by Kyanna Skye
She wanted the risk. Screw caution—repeating all the same old mistakes. That didn't matter, not with an angel staring at her, smiling.
“I'll give you tonight, and if things work out tonight, then we'll see.”
The chowder arrived in an over-sized mug with soup crackers and a refill of rolls.
“This?” She picked up the spoon and let the watery goop flow down it.
“It's the best clam chowder you will ever find in your entire life. Try it.” He dipped a roll in and took a bite.
She took a small, steaming spoonful of the broth and blew on it.
“Oh, come on.”
“Fine.” She stuck the spoon in her mouth and threw her head back. The fresh saltwater burst in and mixed seamlessly with the cream, creating an enticing mixture that left her wanting more. “Oh, god.”
“Bet you're as wet as those clams, aren't you?”
She blushed and took a piece of a roll to dip it into her soup. “He never answered any of my questions. That bothered me more than anything. I never got a word out of him. He kept saying that I would know what I needed to know.”
“It's a requirement when you're active in the life, but since I cut ties with the family, I have nothing to hide. My life is simple. I work at the docks and own a house off the beach. Other than that, I don't know. What about you? You work for the clinic, but nobody knows anything about you.”
“See, that's the thing. You talk to people that are involved in this.”
“You're misunderstanding the term family. Family is a member of the gang. Unfortunately, my close family is all part of it. Friends, acquaintances—some of them know people in the family, but none of them are a part of it.”
There it was, just like with Tony—a half truth, and that wasn't going to fly. The thrill was amazing, but she could get that elsewhere. Maybe she could go skydiving, but at that moment, she had no place in the restaurant with him.
“I think I'm gonna go home.”
“What? Why? Come on.”
“No. I want to go home. Take me home.”
“Not until I finish my food.” There was a big, steaming basket of assorted fried seafood sitting untouched in the center of the table.
“I really don't want to wait. Can't you get a box or something?”
“Sit down,” he urged her. “If you wanna go home after I've eaten, I'll take you home.”
She sat back down reluctantly and finished her chowder while he devoured pieces of shrimp and fish like a ravenous beast.
“What is it?”
“If I sit down and start explaining my issues with you, you'll try to argue them away and it won't work.”
He shrugged and reached into his pocket to pull out a shooter of vodka. He took it with a bite of fish. “Want one? I have another.”
“No, thank you.” She wretched at the thought of the rancid liquid pouring down her throat. He shrugged and took another.
“You gotta try these hush puppies, you know.” He popped one in his mouth. “They've got that ocean taste.”
The taste sitting in her mouth was no longer tantalizing. It was worse than the vodka because he force-fed her then handed her a lie. At least Tony told her when she couldn't ask questions.
“Why'd you get shot?”
“Target practice.” He was lying, and he actually thought that she was going to swallow it, but he wasn't.
“I'll take a cab.” She got up, but he grabbed her hand when she tried to leave.
“Let me take you home.”
“You've been drinking.”
“I never drive without drinking.” He got up, dropped a wad of hundreds on the table, and left. He wasn't just born with family ties; he was a hustler. The way he threw around his cash—that wasn't a trust fund. That was a steady flow of illegal money.
She walked behind him, and let him open the door chivalrously. Then they hopped into his corvette and they started driving, fast this time, but his style was aggressive. He opened the center console when they stopped at the light and pulled out what looked like a bullet.
“What are you doing?” she shot back, terrified.
“Relax.” The bottom of the bullet slid open. He held it up to his nostril and took a huge whiff. The man was taking bumps of coke, driving at nearly 80 miles an hour, shooting down the major streets of San Diego. Then he pulled out a bottle of Patron and took a swig.
“Come on.” He handed it to her.
She looked at the bottle like he was handing her a grenade. “No.”
He shrugged and flipped the car in a circle at a beach turn off.
“What are you doing?” She was petrified.
“You know what?” He took another bump. “I'm not letting you get away just because of some twisted fucking complex in that tiny brain of yours. You're too fucking sexy.” He took another shot.
“Are you calling me dumb?”
“Yeah, I am.”
“I am a medical professional performing procedures most doctors couldn't handle, and you're nothing but a filthy gangster, taking advantage of people so you can get ahead. Now hand me that bottle.”
He did and she threw it out the window. It smashed on the pavement and he slapped her right in the face, evoking a fury he could never have possibly imagined.
She bashed his head into the steering wheel and reached into the glove compartment where she was certain she'd find a pistol. She was right. She put it up to his temple before he could react.
“You just hit me.”
“Yeah, I did. Now get that gun away from my head.” He tried to swipe it away, but she held it in place and cocked it.
“Do you believe in Jesus Christ?” she asked.
He went dead still.
“I asked you a question! Do you accept Jesus Christ as your Lord and savior?”
“Why are you asking me that?” His voice was low.
“I'm warning you. When I pull this trigger and you're not right with God, you're going to burn in hell.”
“Yeah?” He reached down with a laugh, whipped the gun out of her hand and pulled out a peashooter that had been strapped to his ankle.
“Now, I don't care who you believe in. You so much as twitch and Tony will be staring at your entrails on the evening news.” He used his other hand to open the bullet and took another bump.
She didn't move, breathe, or even blink, but she did twitch and felt the cold metal sticking into her head as a warning when he started the car back up again and somebody rear-ended them.
“Careful Tony!” Marco got out of the car with his hands up and nearly got shot in the shoulder.
“Tony! Help!” He was standing behind the door of a black SUV with an assault rifle creeping out from behind the door.
“Tony, what happens if the heir to the Carter family kills the heir to the Lorrentz family? It's gonna kill hundreds of people.”
He shot Marco in the ear and screamed, “Lana in the car.”
She jumped out of the car and into the SUV where she grabbed the bulletproof blanket and threw it over her body. He got in, slammed the door, and started driving.
“Oh, god. I'm so sorry, Lana.”
“No, it's my fault. Just go.”
She couldn't see what was going on. “Is he following us?”
“It won't matter.” He was losing it.
“What do you mean?”
“The Lorrentz family doesn't allow direct attacks against family members. We've got to get to safety immediately. He's bringing people in.”
“Isn't there anywhere we can go?”
“The tunnel.”
She reached out for his hand and held it as tight as she could.
The End
Confessions
The last time Kelly saw her best friend’s older brother, their lives were full of promise. Liam was a top draft pick for the NFL, not to mention scorching hot. Kelly was headed to the most prestigious music conservatory in the country.
Four years later, every sports fan in the country
knows Chad’s name. But Kelly? She’s still living in her hometown, working the same minimum wage waitressing job she’d worked since she was fifteen, plus another one to support her 3-year old daughter. Disowned from her family, she’s done her best to distance herself from her old friends, all of whom have moved on to successful careers.
But Kelly’s best friend is back in town and planning her wedding, and she wants Kelly to be there. Kelly can’t hide any longer. Soon the secrets she’s kept for four years are going to come to light…
Chapter 1
Kelly slipped into the employee bathroom and soaked in the silence of the small haven. The room was lit with a failing fluorescent light that sputtered overhead, giving light to the outmoded and decaying tile that had been obsolete in the 50’s. Beyond the door the old jukebox could still be heard faintly but she savored the solitude that she had for a moment.
She locked the deadbolt on the door, securing her privacy and stepped forward into the dimly lit room and stood before the mirror. The figure that looked back on her wasn’t a terrible looking thing… at least not completely. Her hair hung in thin blonde tendrils around her face, framing a visage of fair complexion and light brown eyes. Attached to those were a slender neck, a bosom that was ample, and a narrow waist. But all of it seemed ridiculous in the vintage 50’s waitress uniform that she wore, a thing of fading pink with a hideous hat crowned in lace and offset by a white apron.
“Sexy,” she murmured to her reflection.
She cringed at the word. Being sexy was exactly the problem.
To prove it, she turned around and lifted up the slender skirt of her uniform and observed the damage that had been done there.
On her left ass cheek there was the discernable impression of a forming bruise. A gift from a patron that believed the illusion that her appearance suggested: sexy. The pain that had come from the pinching fingers had been hard, almost as hard as the man that had given it to her.
“Fucking Turk,” she grumbled, surveying the damage.
Turk was a constant patron here at the diner. And like most of the other people who came in, he worked in the quarry pit. As a result, he was large, muscular, and he was accustomed to getting what he wanted.
Touchy Turk, the others in the diner had called him. On her first day here, years before, the other waitresses had warned her about him. He was an older man, pushing sixty or seventy with a beard that made him look like Santa Claus in the off-season. She wasn’t the only waitress that he flirted with; she wasn’t even the only one that he got particularly touchy with. But there were days when he was worse than usual.
With a sigh she lowered her skirt, covering the bruise. A couple of days on and it would be faded enough to where she wouldn’t even feel it. She had learned to deal with that; the touching, the teasing, the talking… it was all part of the job.
She had always mused that the more humiliating facets of her job would be lessened if they could only do without the stupid uniforms.
“We’re a vintage diner,” her manager had told her on day one. “Participation is payment.” That had been all he’d said and for the sake of needing money in a town where traditions meant a lot, she had endured it.
Holy Oaks wasn’t a city that could be found easily on any map. But if one looked closely enough in the historical records they would find that it once was famous for turning out fighter planes during World War II. It didn’t do much else. And that tradition was what it clung to.
Convinced that the bruise was nothing large to worry about she sighed. She had a few minutes at least before she would be missed. She checked the front pocket of her waitressing apron and looked at the change that Turk had left for her tip.
Two crumpled $1 bills sat there.
“Fifteen percent of the bill my ass,” she muttered, stuffing the bills back into her pocket. Turk, even if he was an asshole, had been the only one to tip her today. And though the payment was meager, she would take it. Every little bit helped. That also had been a lesson that she’d learned on day one.
Her phone chirped, shattering the brief silence of the restroom.
She nearly jumped, wondering who was trying to get in touch with her now. She removed her phone from her other pocket and checked the screen. She had a new text message… from a number that she didn’t recognize.
She frowned at the small screen.
That made 19 new messages today and all from the same number. She’d gotten into the habit of ignoring texts from numbers she didn’t know. Too many scams and whatever were out there these days that it seemed like a prudent measure. But now, with 19 texts from the same number, she felt a stab of curiosity.
“Fuck it,” she said and opened the text.
She scrolled through them all. They were nothing fancy, there was nothing indicative of whom the sender was or that there was any kind of a scam to be had. They were simple things: “Hi”. “What’re you doing?” “I’ve got so much to tell you.” They went on and on like that. It wasn’t until she got to the bottom that she realized the identity of the sender… and her intentions.
“I’m getting married!” … “Can’t wait to see you”… “We can hang out under South Bridge like we used to”… “I want you to be there!”…“Coming home in a couple days.”
Kelly’s jaw nearly dropped when she realized what this meant. As if to answer the texts she nearly whispered, “Susie?”
It had to be. Susie Cinch was her best friend in high school and Susie had been the only one – ever – that she had hung out with under South Bridge. It had been their little hideaway. A place where they did whatever they wanted… a place where they could tell each other anything… a place that was, well, theirs.
The suddenness of it hit her like an invisible fist to her chest. Susie was coming home? She was getting married? She was going to get married here?
“What the fuck for?” she murmured. Holy Oaks was the kind of place where any of the native-born residents all shared the same dream: to get out. Susie had been one of those that had managed this dream and she’d clung to it. But somewhere along the way they had lost touch. Susie was successful at her job, no real surprise there, but Kelly had always thought that she was too successful to stay in touch with a lowly urbanite like her. In truth, Kelly hadn’t really minded the silence that had formed between them. But now, spanning years since they had last spoken, Susie was reaching out to her as if they’d never lost touch. And though her text messages had gone unanswered, she had kept them coming as though she knew that Kelly had – or eventually would – read them.
Just like Susie… she thought.
More than nostalgia washed over her as she reread the texts. She had not input Susie’s number into her phone for years now, but it seemed that Susie never lost hers. Not surprising really, Kelly had never changed her number. There had never been any reason to.
But still, the vastness of it all was surprising. Susie was coming home. She was getting married. And that was where the nostalgia faded and the worry set in. Weddings were happier times… times when relatives came together from wherever in the world they were to witness the happy occasion. At least, all of the close relatives would come home.
Tightness slipped into her belly that threatened to tie her stomach like a balloon animal. She took several deep breaths and shut her eyes, trying to calm herself down. Worry… memories… fatigue… all of it came over her at once and she had no desire to feel any of it. She was already tired and suddenly it felt like more weight was about to be heaped upon her shoulders.
It doesn’t mean anything, she told herself. It doesn’t mean anything.
There was a knock on the door that startled her and she nearly jumped.
“Kelly? You okay in there?”
She recognized the voice of Marci, one of the other waitresses.
“Yeah,” she replied, stuffing her phone back into her apron. To complete her ruse she flushed the toilet. “I’ll be right out.”
“Ok. New customers at ta
ble three,” Marci’s voice said.
“Thanks,” she replied, turning on the sink as though she were washing her hands.
The sound of receding footsteps outside told her that she had a few more precious seconds of solitude. She took a moment to actually splash some of the cold water on her face and the tingling sensation felt refreshing. She looked again at her reflected twin and the figure that stood there wasn’t the same as that which had been there a moment before.
She looked aged, not like the twenty-something-year-old that had stood there a moment before, but more like one of those older girls that Susie and a younger version of herself used to make fun of. She looked like one of those girls that had tried to take on too much, too soon and paid the price for it.
Looks like the joke’s on me now, she thought.
She shut off the sink, dried her face, put on her best smile – though she didn’t really feel it – and stepped back out in her real life.
By the time she made it home, the sun had set and the air was hot and dry as it usually was in Holy Oaks during the summer months at night. The wind’s breath was as dry as the prairie on the far side of town and it drew sweat that formed beads on her skin that made her feel sticky.
She always looked forward to this part of the day: going home from work. Those few precious minutes between leaving the diner and getting to her front door felt like they were entirely her own. Brief, though they were they were precious. But at least returning to her front door she was returning to a part of her life that had been hard, but at least it was worth it.
When she opened her door the soft sounds of the TV reached her ears and across the narrow living room of her apartment she saw her babysitter stir on the couch.
The sitter, a young brunette girl that was only just fifteen, sat up on the couch. In a way, she reminded Kelly of herself in her younger days. She was full of spunk and had plans for the future and they included getting out of Holy Oaks. Perhaps that had been the reason Kelly liked her so much.
“Hi, Kelly,” the young teen said in a near whisper.
“Hi, Rachel,” Kelly replied, her voice matching. She looked around the apartment. All of the toys were put away when the floor should have been littered with them. Most of the lights were off, save for the kitchen and hall light. And the fading smell of something delicious wafted in from the kitchen. “Is she…?”