His Brother's Wife

by Mia Ford

  I probably had broken his nose, but that bulb of a nose had been broken more times than I could count so his pretty face wouldn’t be more messed up. He would sport some bruises, but I didn’t find any teeth on the moldy old couch so I figured he should count himself lucky.

  Me, I wasn’t sure if I’d be lucky or not. I didn’t know how Richie would get his retribution or if he would even try. Butch might have been his right-hand man, and I wasn’t sure how he viewed Butch’s unwelcomed forays into Hannah’s territory, but I had a feeling Richie might side with his sister on this one. Maybe I’d get a bonus. Of course, the only bonus I really wanted was a chance to slide into Hannah’s pussy, and that bonus would be on her to give out. I’d wait like a good boy anticipating my dessert after a dinner of liver.

  Hannah made sure to wave goodbye to me when she left at six. The night bartender had arrived, and though Steve and I didn’t say much to each other, we worked well together for the remainder of my shift. Steve was a hardcore barkeep. Everything in the place changed at six from the caliber of dancer to the type of customers to the overall atmosphere.

  Hannah lorded over her domain like a benevolent dictator, and the majority of her “girls”—both servers and dancers—were pretty, nice, and relatively decent, just trying to make a living. Steve, with his Mohawk and piercings and tattoo-covered face, ran the place like a loose cannon. I never knew what to expect. It was rowdy, noisier, and a bit more dangerous—to both the working girls and the bouncers.

  The bouncers were more hardcore and built like the proverbial brick shithouse, and the girls looked like they’d been around the block a couple dozen times. Although they were all stacked with double DDs and a couple of higher alphabet letters and their pussies drew men like flies to manure, these girls had that vacant look of a well-used whore. They danced, and did it well, but I sensed somewhere inside they’d lost whoever they once had been. I felt sorry for them, but I couldn’t save the world.

  Things started revving up around seven, and when the clock hit nine o’clock, the party was getting started. Drugs made an appearance, girls disappeared through the black curtains behind the stage, and neighborhood gangbangers strolled through the place and headed down the hallway. I never saw much because the shift bouncers herded me out as soon as they pushed their way through the front door. I never had to worry about forced overtime. I was still considered day shift, and day shift had to go when nighttime rolled around.

  Butch lumbered out of the storage room around six thirty that night, looking like he’d gone a couple of rounds with Ali back in his prime. I smiled to see my handiwork because it looked much more devastating under the flashing lights. I hoped the asshole had a wicked headache. He went behind the bar, poured himself a highball glass full of Wild Turkey, and slumped down on a stool. Occasionally I felt his glare burning a hole through the back of my head, but I kept my gaze moving from the pool of light on the stage and around the perimeter like a good little soldier.

  Richie made an appearance around nine thirty, and his first glance at Butch had him signaling toward the back. Butch peeled himself off the barstool, blinked his bleary eyes, and followed his boss. When no one called me back after twenty minutes or so, I figured I was in the clear.

  Boy was I wrong.

  The boom came down at five after ten when I stepped out into the muggy night air. A couple of guys were hanging outside smoking, and I pushed through the haze, heading toward my car. I’d gotten about two doors down when I heard my name being called. The smart thing would have been to keep going, and usually I do the smart thing. For some reason, I turned around.

  Richie stood in front of the door to Pussy Whipped, dressed in a gray pinstripe suit that probably cost more than three of my mortgage payments. Butch, I was delighted to see, had to hold the building up with his gargantuan bulk. Next time maybe he’d think twice about touching an ass that didn’t belong to him.

  I sauntered back to accept my punishment, or maybe I’d luck out and get a reward. I’d wanted to be on Richie’s radar, though I’d never thought it would take me stepping in like a white knight to get it.

  Even in the heat, Richie managed to look cool. We stood under the glow of the Pussy Whipped sign. It was a blue whip, and every time the neon shifted, the whip seemed to strike and a crack would sound into the night air, along with a burst of red sparks. I actually thought the sign was pretty cool. It was certainly classy for this neighborhood, where most of the signs either advertised beer or had been scrawled in Sharpie and propped in the window. Some of the storeowners in the neighborhood should have pooled their money and sprung for a proofreader.

  Richie gestured to the bruises on Butch’s face, a nice kaleidoscope of color under the flickering sign. “You do this?”

  “Yep.” I gave Butch a stare-down. Butch stared back through blood-shot eyes. Not sure if that was my handiwork or if he’d had a bit too many highball glasses of booze. “And I’ll do it again if he doesn’t keep his giant shovels to himself.”

  “That could be a problem,” Richie said.

  I sent him a questioning look. “Why? My job is to keep the hands off the girls. All hands. All girls.”

  “No, not all girls. Just the servers and the dancers,” Richie said. “I hired you to be a fucking bouncer, not a champion for workplace harassment.”

  I opened my mouth, but Richie snapped his fingers together like a small clamp, so I shut my trap. I didn’t want to be fired for pissing him off personally.

  “Hannah takes care of herself.” Richie adjusted his silk tie. “If she won’t—or can’t—she’ll take it up with me, and I’ll handle it.”

  “Then handle it,” I snarled. “His prints are all over her ass. And I’ll bet it’s not the first time.”

  “This is an employee issue,” Richie said. “How I handle it is none of your concern. Got that?”

  That cool veneer had started to crack a bit. I sensed a heat inside of Richie ready to boil to the surface. That small dot of sweat on his forehead indicated something about this situation had gotten to him, maybe for the first time. I could have made an educated guess and said Butch had done this dozens of times—with impunity. What the hell went on between these two, and what did it have to do with Hannah? Or me?

  “I got it,” I said, my gaze drifting to Butch, “but I don’t like it.”

  “My level of interest concerning what you care about wouldn’t fill your pencil cock. You’ll do your job, you’ll keep your eyes away from the bar, and you’ll do what you’re asked to do. Anything beyond that is outside your jurisdiction. Understood?”

  I gave a sharp nod, but Richie wasn’t finished.

  “Hannah is a Silvestri. I don’t give a fuck how much you want in her pants or even if she wants into yours.” He pressed his face so close to mine I smelled the peppermint on his breath as he enunciated each word. “It’s never going to happen.”

  “Shouldn’t that be up to Hannah?” Sometimes I couldn’t stop myself. Words just fell out of my mouth when personal shit flew.

  Richie laughed, the kind of laugh that would make anyone hearing it want to crawl into a hole, anyone but me.

  “Hannah’s future is mapped out, and you, I’m sorry to say, are not anywhere on that map.”

  Me, I never know when to quit. I needed to push this cocksucker. I needed him to push me. All in all, this evening was working out to my advantage. Hannah seemed to be my way in because, now that I’d shown a bit of interest in his sister, Richie would make sure that never happened.

  I rocked back on my heels. “Does Hannah know about this map you’ve drawn out for her? Maybe I should tell her that her future is already pre-ordained.” I shook my head and murmured, “She probably isn’t going to be happy.”

  “Shut up,” Butch growled.

  Then it hit me. I wasn’t getting a reward, but someone thought he’d be handed one eventually. If Hannah had any idea what these two planned, she’d puke out her guts and her lungs and any other organ she could he
ave out.

  “I see,” I said quietly.

  “You don’t see shit,” Butch said, pushing himself away from the building. He took a step toward me, and Richie put his arm out, stopping him in his path.

  “What exactly do you see, Mr. O’Shea?” Richie asked curiously.

  “For starters, I see a big baboon who waits for any scrap you’ll hurl in his direction.”

  Butch lunged, but once again, Richie held him back with ease. A mere touch of this man’s hand could bring Butch to heel.

  “I also see a man with power…who might have made promises. Is that true, Butch? Did he make you promises?” When Richie just stared at me, I decided no one was going to join in, so I just kept going. “Easy to keep a dog on a leash, doing your bidding, when you have a big juicy bone waiting at the end of the day. You’re waiting, aren’t you, Butch? Waiting for that day when a pretty little bartender just falls into your lap and becomes yours?”

  “I am going to cut off your cock,” Butch said.

  I shrugged. “I think Hannah might have something to say about that. She doesn’t seem the kind of woman who just takes orders about who gets to dip his wick into her honey. I think Hannah has…standards.”

  “You’re a dead man,” Butch said.

  “He’s definitely an interesting one,” Richie said. That anger still simmered beneath the surface—probably always did—but I’d caught Richie’s attention now. I was more than just an out-of-work drifter trying to get to the next town. “I think you and I should have a sit-down, O’Shea. Maybe you have too much talent to be stuck in Hannah’s little day camp.”

  The way he said made me want to hang a fist right into his gut and just pound away until his guts poured out of his ass. But that wouldn’t get me into the inner circle, which is exactly where I needed to be.

  “Am I right?” Richie asked. “Are you so bored you have to worry about a couple of stray grabs here and there? So tightly wound you feel the need to pound the face of my most stalwart soldier against my bar?”

  I shrugged.

  “I like your style, O’Shea. I’m not happy with your choice of punching bags, but we’ll let that slide for the time being.”

  “Like hell we will,” Butch growled.

  “I said,” Richie ground out, “we’ll let that slide for the time being.”

  I had him right where I wanted him, but my time had run out.

  Richie drew in a breath and huffed it out. “I have business to attend to.”

  I followed his gaze to a couple of low-life scum coming around the corner. I recognized them. I’d studied this section of town and all its denizens for weeks before I hooked up with Archie Dee. These two were dealers who handled distribution a few neighborhoods over, not nickel and dime crap, but higher volumes. I doubted Richie had drugs on the premises, but deals were definitely going down. I needed on this shift.

  The dealers pushed open the door to the club and vanished, leaving behind a wave of pulsing rhythm.

  “So, Richie, about my shift.” I’d opened the door. All he had to do was walk through.

  “Finish up tomorrow on days. Next week, show up at eight. Steve will get you set up and show you the ropes.”

  “Sure you’re up for it?” Butch asked, narrowing his eyes.

  “I took your ass down for the count, didn’t I?”

  He didn’t move, but his fists clenched. So score one for me.

  “The pissing contest ends here,” Richie said. “Need I say more?”

  “Nope. Got it,” I said.

  “Butch?” Richie kept his eyes on me.

  “Got it.”

  “Get out of my face, O’Shea. Don’t make me regret this.”

  I turned and headed to my car.

  Chapter Eleven: Richie

  “You know the rule. No money, no product.” I flung open my desk drawer, pulled out the ledger, and flipped through the pages. “You’re still on the books for thirty-two-grand.” I snapped the book closed and stared at Dickie and Carlos. “So, where is it?”

  Carlos shot a glance at Dickie. Dickie got real interested in the snot residue on his finger.

  “Horace said next week, boss,” Carlos said. “Ran into some trouble and had to bail out a couple of runners.”

  “How is that my problem?” I asked. “Does he want me to wipe his ass too? I don’t deal on consignment. I want my goddamn money.”

  “We’ll get it,” Carlos said and swallowed hard. “Next week.”

  I leaned back in my chair. “And you want me to front you the coke before I get the money for the last batch. Is that it?”

  Dickie nodded, but Carlos seemed to get the picture a bit clearer. He took a couple of steps away from the desk. Wise man because, before Dickie could move a muscle, I grabbed the Glock from my drawer, lunged across the desk, and whipped it across Dickie’s cheek.

  A scream exploded as Dickie stumbled back and a stream of blood splattered across my desk. Carlos drew in a horrified gasp and stared as Dickie lost his balance and fell on his scrawny ass. Tears broke and streamed down Dickie’s face as he cupped his split cheek with his hand and more blood seeped through his fingers.

  “Carlos, you have one minute to get him out of this fucking office,” I said. “When I’m done counting, if you’re still here, I’m coming after you too.”

  Carlos dropped to his knees and gathered Dickie against him. He shifted clumsily to his feet and half dragged a sniffling Dickie toward the door. Butch opened it.

  “Carlos.”

  Carlos turned slowly to look at me. “Boss?”

  “You have until Tuesday. After Tuesday, that split cheek is going to look like a love tap.” Carlos nodded. “Fifty-six, fifty-seven…”

  Carlos bolted out the door, dragging Dickie by the throat. Butch closed the door.

  “What the fuck is wrong with these people? Do I look like a loan officer?”

  Butch chuckled.

  “Get a rag and get this mess cleaned up. God knows what kind of diseases that worthless shit has.”

  Butch got a rag and spray bottle from the closet and cleaned up the blood splatter.

  I poured myself drink and decided to pour one for Butch. He settled in the seat opposite me and downed it in one swallow.

  “You do know that’s Macallan?” I asked.

  Butch looked at his empty glass. “Whatever it is, it’s good.” He held out the empty glass.

  I threw my head back against the chair. Why did I even try? I poured him another one. “Savor it, Butch. It’s three hundred dollars a bottle.”

  Butch stared at the amber in the glass then swished it around. “It all tastes the same to me.”

  Fuck it. I tossed the contents of my glass in a gulp and poured myself another one too. “So what’s going on between Hannah and O’Shea?”

  Wrong question. Butch’s nostrils flared, and his eyes blazed, the red rims making them appear demonic.

  “How the fuck would I know? I’m running all over this town doing your business.” He leapt to his feet and started pacing erratically around the room, throwing his arms up, his voice rising with each word. “I can’t keep my eyes on her every damn minute of every damn day. For all I know he’s banging her behind the bar the entire time I’m gone. Maybe she’s giving him blowjobs in the back room. Maybe they’re fucking in the back alley. Maybe he’s reading her goddamn sonnets and massaging her in baby oil. Jesus, Richie, I don’t know. It’s driving me insane, and there’s not a goddamn thing I can do about because”—he slammed his hands on my desk and leaned forward—“I’m your fucking errand boy.”

  I took a sip of my drink. “Are you finished?”

  “Yeah.” He slumped back into the chair and heaved a sigh. “Motherfucker.”

  “So, basically, you don’t like him. Is that it?”

  Butch’s eyes bugged out of his head. “Is that all you got from that?” He ran a hand over his bald head. “Jesus.”

  He was so easy to toy with. Such fun.

  “
What do you really think is happening?”

  “Probably nothing,” Butch muttered. “Yet.”

  “Do you think she’s interested in him?”

  Butch nodded miserably.

  I straightened up in my chair and slapped my hands on the desk. “Well, we can’t have that. Doesn’t work for any of my plans.” I’d been feeling Hannah slipping from my grasp lately. Something wasn’t adding up. She usually just did her job, had her dinner, and went upstairs to…

  I had no real idea what she did up there. She’d always had an attitude and got too mouthy for her own good, but lately it had seemed more than that. I saw a spark she’d never had before.

  She’d actually brought her little ass down into my domain, after hours, just last week. I couldn’t have her snooping around my real business. The club was supposed to keep her occupied, give her some spending money and possibly a bit of self-worth. I let her boss around a couple of employees and treat her customers like pets and she was supposed to be grateful. Something had changed, though I couldn’t put my finger on it.

  I couldn’t let her think she could find that self-worth anywhere but through my generosity. I certainly wasn’t going to let her cozy up to some drifter who might be more than that. I hadn’t decided yet how far to trust O’Shea, but I’d put him to the test soon enough.

  “Has Hannah ever punched you before when you touched her?”

  Butch cut a glance toward the wall.

  “Jesus, Butch, don’t deny you’ve touched her. I know how you feel about her. Has she ever slapped you before when you touched her?”

  “No, she usually just brushes me away and finds something else to do.”

  “And today she hit you like a prize fighter. You don’t think that’s odd?”

  Butch furrowed his brow. “Yeah, I guess so.

  “She’s changing, Butch. Right under my nose. Maybe I’ve been too busy, maybe I’ve let too much out on the reins, maybe she thinks she actually has some freedom. Not sure, but she needs an attitude adjustment.”

  “Like how?” Butch said.

  “I’m not sure yet because I don’t know the reason for her sudden defiance or her late-night excursions.”