy, beautiful girl!"
She snorted in the most unladylike way but didn't drop his hand. With fingers entwined, she lowered their joined hands to the gear shift. "We can't go back to your garage."
"No," he agreed. "And we can't go back to your place or mine. They'll have recognized me, and if this was an inside job, they'll know you're with me." Considering their precarious position, he added, "We have to stay off the main highways. This car has probably been reported as stolen so keep it under the speed limit and be careful."
She shot him a look that said she could charm her way out of even a situation as severe as being pulled over in a stolen car. He would like to think that she wouldn't turn on him, maybe even call him a kidnapper or worse, but his childhood had taught him to be wary.
"Where are we going, Ben?"
He had a place in mind, but she wasn't going to like it.
Chapter Three
A brothel. He brought me to a brothel!
"Quit staring," Ben hissed. Taking my hand, he tugged me along beside him. "And keep your head down. You might see someone you recognize."
The thought of it mortified me. I tried to follow his instructions but couldn't quell my raging curiosity. I would never set foot in a place like this again so I might as well gawk. He was right, though. I did see someone I noticed. The familiar face of a federal judge who used to play golf with my father stunned me. Ben must have felt my shock because he pulled me tight against him and angled his body to block my view and keep my face hidden from others.
I hurried to match his steps as he led me upstairs and to a room near the end of the right hall. He unlocked the door and pushed me inside before locking the door behind us. A lamp burned in the corner of the lavishly decorated boudoir. Like the rest of the historic home tucked away in one of the old, quiet neighborhoods of the city, the bedroom showcased beautiful antique furnishing and rich colors.
Turning to face Ben, I noted the way he leaned against the door. He seemed tense and ready for a fight. I didn't feel like giving him one. Curious about how he knew about this high-end brothel, I asked the obvious question, "So…um…do you come here a lot?"
He shot me a warning look. "I don't have to pay for pussy."
His crass reply rendered me speechless. He glanced away from me and shoved off the door. His next words shocked me even more than the last ones. "I was born here. My mother was one of the most famous prostitutes this town has ever known."
My lips parted, but I couldn’t think of anything smart to say. Suddenly that chip on his shoulder made sense. How many wealthy men had pawed at his mother? Was his own dad a member of my exclusive social circle? Was he a bastard son that had been shut out of his rich father's life?
Following Ben's slow movement around the room, I decided to keep my mouth shut and let him say whatever he needed to say. If he didn't want to say anything that was okay, too.
"My father was one of her customers." He toyed with a porcelain figurine on a side table. "He was Besian's old boss. Not Afrim Barisha," he clarified, as if I should know who that was, "but the man before him, Baki Beciraj. He let me have his name, but he didn't want me, and I let that rage twist me up. I got into trouble. I did stupid things. Then, one day, Besian saved me."
"Your boss now?"
He nodded, still refusing to make eye contact with me. "He adopted me as his nephew and made it possible for me to be recognized as part of the family."
I understood that he wasn't talking his father's blood family but the crime family he now served. "And your mother?"
"She died when I was twenty." He finally looked at me. "Ovarian cancer. She didn't even realize she had it until it was too late." He pushed the figurine across the table as a silence settled between us. "So are you disgusted now?"
"No. Why would I be?"
"I'm the son of a whore and a mob boss."
Hating to hear such self-loathing in his voice, I asked the only question that mattered. "Did you love your mother?"
"Yes." He didn't even hesitate.
"Did she love you?"
"Yes."
"Then none of that other stuff matters."
He made a scoffing noise. "You wouldn't understand. You've had a perfect life with—"
"My mother was a drug addict," I cut in quickly. "Daddy said that she had always been a little too fond of partying, but he thought she would settle down once they were married. She, uh, she lost her first two babies—boys—because of the cocaine. Daddy forced her into a rehab after the second stillbirth."
His hard glare softened. "Jesus. Did she stay clean?"
"For a while, until I was born," I answered. "I got sick when I was four months old, and Daddy found out that she had been using again and breastfeeding me. He…
wasn't happy."
"I can imagine."
"While I was in the hospital going through baby coke withdrawal, he sent her away. He put her in another house in a different state and told her that she couldn't come back unless she got clean and stayed clean for an entire year."
"Did she?"
I nodded. "She came back when I was two. I don't remember, of course, but I've seen pictures of her homecoming. We were happy for a while."
"Until?"
"She started having an affair with her trainer. He took her to a party, and she started using again. Pills this time," I added. "I was too young to understand why she was sleeping during the day and so wired at night. She started drinking too much. Sometimes even when we she picked me up from school…"
The ugly memories twisted my gut and left me sick inside. I rubbed the back of my neck with cold, clammy hands. "She was bringing me home from a ballet recital. Daddy had been kept away on business. He was stuck in an airport somewhere, and Mom…she had been popping pills and drinking before the recital."
"What happened?" He asked the question as if he already knew the answer.
"She was too drunk and stoned to follow the signs in a construction zone. She got onto the interstate driving the wrong way, and she was weaving all over the place before she finally passed out. I was screaming. I was so scared—and then she slammed into a concrete barrier. I don't…I don't remember anything after that."
"She died?"
I nodded.
"And you lived."
I nodded again and met his hard gaze. "So, you see, Ben, we're not so different. We both had parents who were less than ideal, but we've turned out okay."
He crossed the distance between us in two long strides and placed his hand against my cheek. My eyelids drifted together as his callused fingers glided over my skin. "Not so different," he agreed, "but not so much alike either."
"That makes things interesting." Finding some courage, I rose on tiptoes and pressed my lips to his. His hands flew to my shoulders, and for a moment, I thought he was going to shove me away from him. Instead, he pulled me even closer. His powerful arms engulfed me as he groaned against my mouth, the sound so very hungry and needful. He picked me up, and I wrapped my legs around his waist.