DON’T TOUCH MY BABY: Ricci Family Mafia

by Zoey Parker

  So you could do what? Text her a smiley face and never see her again anyway? Like he was capable of something stable with a woman. Not with his life. Not with his role as a nomad.

  He’d do well to remember that, too.

  When club business sent him back up to Olympia a few weeks after he’d dropped off Kit at Andi’s house, it was hard not to relive every moment of their trip down the Pacific Highway. Kit had been a firecracker in his life. She lit him up even though he’d thought every last bit of himself had been burnt away, completely spent.

  Convincing himself he shouldn’t reach out to her was the hard part though. He had a rationalization for every excuse. And just when he thought he’d stamped out the last dying embers of his interest, a new wave flared up. It was like she’d burrowed down into bone.

  Bastard’s stint in Olympia was short and to the point: drop off a brick of product in exchange for cash. He spent one night in town, and went back to the Cat’s Claw as if on auto pilot. Pushing into the bar, he held his breath, desperate to see Kit’s wavy black locks, the sultry makeup, her luscious mouth.

  But she wasn’t there. Not even a band scheduled. Dipper was curiously absent as well. It was like he’d imagined them all. Maybe he’d never even met her. Maybe she’d just been a wild fantasy, like a dream that felt too real and haunted for days afterward.

  There was nothing to do but continue his life. Memories of Kit would fade. They had to. With enough time, he’d forget about her. He tried to trust it, even though he didn’t believe it.

  It just felt more and more like a miserable mistake.

  One Wednesday night, the LA chapter of Damned Devils sent him to one of their regular drop off points, a mostly okay night club with occasional bands and an owner who loved to snort. One of their steady, smaller clients, Bastard was almost always tasked with this club on his city rounds. When he stepped inside, the air was humid and dense. Fog clung to the sides of the hallway. Conversation roared through the small club as he stepped inside, pushing against people to make his way in.

  The owner spotted him immediately, sidling up to him. “Bastard! Over here!”

  He elbowed his way to Gary. “You having a drink special tonight or something? I’ve never seen so many people in here.”

  Gary laughed, clapping him on the back. “No, friend. We have a new act.”

  Bastard nodded, surveying the room for other cuts. Gary usually kept the place Damned Devils territory only. “Good for you. Business must be picking up.”

  “It sure is. That’s why I doubled my order this month.” Gary smiled out at the sea of people in front of them, a certain gleam in his eye.

  Bastard jerked his chin toward the back hallway where Gary’s office was, the sign to finish the deal. They headed for the back office, the music and conversation fading to a dull roar through the concrete walls. Once Gary had tested the latest shipment and was more than satisfied with the quality, they wound their way back out to the clamor of the bar.

  “Stay for a drink. It’s on me.” Gary nodded toward the bar. “You gotta get a load of this new singer.”

  Bastard was just about to feed Gary an excuse when the lights dimmed a little. The noise of the bar pulled back, like making way for the singer.

  “Here she goes,” Gary said, a knowing smile on his face. “You want a whiskey?”

  Something fluttered in Bastard’s gut. He usually left on nights like these. But this was his last stop. And if Gary was buying… “Sure.”

  And then the microphone rustled. The show was about to start. Bastard slid onto the bar chair Gary offered him, drumming his fingers against the tabletop.

  “Is this thing on?”

  A familiar sultry voice pierced the air, followed by a giggle. A bass drum tapped once, then again. Bastard furrowed a brow, turning toward the speakers.

  “Hellooooo everyone,” the singer half cooed, half drawled. Chills raced up his spine. He knew that voice. It was more than familiar.

  Bastard leaned toward Gary, still struggling to see past heads to the stage. “What’s the singer’s name?”

  Gary stroked his jaw. “Darla and the Devils. Stage name, of course. Hotter than sin. You know her?”

  Bastard swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry. Darla and the Devils. It seemed like a nod to the Damned Devils. If it was Kit…his vision went blurry for a second, heart pounding like he’d just run up a few flights of stairs.

  “Never heard of them,” Bastard said, just as the band sprang to life. Plucky guitar chords wafted through the air, a smooth, jazzy beat filling the club. Men hollered, whistles pierced the air. Bastard snatched up the drink the bartender offered him and downed half of it at once.

  “You’ll really like her,” Gary shouted over the music, pointing toward the stage. Bastard’s stomach knotted as he slid off the chair, intent on solving this mystery. If it wasn’t Kit, then she had a voice twin in LA. Or maybe he was just that desperate to see her again. But if it wasn’t Kit…then he needed to seriously confront the fact that he was starting to lose his mind.

  Over a fucking girl he’d known for four days.

  Bastard made his way through the crowd, elbowing drunk guys as needed to part the masses. As he neared, he caught slivers of the stage. An upright bass. Musicians decked out in black suits. And then…

  Kit. Or Darla. Whoever she was now. Pure curves and sexy sounds, ruby lips shining, her tits huge and round in a low cut sequin dress that hugged every inch of her like she’d been born in it. Bastard stilled, unable to rip his eyes from her as she sang, gesturing at the crowd with long gloved hands, like beckoning every single man to seek her. Heat prickled at his neck. She looked fucking fantastic. Like maybe she’d even put on a little weight. He swallowed hard, gobbling her up for what felt like the hundredth time in five minutes. Her boobs looked bigger too. Could she have gotten them done already, after barely a month in LA?

  Bastard couldn’t move while she sang, that throaty rasp holding him captive until the final notes of the guitar faded and the crowd around him erupted in applause. When the music broke it was like clarity returned to him. He looked around, unsure where to go from here. Staying seemed impossible. Sit through a whole set, for what?

  Staying after to talk to her was out of the question. She’d hate him for the way he left, because it had been by design. If she even agreed to see him. Bastard turned, downing the rest of his drink. It was time to leave. You got your fix. That needs to be enough.

  He had his important questions answered: where she was, how she was, what she was doing. He couldn’t press for more. It just wouldn’t be right.

  He set the tumbler down on the bar, nodding toward Gary as he made his way out of the bar. Kit crooned another song as he stepped out of the bar into the cool, dry night. He could hear her voice the whole way back to the clubhouse, like it had punctured his ear drums.

  ***

  Bastard lasted another week before he went back to the night club. There was no delivery this time. He just needed to see Kit, even if it was from afar.

  He showed up around the same time on the same night. Figured that replicating the conditions would be the smartest bet. And it paid off. The bar was packed and noisy, just like last time. His heart rate picked up as soon as he crossed the threshold, like his body went on high alert when he knew Kit was near.

  This time, he ordered a whiskey neat and took a seat near the far wall at a high table. Men and women crowded near the stage while Kit sang, and on occasion he caught a sliver of her through the swaying heads. Each time he saw those sparkling lips or her creamy skin in the off the shoulder dress, his chest tightened. It should be easier by now. But it wasn’t.

  Bastard nursed the whiskey, letting each one of Kit’s songs wash over him like a balm. Her voice held medicinal properties, or something. Often times her voice made his eyes drift closed, encasing him completely in the moment. He forgot about any tension in his life, his shitty mom, his less than savory childhood. He forgot about beef with other cl
ubs, the quiet fear that lurked whenever he had to go on border runs. All of it melted away when Kit sang.

  And in his mind’s eye, he imagined her singing to him. Could see her approaching him, welcoming him into her arms, telling him that she forgave him, but they needed to be together.

  Bastard’s eyes snapped open as applause filled the club. Kit’s husky laugh preceded a coy goodbye. Was it over so soon? He checked his phone. She’d been singing for over an hour, yet it had felt like minutes to him. He could listen to her for a year and still want more.

  Bastard popped an ice cube from his empty drink into his mouth and watched as the crowd loosened a bit. People headed out for smoke breaks while regular music sprang to life in the bar, filling the brief void. On the stage, the band worked to disassemble their set. Kit was nowhere to be seen.

  Bastard wandered over to the bar, where Gary stood taking orders along with his bartenders. When he saw him, he came over immediately.

  “Not a bad show, eh?” Gary lifted a brow.

  “She’s great.” Bastard set his empty glass down. “She got a dressing room back there?”

  Gary’s eyes narrowed. “Now, Bastard—”

  “I just want to give her my congratulations.” He tightened his grip on the tumbler. “She’s got talent.”

  “I don’t normally let anyone back to talk to her. It’s our agreement.”

  Bastard cleared his throat. “Well, I was hoping you could make an exception for me. See, she and I have a little history.”

  Gary’s jaw tensed. “Good or bad?”

  “Both.”

  Gary studied the bar top. He didn’t look convinced. “I don’t know. If I let you back there and she gets pissed—”

  “Trust me. It’ll be fine.” Now that was a blatant lie, but he had to get back there any way possible. Not seeing her, not talking to her, tonight would be a tragedy. Every cell of his body was desperate to give it a shot. Even if he knew it was the worst idea of his life.

  “I swear on our business relationship,” Bastard added when Gary didn’t answer. “And there will be extra in the next drop.”

  “Fine.” Gary slapped the countertop. “But make it quick. Go back there, like you’re heading to my office.” He pointed toward the familiar hallway they always used to hand over the product. “The dressing room is just two doors beyond. I’ll be watching.”

  Bastard rapped his knuckles on the bartop before pushing through the crowds, heading for the back hall. This went against every rule in the book, both personal and professional. He couldn’t wager cocaine for personal shit. Hell, he shouldn’t even be trying to talk to Kit again after the way he ditched her.

  But it didn’t matter. None of it mattered in the addictive pull of Kit.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Kit sat at her dressing table for a long time after the show. Per usual, she’d given it her all out there. The crowd had loved it. Each week it seemed more people showed up, new fans made. The bar owner was happy as a clam with the way her show had boosted his business. He wanted to make her a regular, but she’d hesitated from accepting.

  Just for a little bit longer. That was her motto in LA. It didn’t seem wise to lock herself down with one gig, even if it was successful. After all, isn’t this where she’d come from? Low level nightclubs, serenading drunken men eager to grow nostalgic over whiskey and wine? She could move beyond this—she would move beyond this. It was her entire game plan.

  Now that she was finally getting the hang of life in LA, even if it felt painstakingly slow at times, she didn’t want to settle for just the same old same old of Olympia. No, this was her chance to shine. To push herself. To grow.

  But she had to start somewhere. And this night club seemed like a pretty solid first step. But it wouldn’t turn into the only step.

  Kit sighed, tiredness licking at her. She hadn’t been drinking much recently, and somewhere between the stress of her move and adapting to life in LA she’d been getting tired. Like really tired. Staying up on gig nights was proving more and more difficult. Adding alcohol to the mix just didn’t seem wise, especially when she was still getting the hang of navigating LA at night.

  She smiled wistfully as she caught a glimpse of the new sticker she’d made: Darla and the Devils. When she’d found her band mates on Craigslist, picking the name had been first order. And maybe it was just heartbreak that had made her want the initials DD. But it was pure stupidity that made her put the word Devils in the name. As though the dedication to Bastard couldn’t be more obvious to herself. Thankfully her band mates didn’t suspect anything. It was a lurid secret only for her.

  Over a month in LA and she thought about him less, but still way too much for her own good. He was like a stain that just wouldn’t lift. A bastard that just couldn’t go missing in her mind. Four great days and one explosive let down was apparently enough to make her fall in love. And that was just plain disappointing.

  One more thing you need to work on out here. She reached for her makeup wipes, ready to start removing the effects of Darla. Stay away from bikers. Stop thinking about Bastard. Get your love life to the next level.

  It would all come together in time. She was sure of it. And so was Andi. That was all that mattered.

  Kit had managed to wipe off one cheek’s worth of foundation when a knock sounded at her door. She looked at the door through the mirror, brow furrowed. “Who is it?”

  “A visitor.”

  She frowned. That was unacceptably vague. She never got visitors back here, Gary made sure of it. She pushed to standing, pressing an ear to the door. No sounds from outside, other than the pulse of the bar in the distance.

  “What do you want?”

  “To see you.”

  And there it was—his voice. The voice that she’d been hearing in her dreams and fantasies for five weeks, no matter how hard she tried to forget it. She whipped the door open, mouth parting at Bastard’s boxy frame filling the doorway. Her breath hitched and she backed up a couple steps, unable to decide on an emotion. Relief crowded her, along with anger and sadness. She’d wasted too much time on a man who she barely knew. Wasted too many tears on a guy who couldn’t even be bothered to give her a proper goodbye. Yet she’d craved him, pined for him, nearly every waking moment since he left.

  On certain days it felt like insanity. On other days it felt like her was her soul mate. But every day, she told herself to shut the hell up about it and move on.

  “What the fuck are you doing here?” The words leapt out of her mouth before she could think better of it. Anger edged her tone. She wanted to throw her arms around him, punch him in the side until he doubled over. And then she’d kiss him so hard his lips hurt for an entire day afterward.

  And then maybe she’d be the one to walk away without a goodbye.

  “I told you. To see you.” He didn’t move, just gripped the edges of the door frame. His biceps bulged through his thin black shirt, those moss green eyes softening all the hard edges of his biker façade.

  “Okay, and? You could have seen me on the stage. You’re seeing me now. Is this enough now? Can I shut the door?”

  Bastard’s never ripped his gaze from her. “Don’t need to be so testy.”

  “Actually, I do. I don’t really have time for men who don’t have time for me.”

  A formidable silence settled between them. She drew quick breaths, her nostrils flared.

  “Fair enough.” Bastard leaned against the door frame, crossing his arms over his chest. He nodded at her dress. “You’ve filled out.”

  She scoffed. “You are fucking unbelievable. First, you completely bail on me for no good reason and act like a total dickhead. Then, you show up over a month later just to tell me I’ve gotten fat?” She pointed over his shoulder. “Get the fuck out of here.”

  “That’s not what I meant—” he started.

  “I don’t care what you meant. You had your chance with me, and you blew it. Bye.” She kept her finger pointed past him, steeling he
rself against the hurt that flashed across his face.

  “You look sexy,” he said, “Jesus Christ. I’m complimenting you. Did you get work done?”

  Her eyes rounded. Maybe she’d been out of her right mind during their four-day escapade. No way in hell could she have been attracted to an ass hat like this. He might be showing his true colors now and they were not nearly as dazzling as she’d hoped. “Are you kidding me? What the hell kind of work would I have gotten?”

  He jerked his chin toward her chest. “They look great. I mean, they were great before, too, but—”

  She let a noise of disbelief. “My boobs? You think these are fake?”

  Finally, Bastard looked ready to backpedal. He straightened, holding out his hands. “No, that’s not really what I meant. I mean, everyone gets their tits done out here. If you did, I wouldn’t care.”