Adler

by Jessica Gadziala

  Thirty minutes later, we walked out of his apartment, Lou still carrying one of his white Harrah's casino mugs in her hand, clearly having no intention of giving it back to him.

  "You enjoy this," I declared as she raised the mug to her smiling lips as we waited for the elevator because her cup was full nearly to the brim with the sludge-like coffee she had me make, yelling at me to 'man up' and put more scoops in as I made it, and didn't want to spill so much as a drop on the stairs.

  "Making grown men nearly pee themselves in fear of little ol' me? Nooo. Not at all."

  "Little ol' ya might be the fiercest person I've met outside a ring."

  "You fight?" she asked, head whipping over, wanting that little piece of information.

  "I used to fight," I corrected, uncomfortable with her having even that much.

  "I can't see it," she decided after watching me for a long moment while the elevator doors slid closed.

  "No?"

  "You're skinny."

  "I'm wiry," I corrected.

  "You're too laid-back."

  "Ain't seen me pissed off."

  "What pisses you off?"

  Boys in basements.

  Bats.

  The face of my father.

  "Whinin'," I gave her, it being true enough.

  "Whining?"

  "Can't take that shite," I agreed, nodding. I'd heard too much of it all those years ago, cold in a basement, the smell of must and blood and piss and shite so familiar it was hardly even offensive to my nostrils anymore. The new kids crying for their mamas, their daddies, their fuckin' sheep. It wore on your nerves. Or, at least, it wore on mine. I never did have much sympathy. I guess because I was never shown any.

  "Interesting. Unfortunately, I can't test that theory out. I'm not one for whining. Shit happens. Crying about it won't make it any better."

  "So, we heading to Abby's place?" I asked as we made our way through the lobby.

  "He was lying through his teeth about Abby. I mean, maybe they had a fuck-buddy situation going on in the past, but I would bet my car that Abby wouldn't be caught dead around him now."

  "Then why are we leaving?" I asked, pausing at the door, watching the white tufts of fat snow falling lazily from the sky. It was deceptive, that kind of snow, making you think it would just coat the world in a fresh layer of white, looking and smelling fresh, but not making trouble. When in reality, the sky would drop more and more as the hours went on, making you wake up to ten inches you'd have to try to shovel out of without being late for work.

  "Because I got this," she declared, pulling a cell out of her pocket with a sly smile. I'd been watching her the whole time, save for when I was scooping grounds into the coffee pot. I hadn't seen it. She was sly as fuck. "Which you can look through while I drive us to the diner."

  "What diner?"

  "I don't know. But this is Jersey. There's bound to be a diner within five miles," she told me, bleeping the locks on her car, making the thing purr to life from a block away.

  "And here I am, riding a fucking bike."

  Her lips curved slightly at that. "You'd make a pretty shitty biker if you drove a car."

  "True."

  "Now less eye-fucking my car, more scrolling through his phone," she demanded, pressing it into my hand before reaching to zip her jacket.

  Fifteen minutes later, we were sitting in a window booth, the glass smeared with syrup and jam from sticky little fingers, left there by waitresses who weren't paid enough to wash windows.

  "Cheeseburger with fries, curly, and onion rings, mozzarella sticks, and some of that bottomless coffee. You can save the dishwasher one mug though, "she declared, pointing to the cup she brought in. "What about you?" she asked, jerking her chin at me, making the waitress's eyes widen, likely having thought that was for us to share. Apparently, though, Lou could sock away enough food for three men.

  "Coffee and pancakes," I told her. "And maybe a wheelbarrow to wheel her arse out of here when she can't walk later," I added, making her eyes light up.

  "I can eat all of that and still whip your ass. Careful," Lou warned, shooting me a saccharine smile as she collected the menus to pass off to the waitress.

  "Touchy."

  "I get called fat often enough as is."

  "Ya ain't fat," I shot back, brows low. "Who the fuck would call you fat?" She looked away at that. "Yer boss? The fuck who looks like he'd pass out walking to the end of his driveway to get his mail." I snorted at that. "Ya ain't fat," I told her again in case the first time didn't sink in. "Got a nice big ass, and tits that could make a man cry, but ya ain't fat."

  She shot me a smile before rolling her eyes. "You've never seen my tits."

  "And ain't that a real shame?"

  "Smooth. So, what did you find on the phone?"

  "Looks like Thomas is using a burner. But they have been in contact. Something about blackjack and making money to get out of Dodge."

  "I'm guessing there was no mention of where," she said, giving the waitress a smile as she dropped off the carafe of coffee and a bowl full of creamers. At my head shake, she shrugged. "Guess we're up for some gambling tonight then."

  "We're? Ya aren't trying to get rid of me anymore?"

  "Another set of eyes might be useful this time around."

  "'Cause the payout?"

  "Yes."

  "Ya gonna give me a cut?"

  "No."

  "What am I gettin' out of this deal then?"

  "The pleasure of my company."

  "Well," I said as the plate of her mozzarella sticks which she had no intentions of sharing since she slapped at my hand when I reached for one was dropped, "Guess we got a deal then."

  FOUR

  Lou

  We stopped at a motel, the kind with a courtyard in the back, three levels of balconies guaranteeing restless sleep from people constantly passing by, nothing but a chain to keep people with bad intentions at bay.

  Then again, I was probably the most dangerous person in the building.

  Well, me and Adler, I decided as he unlocked the room beside mine. Because I was getting the feeling that behind the charm, the laid-back demeanor, the sarcasm, something else existed. Something dark. Something with claws, with teeth, with venom. Just waiting for a body to sink into.

  A shiver of anticipation moved through me, unwanted, irrational, completely fucking mental. Because in no circumstance should the beast inside him turn me on.

  There was no denying, though, as I moved into my room and slid the lock, that that was exactly what it was doing to me. There was a telltale weight to my breasts, a pressure on my lower stomach. A part of me wanted to blame it on my dry spell, something simple and rational. But I was never one for lying, least of all to myself. It was more than that. It was him.

  That was ridiculous, of course.

  I barely knew him.

  But there was something chemical there, hormones reacting to pheromones.

  My body was picking up what he was putting down.

  Which might become problematic given my lack of impulse control and his close proximity. Both here at the hotel and back home in Navesink Bank.

  I mean, not that it would get messy or anything. He was a love 'em and leave 'em kind of man. I was not a relationship kind of woman. We both knew how it went. We took what we could from one another until we were both satisfied. Or until the sex got old. Then we moved on. No big deal. No hard feelings.

  It was just easier not to run into your fuck buddies in the hall every other day.

  And, well, I certainly didn't need a distraction on the job. At least not this job. This job that meant a break from town-jumping and skip-chasing for a while. A job that meant I could get back to what I really wanted to do. A job where the mark was clearly looking for ways to cross borders. Not that I was opposed to skipping over the south or north border, and hauling his ass back with me. But it would just take longer, be more annoying. Better to stay focused while he was still in the area, catch him
, turn him in, and get my check.

  I did not want to be getting all lured in by his cock.

  Case closed.

  "Hey, Neighbor," his voiced called, a knock accompanying it, advertising the shoddy construction of the place, the thin walls making the ugly dimestore watercolor of the ocean above my bed jump ominously, making me wonder if the thing might crash down on the head of someone renting out the room for some rough and nasty.

  "What?"

  "What time are we heading out?"

  "Seven," I shot back, tossing my bag on the bed, figuring it gave me enough time to rest my eyes, do a little research, and tart myself up a bit.

  I'd done a lot of jobs.

  I found smoky eyes and tight dresses opened up a new world for me. And I was not above using feminine wiles to get exactly what I wanted out of someone. So long as I found somewhere to stash some kind of weapon.

  That place often ended up being my inner thigh or down my blouse, whichever was more forgiving depending on the outfit.

  I'd only packed one dress, black, short, slinky, leaving next to nothing to the imagination, and with little choice but to only go with a pocketknife wedged between my tits.

  It would do.

  I'd make it work.

  I rolled my neck before kicking out of my shoes and jeans, shrugging off my jacket, yanking off my shirt, leaving me in underwear and a wifebeater as I stripped the bed, tossing all the bedding onto the floor, knowing this kind of place wasn't known for its cleanliness, then lifting the mattress to check for bed bugs just in case. I'd been burned before. I wasn't going to get bit to shit again. Finding nothing, I threw out the sheet I carried with me for this very purpose, covering the fitted sheet and pillows of the full-sized bed before throwing myself down on it with a sigh.

  It felt like forever since I had been in my own bed. Sure, it wasn't some luxury mattress, but at least I knew there weren't any cumstains on it, any creepy crawlers lurking, any mysterious smells in the fabric.

  That was the life I chose, one on the road. It was a life I was good at too.

  But sometimes, you missed a little normalcy. The Chinese food place you knew would be decent. The right water pressure that actually got the shampoo out of your hair. The familiar sounds on the street below. The same channels on the TV.

  It had been a while since I was home for more than a couple days put together.

  And even securing this paycheck wasn't going to send me home for some R&R.

  No.

  This paycheck meant I would have to hit the road again.

  To find other scumbags.

  Ones that I wouldn't be paid to find.

  Ones that had proved more difficult to locate than the schmucks Geoff threw my way when everyone else failed.

  But after that, maybe I could take a week off. Catch up on some shows. Pretend to be a telemarketer. Maybe I'd even cook my own meals for a change. It'd been a while.

  It would be nice to just be a person for a bit.

  Not a bounty hunter.

  Not a woman on a mission.

  Just a person.

  That'd be nice.

  "Christ," I groaned, throwing my forearm over my eyes.

  Since when did I want to be normal?

  That wasn't me.

  Not for a long time.

  Not since I was sixteen.

  Not since my world was turned on its axis.

  Not since I became someone new.

  Someone who thrived on late nights, early mornings, adrenaline, caffeine, the chase, the catch, the thrill of taking a fuckhead off the streets, being a part of putting them in cages where they belonged.

  I had no use for normal.

  Normal was for other people. People who didn't know the ugly in the world, who weren't intimately acquainted with it, who hadn't rolled around in the muck of it. Both willingly and un.

  People like me, we didn't get normal.

  We got crazy, chaotic, unpredictable, and - to an extent - unfulfilling.

  So we found out little ways to make it count.

  Me and my bad guys.

  It was as close to satisfied as a girl like me got.

  There was a knock at my door, making me sigh, trying to shake out of the doom and gloom in my head, something I wasn't often prone to wallowing in.

  "Wrong room," I called, hoping they'd just piss off so I could... what? Continue being a Debbie Downer all by myself?

  "Let me in, duchess. My sink is dripping. It's drivin' me fuckin' insane."

  "You've been in the room all of ten minutes, and you're losing it already?" I asked, folding up.

  "Got a short fuse with annoyin' shite. Let me in. I come bearing mini bottles of liquor."

  "You know the way to a girl's heart," I declared, moving across the room to slide the lock, pulling open the door to Adler, four mini bottles dangling between his fingers.

  "Fuck," he hissed, head angling upward like he was looking for some kind of patience from a higher power. "Ya always go walkin' around like that?"

  "Pretty much," I agreed, taking a step back, the cold air making me nip like crazy, something painfully obvious through nothing but the lightly ribbed material of my white wifebeater.

  "I've been livin' across the street from that not knowing this very vital piece of information."

  "Less talking, more twisting bottle caps off," I demanded, pretending not to be affected by the words even if an odd fluttering sensation moved across my belly.

  "That ass should never be covered up," he informed me as he followed me into my room. I could feel his eyes glued there, my plain black panties being of the cheeky variety, doing little to cover up anything other than the vital bits.

  "I know. It's a crime we have to wear pants," I agreed, reaching out for the Johnnie he held out.

  "That a tattoo?" he asked, eyes pinned to my inner forearm, previously hidden by my shirtsleeve.

  I looked down at it, something that had been etched into my flesh since the day I turned eighteen.

  Five bullets.

  "How come only three are colored in?" I shrugged it off, hoping he imagined it was just an aesthetic thing. "Ya got any more? Can I check?" he asked, eyes lit up.

  "Sorry to burst your bubble. It's the only one I got," I informed him as I took my whiskey, seeing the scars criss-crossing his hands and fingers almost skin-tone with age.

  I had a scar on my leg from a tree branch snagging my leg a decade ago that was still whitish. How old could he have been when he got those? Surely barely more than a kid.

  What kind of kid had scars like that?

  Fighting scars.

  "You have any?"

  "Yep."

  "You gonna show me?" I asked, clinking my bottle to his before taking a sip.

  "Maybe. If ya are lucky."

  "Pretty sure if clothes were coming off, you'd be considered the lucky one."

  His eyes made a slow path down my body, then just as slowly back up, making the skin they skimmed feel warm and sensitive.

  "Maybe I already am." His eyes found mine, held. "But let me tell ya, duchess. If I got ya naked, ya would damn sure consider yerself lucky."

  My sex shouldn't have - but absolutely did - tighten. "Why's that?"

  "Because if I got blessed enough to get to see ya naked, Lou, I'd fuckin' show ya what it is like to be worshipped. Make ya come so hard you start to believe in a higher power. With my fingers, mouth, cock. However ya want it. However many times ya want it..."

  "My own personal sex toy," I snarked, not wanting him to know just how wet my panties were getting at the mere idea of him making good on those promises.

  Oddly, his eyes went a bit guarded at that. Dark, almost. "If that is what ya want from me."

  "What I want from you is a set of eyes that can spot this Thomas fuck across a crowded casino. That is what I want from you."

  "Yeah, sure. Keep telling yerself that, duchess. Maybe it will start to be true if ya say it enough."

  "Ego much?" I asked, t
urning away to walk toward the window that led to the balcony, pushing open the curtains to watch the snow fall, fat and faster than a half an hour before when we had first arrived. "If I wanted to fuck you, Adler, you'd be on the bed right now."

  "Hm?" he asked, making my head turn over my shoulder to find him on his side on the bed, patting the empty space beside him like some cheesy movie, making a laugh/snort hybrid escape me.

  "Cute."

  "I know," he agreed, pushing up to sit, taking his whole mini bottle in a gulp. "So, Lou..."

  "So, Adler..."

  "What made ya get into bounty hunting?"

  Turning, I leaned back against the wall, not quite trusting myself to stay strong if I got within five feet of him on a bed. "That was something like fate," I told him. "I had just washed up in town, trying to learn my way around, when I saw this guy chasing this other guy down the street. Normally, you know Navesink Bank, I'd have just figured it was some gang thing. But the guy chasing the other guy was all decked out in clothes that said Recovery Agent on them. And he was losing. The guy he was chasing was all of nineteen to his thirty, long-legged, chasing freedom. He had no shot of snagging him."

  "So ya stepped in."

  "Grabbed my tire iron out of my car, hit him right in the stomach, knocking him off his feet, before dragging him back up."

  That was a good time, that afternoon.

  Asher, the recovery agent, had looked relieved, like maybe he'd been on the case for a long time, was glad for it to be over. Until I informed him that he was mine to cash in on. And I proceeded to drag the kid to Geoff's office with a blackened eye from having to elbow him when he tried to escape as I drove.

  "Geoff liked the idea of someone willing not to play by the rules. Someone young and hungry..."

  "And, let's face it, 'cause he's a shitehead, someone gorgeous that he could maybe use his position to get in the pants of."

  "Well, yeah, that too." Of course that was a factor. Especially given the fashion sense those days - jeans so low your thong was visible if you bent or sat paired with crop tops that showed off a hefty bit of belly and lower back. And me, yeah, I'd been rocking that look. Too young and naive to think anything better of it.