by Winters, KB
He stumbled back with a grunt, stinking of booze and sweat, red glassy eyes not leaving me for even a second. Smart even if he couldn’t do jack shit about it.
“Didn’t we have a talk already, the one where your fists talked to my face until I understood you were pissed about the money? Not that your family even needs the money. It’s probably a drop in the bucket compared to your wealth.”
He snorted, shaking his head like we were the bad guys.
The Connelly family was no group of innocents, but we had honor. Without fucking honor, a man, a family didn’t have shit.
“It’s not about how much we have, Michaels, it’s about how much we loaned to you. When you needed it. Now we want it back.”
My gaze swept over the sparsely furnished living room, and I took a seat on the dingy sofa that I somehow knew Layla made sure was clean.
“In fact, I seem to remember giving you every opportunity to go home and sleep it off, but you refused, so sure your cold streak was about to end.”
It was the story of every gambler’s life, fucking hot and cold streaks, like there was some way to predict luck. When it came and when it dried up was as random as anything else but the pull, the thrill of the win was too fucking powerful for some.
His shoulders fell and he hung his head low. “I do and I appreciate you for it, but if I could have gone home then I would have.”
“And what about now? Am I going to find you back at one of my offices begging for money again?”
Peter’s eyes darted all around the room. Everywhere but at me. I knew the answer by the way his fingers twitched like there were cards or chips in front of him. “Layla would kill me.”
“And you’re already trying to think of what gaming rooms might loan you money, only hours after your daughter finished paying down a part of your debt?”
His eyes went wide with shock, surprise and maybe even a little disgust, which only confirmed my suspicions that Layla hadn’t told him about our deal. She could have. Hell, she should have, used it as leverage to get him into a treatment program or to guilt him into quitting altogether. But she hadn’t. Another interesting fact to store away for later.
“Leave Layla out of this,” he said. “She has nothing to do with our deal.”
“But she does now,” I told him.
A look of absolute horror crossed his face and I smiled, because it seemed like the fucker was finally getting it through his thick skull.
“To save you from … me, I guess. Layla has given herself to me for four sensual days. Or nights I guess is more appropriate, if you know what I’m saying.”
In a rare show of masculinity, Michaels’ eyes flared with anger and he lunged at me but stumbled before he reached me. Stupid fuck.
“You rotten bastard, keep your hands off my daughter! She has nothing to do with this, damn you!”
“Thanks to you, I’ve had my first taste of sweet little Layla, so sweet and so ripe.”
I licked my lips for good measure but the minute I closed my eyes her image was there, dressed hiked up around her waist, legs spread wide to take me. She was hot as shit with her head thrown back in lust, giving her whole self over to pure sexual pleasure. It was hot as fuck and I wanted more.
“I can’t imagine giving that up.”
“What about if I find a way to get you the money? If I do that, will you stop this thing with Layla?”
His green eyes pleaded with me and for the first time he actually seemed to regret his actions.
“Connelly, come on, be reasonable.”
There was no way in hell I was giving up the rest of my nights with Layla. No. Fucking. Way. But I’d been known to be reasonable on occasion which is why I did something I rarely did. Show compassion.
“Can you come up with the money before the week is up?”
His shoulders slumped pitifully. “I can damn well try.”
He stumbled again, eyes glassy but as sharp as he was capable of. “I’ll do anything to keep Layla out of your greedy clutches.”
“Anything except pay the debt owed to my family?”
Because the truth of the matter was, despite the deal I’d made with her, despite everything I’d done to her sexy body just minutes ago, none of this would have happened if he’d done what the fuck he was supposed to in the first place.
Peter scrubbed a hand over his face, looking more exhausted than I’d ever seen the man.
“Yeah, well life kind of happens, doesn’t it? But you could have taken any form of payment.”
“I could have,” I reminded him. “And I did.”
It wasn’t like there weren’t at least a thousand other ways I could have gotten the money back, but that wasn’t the point.
“But that was on you. Had you paid your debt or at least continued to make payments on it, the need to have your sweet little girl in my bed would have been moot.”
“So if I give you what’s in my pockets now?”
I laughed. “It’s too late for that, old man. Give me something significant, a show of good faith and maybe I’ll decide that one night with your beautiful daughter was enough.”
“You’re a real bastard, you know that, Connelly?”
“Thanks. Be sure to tell my old man that when you see him. But you should hope you don’t because that would spell trouble for you. The kind not even Layla could save you from.”
It wasn’t a threat, just a fact that we both knew too well.
Patrick was still a tough son of a bitch with an iron grip on the Connelly Family. He didn’t suffer fools of any kind and when he felt he’d been wronged or his family name tarnished, he handled the threat swiftly and ruthlessly.
Michaels turned to begging. “I’ll do what I can, Connelly. Just please, please don’t hurt my little girl.”
“I don’t want to hurt her. Worry about getting your hands on some cash without borrowing money from anyone else.”
“I’ll do my best.”
That pulled a laugh from me. “Your best? Isn’t that how we all ended up in this situation to start with?”
There was no need to be an asshole, to pour salt into the wound but it was too easy with guys like Michaels. Even knowing what his precious daughter was doing for him, wasn’t enough to get rid of that itch to go gamble. I’d bet my new Ferrari sitting back in my garage that he was already thinking of late night games where he could find some action to put a dent in his debt.
“You don’t give a shit how I pay you, Connelly, as long as you get your money.”
“You’re right about that Petey, but just remember that the next person you gamble with might not be as willing to negotiate as the Connelly family is. You might find yourself and your daughter doing things far, far worse.”
I let those words be the last he heard from me, because he needed to remove his head from his ass before he got himself and Layla hurt.
Make no mistake, the Connelly family wasn’t warm and fuzzy. We’d never been nice and sweet. Sure, we had family dinners on Sunday with lots of food and plenty of talking over one another. We loved each other with everything inside of us. But we were all ruthless and completely loyal to the family, which meant we’d do anything to protect it.
That didn’t mean I wasn’t sympathetic to Layla’s position with a deadbeat father who would never bring her anything but pain.
I would happily use her body because that was what I did, but I hoped it was a price she’d never have to pay again.
Chapter Eleven
Layla
After tossing and turning all night, thanks in part to Eamon’s Jekyll and Hyde routine, I woke up the next morning feeling different somehow. Not the kind of different where I’d wake up and the sky was bluer and the air crisper. No, this was the kind of different where I knew I needed to take the reins of my life once and for all.
That meant trying to find some semblance of control in a situation where I had none. I was stuck with Eamon for three more days and I’d deal with it, but that didn’t mean
I couldn’t find out exactly what the hell Dad had been up to all these years. He may have thought he could hide from me like he’d done my whole life. But I was tenacious and determined to get answers.
After a quick shower, I took a minute to stretch out my poor, aching muscles before I got dressed and called Ross to let him know I wouldn’t be in the office until a little later in the day. Thankfully, I had the world’s coolest boss. He knew I was a hard worker who’d more than make up any time I missed. I wasn’t a damn slacker and I made sure my boss, my clients, and my team knew I didn’t tolerate slackers, either.
I needed answers. I realized those answers might not make me feel any better, and I knew they damn well wouldn’t change anything. But still, I had to know. How deep was Dad into debt and was it just to Eamon’s family? Or would I find another thug smacking the hell out of him next week?
My first stop was a visit to one of Dad’s old drinking buddies. I’d known Larry since I was about twelve years old. He and his wife had been staples at family barbecues and potluck dinners, and after Mom died, they’d always invited us for Thanksgiving and Christmas. Once I hit high school, though, everything had changed. But I’d been too self-centered, too focused on how I would get out of Rocket and make a name for myself that I never really noticed how significant that change was.
Or to question why it had even happened.
Today I needed to know, so I stopped to fill up my tank and grab some coffee and a big blueberry muffin from the gas station before taking the forty-five-minute drive to Larry’s house. Though calling it a house was a bit of an understatement, I realized as I made my way down the long winding path off the main road. It looked like a massive ski lodge rather than a private residence.
“We’re not buyin’.”
I’d barely set one foot out of the car when I heard the familiar, gruff voice I’d known for years. I turned to the man I’d affectionately called Uncle Larry with a smile on my face.
“It’s a good thing I’m not selling Girl Scout Cookies or I could prove to you just how wrong you are, Uncle Larry.”
He squinted and then blinked, bending low and shielding his gaze from the sun. “Layla? Is that you?”
“Sure is. Do you have a minute?” I held my breath and waited for him to scowl and tell me to get the hell off his stoop. Why I thought I might get that kind of greeting I couldn’t say, only that in the past forty-eight hours I’d come to realize just how much was going on around me that I hadn’t been aware of. That kind of thing had a way of shaking a girl to her core.
“Well, I’ll be damned. Layla Michaels. How the hell are you, girl? Come on in.” He flashed a wide, mischievous grin. “Unfortunately, Alicia isn’t home right now, but come on in. You’re welcome any time.”
Larry stepped aside so I could enter the huge foyer.
“This place is gorgeous, Uncle Larry. Did you carve these details into the wood?”
My very first memory of Larry was watching him whittle a ballerina for me out of piece of wood. He’d been working with wood for as long as I’d known him and it looked like he’d had a big hand in making his retirement dream into a reality. I followed him into the kitchen as he filled me in on the years since I’d seen him.
“You know I did. Took damn near forever, but every day I look at it, I think, this is all mine. I worked hard for it and nobody can take it away.”
His face was pink and healthy for his age and shone with pride, and his eyes glittered with excitement. “So what brings you by? Haven’t seen you in a while.”
I nodded at the truth of his words, jogging my memory for the last time I’d seen Uncle Larry and Aunt Alicia. “You guys showed up to my graduation. I saw you in the back but after I got my diploma you were gone.”
“Things were strained back then between me and your father, but we couldn’t let your big day pass without showing up. You looked so beautiful and smart up there, kid. We were as proud of you as if you were our very own.”
I remember seeing them in the back row, clapping and whistling and smiling. It was like having three parents instead of one. “It meant a lot to me that you were there.”
“Us too. But that’s not why you’re here. What’s going on kiddo?”
“Well,” I sighed. “Dad is in some real trouble and I recently learned that I don’t know a damn thing about his life or what’s been going on for most of mine.”
Larry smiled and stood, grabbed two longnecks from the fridge and twisted the cap off one before handing it to me. “You were just a kid. The fact that you were oblivious was a blessing to you and your parents.”
Yeah, maybe, but right now it was helping no one. “It was but now I can’t help but feel like a failure because Dad owes a lot of money. I mean a lot of it, Uncle Larry, and to the wrong kind of people.”
Larry whistled. “I was always worried about that. In fact, that’s what tore your dad and me apart. We used to go out, gamble a little, you know, a little fun here and there. But Pete got so bad looking for the big win, he didn’t ever want to stop and eventually, he just didn’t stop. Ever. Before your mom passed, he was a great guy. But losing her was hard on him. He tried to hold it together, for you. Then came more gambling, more drinking. I couldn’t do it.” He paused and pain flashed in his eyes. “I shouldn’t be telling you this. I’m sure you have enough on your plate.”
He sounded so sad and torn up about it that I found myself putting my arm around him to comfort him.
“I should’ve tried harder dammit.”
“No,” I insisted. “There was nothing you could have done. According to a reliable source, he’s been going on like this since I started high school and it only got worse when I left for college.”
Shit, it burned my tongue to even say that out loud. “I didn’t know. How could I not know?”
Uncle Larry took a swig of his beer. “It wasn’t your job to know, Layla. You were just a kid. You were supposed to be doing kid things. Studying, going to the mall with your friends. You know, kid things.” He took another pull of his beer and let out a long, hard breath. “What can I do to help?”
I wanted to ask him for the money. Badly. It was clear he could afford it, and given the guilt written all over his face, he would find a way to make it happen. But I knew it was wrong. This wasn’t Larry’s problem. And after the intensity of last night, there was no way in hell Eamon would forgive the debt.
“I don’t think there’s anything we can do. You know, Dad won’t even admit he has a problem and he won’t talk to anyone about his addiction.”
Not that I’d tried yet. I hadn’t. Everything had happened so quickly but seeing as he was forty grand in debt to a mobster, it was safe to say Dad wasn’t open to conversations about his addiction. Well that and the fact that I’d spent hours researching gambling addiction and the one thing I had learned for sure was that addicts never want to admit they have a problem much less talk about it.
“Pete was always a stubborn old fool. I promise not to butt in too badly, but how about I give him a call or drop in to see him?”
My shoulders relaxed because it felt nice to have backup, even if it was a few years too late. “Thanks. Maybe seeing a familiar face will help.”
It probably wouldn’t, but dammit, I was desperate.
“It can’t hurt.”
That was for damn sure. “Thanks, Uncle Larry. Now tell me, how’s retirement treating ya?”
He laughed that same roaring laugh I remembered, like he was just a little rusty and was still getting used to how it felt to laugh. “Damn good, little girl, damn good. I get some fishing done, plenty of fishing actually and this place keeps me busy.”
It was nice to just sit there and drink a beer with a guy who was basically family at ten in the morning, listening as he told me all about taking up hiking and how he thought he’d hate it, but it turned out Larry liked to spend time alone. “Alicia doesn’t mind?”
“Hell no. You see this kitchen? She’s learning to cook dishes fr
om all over the world so when I come back, she’s got all this food waiting for me to try. And you know what, it all tastes so damn good. And she loves hearing me tell her how much I love her food.”
The red flush of his cheeks told me exactly what he was talking about.
“Sounds like an ideal retirement.”
“Better than that.”
“I’m happy for you.” I was. “Would it be all right if I stopped by again?”
I could tell Larry was shocked, but he covered it quickly and flashed a genuine smile. “We’d like that. And I’m sure Alicia’d love to cook for you.”
“Sounds like a plan.” I pulled out a business card and left it on the table. “Thanks, Uncle Larry.”
“No problem, Layla. And hey, don’t worry too much about your old man. He won’t get better until he wants to and there’s nothing you can do about it. That’s a fact.”
I nodded because yeah, I knew that. Logically. But my poor dumb heart didn’t want any part of that logic. No, I wanted to find a way to make my dad stop gambling forever. It was a childish thought. Hell, it was a dream, but I couldn’t just do nothing.
“I hear ya,” I said half-heartedly.
“Yeah, but do you get what I’m saying? I can tell by looking at you that you don’t. That’s all right, we’ll be here when you need us.”
“Thanks.”
I had a few more names on my list of friends that had been likely family growing up. But like Larry and Alicia, they hadn’t been around for years. Still, I had a feeling they would all tell me the same story. Or some variation of it. I wasn’t sure I wanted to hear it, now.
I remembered the poker games in the garage that used to happen every Friday night, but by the time I started waiting tables at an Italian restaurant at sixteen, those games had stopped. Probably because my dad stopped getting a thrill from playing poker with his buddies for a few bucks. It wasn’t enough for him.
By the time I parked my car and made my way to the office I had more questions. How bad was my dad’s problem, really? Maybe he owed ten more people like Eamon more money? Maybe they would come to me to pay his debt? Or sell me on the street to the highest bidder? Or cut me open and make me carry drugs across the border like the drug mules?