Dark Horse

by Jessica Gadziala

  "What was he like with you?" he asked, knowing he was likely prying, but also realizing he had laid all his past bare for her, and it was only fair that she did the same. Even if he had to coax it out of her because, although Atien obviously taught her a good work ethic, confidence, and determination, he had clearly not pushed the 'knowing how to communicate' thing. It was something he, having been so surrounded by women all his life, was not afflicted with in the least.

  "Like..." she started, looking off into the corner of the room, trying to find the right way to say it. How does one break down the love, support, and discipline a parent gives over the course of an entire lifetime in just a few words? "Like a bat wrapped in velvet. He was hard, firm. He had some rules that I wasn't allowed to break. He had others that I knew I could bend. And he had a lot of expectations on me about my grades, my martial arts studies, the way I treated others, especially my elders. But at the same time, he was the one to bring me home huge bars of chocolate when I had a bad day, to listen to me for hours on end telling him about what I did with the neighborhood kids that day, who always told me to stop getting down on myself when I screwed up, that mistakes were the only thing in life that were truly your own, that they were the only way you could get better. I couldn't ask for a better dad."

  "So what happened?"

  "What?" she asked, jerking back like he had struck her.

  "He's a great dad. You love and respect him. And yet you're not speaking. You left his company that you say he worked so hard for to give you a better life."

  She paused for so long that he was sure she wasn't going to answer. But then she hissed out her breath and did.

  "I did really well in college. I passed my PI exam with flying colors. I was a trained martial artist. And I was finally ready to join my dad's firm. He put me under Kenny, this kid I knew most of my life who was - and is - his office manager. Though why, I don't know. My father is usually a better judge of character than that."

  "I'm taking it Kenny is a douchebag."

  "He's a complete cockwaffle," she agreed, making him snort. "Apparently having tits meant I had to sit at a desk and do everyone else's grunt work. I couldn't go into the field."

  "Did you tell your father? He doesn't sound like the kind of man who would sit by and let you be stuck at a desk."

  "I wanted to prove myself on my own, not lean on him. I was sure that once I was around for a while, they would see my merits."

  "Have to respect that."

  "I was different then," she went on, this time unprompted, her tone a little sad.

  "Different how?"

  "Optimistic, I guess. Maybe a shade naive. Gung-ho to be a do-gooder, to get a shiny metaphorical gold medal for being so awesome. It wasn't awful at first. Just long hours and stupid nicknames and leers that I pretended to ignore. But then I was being groped and literally screamed at in front of all my peers because I couldn't work a miracle and get data off a phone that had been dropped off a building then run over by a semi. Little by little, the optimism faded. The naiveté became cynicism and bitterness. And that gung-ho attitude turned into something more prickly. Then I was just the supposed office bitch. The chick who couldn't take a rape joke. Daddy's little girl who would never be there if it weren't for him."

  "So, in other words, you were drowning in the testosterone of a bunch of misogynistic assholes who were threatened by you, so held you down."

  It was an old - and pathetic - mindset too many men still had.

  Enzo would always count himself lucky that he grew up the way he had, surrounded by so many strong women, who showed him that being female wasn't some fucking handicap. It was the fate of most of the men he knew who were raised by single mothers; there was a level of respect there that you didn't often find elsewhere.

  "Pretty much," she agreed.

  "Did you tell your father why you were leaving? Or did you just up and give your notice out of the blue?" he asked, feeling like he knew the answer.

  "He was so pissed. It's not like he doesn't have a begrudging respect for Xander. I think all PI's - no matter what they might say about him - have to give Xander credit. True, he operates in gray areas, but he gets the job done. And I think a lot of them, people like my dad who have to keep on the straight and narrow, kind of maybe are envious about not being able to get their hands more dirty. That being said, he didn't want me getting my hands quite that dirty. And he certainly wouldn't want to see this," she said, gesturing toward her face. "This is why he threw such a fit about it. And I was angry at him, and he was angry at me. And we are both stubborn and prideful, and we just... have refused to be the one to reach out first."

  "You'll get there," Enzo said with a shrug, knowing there was no way she could stay mad at him forever, no matter how stubborn she might have been. "What about Biyen?"

  "Biyen is," she started, bemused smile in place, "a giant pain in the ass, someone who picks on me constantly, but also loves and supports me. He's the closest thing to a sibling I've ever had."

  "And he's the middle man with you and your dad now?"

  "He's not the type to take sides," she agreed. "My dad is like a father to him as well."

  Enzo waited a minute to see if there was more. "So that's your story."

  "So that's my story," she agreed. "I told you it wasn't as interesting as yours."

  "It was plenty interesting. Helped me get you better."

  And there it was, right there in her eyes. A glassiness, a heavy-liddedness.

  He knew it for what it was.

  Attraction.

  Acceptance.

  Permission.

  They were all things he wanted from her, had been seeking from her, knowing full-well that he truly couldn't have it from her until she knew all of his past, all his skeletons almost as intimately as he did himself.

  That being said, there was nowhere to take it right then.

  She was still hurting.

  He didn't want to add to that.

  It would have to wait

  Just until she was feeling better.

  And he was just going to have to hope to hell that she was still willing to give him those things when she was back in fighting shape.

  FOURTEEN

  Espen

  She thought them telling each other all about their lives was a step forward, a step toward them being something 'more.'

  Apparently, this was just another example of a time when she read a situation with the opposite sex entirely wrong.

  Because for the next few days, there was just nothing.

  No kissing.

  No touching.

  No implying anything.

  They were like roommates, watching movies, bullshitting, eating meals together.

  It was weird.

  Or, at least, she was seeing it that way because she had maybe sort of totally been thinking (and hoping) it would be more.

  Slowly, but surely, her ribs stopped screaming in pain. Even as they closed in on the weekend, they didn't feel in tip-top shape. If she stretched her arms over her head, they objected, but it was tolerable. The bruises were still there and around her eye, angry and a constant reminder, but the swelling had gone down a good eighty percent, so she could fully open her eye again, a blessing she wasn't aware of needing as badly as she did.

  About an hour earlier, Enzo had gone out to stock up on more supplies, the food he had bought the morning after they arrived running low.

  "So unless you want a mustard and mayo sandwich on half-molded bread, I gotta hit the store."

  Since she was on her way to the shower, she opted out of going even though she was getting a bit of cabin fever. She didn't want to hold him up.

  So when there was a knock at the door a few minutes after she finished straightening up the bathroom, she figured Enzo had his hands full.

  But, being that this was Third Street turf, and he was the previous leader of Third Street, and there wasn't a peephole to look out of, she kept the chain on the door as she pull
ed it open to check.

  And just about had a stroke.

  A literal stroke.

  Because it wasn't Enzo who she would have been happy to see, for reasons she was no longer able to claim she didn't know the origins of. No, it was becoming too clear even to try to deny anymore.

  She liked him.

  Plain and simple.

  She wanted him.

  That was more complicated though.

  But it wasn't him.

  It wasn't some gun-wielding gangbanger either.

  Hell, she might have preferred that.

  No.

  Instead, who she saw in the sliver the chain allowed, was Atien Locklear.

  In his two-thousand dollar suit.

  In a building in a slummy area of town.

  Looking, somehow, like he still fit there.

  That was one in a long line of unique qualities her father possessed - the ability to fit in anywhere, even if he didn't look the part. She had always attributed this to his particular brand of unshakeable confidence. You never thought to second-guess him because he never second-guessed himself.

  "No hiding now, Espy. Let me in."

  He was using his Commanding Dad Voice.

  And, well, aside from him being right about her not being able to pretend she wasn't there, that voice always elicited a knee-jerk response from her.

  She was closing the door and sliding the chain before she was even fully conscious of what she was doing.

  The second she pulled the door open, his face fell. His eyes, so much like her own, usually quite guarded, right then gave it all away.

  "It's not that bad," she rushed to say, wanting to get that look off his face.

  "You've had almost a week for healing," he said, making her wonder how the hell he even knew. She would find out eventually. "And you are still this bruised. This is bad. How bad must it have been that night, or the morning after?"

  "Really," she said, shaking her head, "I'm fine. It's no big deal."

  "A grown man twice your size struck you and choked you, and it is no big deal?"

  "I've had plenty of grown men strike and choke me," she tried, meaning in class, wanting to brush it off.

  "In class. To make you stronger. To show you how to get out of these situations. Not to hurt you. Not to leave you with hand-shaped bruises across your throat." His hand raised then, slowly, like you would to a beaten dog, like he was worried she would shrink away.

  And that seemed to snap her out of the daze his worried gaze put her in. She wasn't a fucking victim. She wasn't going to cower away from raised hands like a battered woman. And she was offended that he even thought she was capable of something like that.

  "Oh, the throat is nothing," she said breezily as she moved inside, a silent invite for him to follow. "The ribs were the real mother."

  "Espen," he said, voice harder as he closed the door. "Don't."

  "Don't what? Be condescending? Oh, no, wait. That was you. What are you doing here, Dad? Other than lecturing me about my life choices."

  "We'll get back to that later. I'm here because Biyen said he went to drop into your apartment yesterday only to find a bunch of men there dusting the place."

  She snorted at that, realizing that Xander - while he gave her the text updates she demanded - had obviously left that little tidbit out. Dusting? Seriously? Did Xander have someone in the department who would run prints for him?

  "Which one squawked?" she asked, wanting to know who to not trust with secrets in the future.

  "Rhodes, of course," he said, shaking his head. "He might not operate legally, but he is a good man who knows when a father needs to know his only child is okay."

  "I'm fine."

  "You're not fine," he snapped, voice cracking. "On your first job for Rhodes, you're more hurt than I have ever seen you in a class."

  "It has nothing to do with Xander. It was just a hiccup on the job."

  "A hiccup is when the file gets misplaced, not when my daughter gets battered!"

  She wasn't sure she had ever seen her father so unraveled before. Normally, his composure put her to absolute shame. He never ranted. He never raved. He never showed frustration or anger, let alone what he was giving her right then. It was something like a mix of desperation and exasperation.

  It was enough to give her pause.

  "It seemed like a cut-and-dry case. And, so you don't start getting any ideas about Xander being to blame, he had Enzo on the case with me. But he had some family drama and had to head out for a weekend. Hence me being there alone. It wasn't his fault."

  He sighed at that, reaching up to run a hand through his neat hair, somehow not making the dark and gray streaks look any less perfect.

  "Why, Espen?" he asked, voice empty.

  "Why what?"

  "Why leave? Why go to Xander? Why put yourself in this situation?"

  "Because I wanted a goddamn chance!" she nearly shrieked, surprised she blurted it out so easily when she had hidden the truth for so long. "Not to have fucking Kenny The Douche stick me at a desk, call me honey, and claim my simple freaking female brain can't handle being a goddamn private investigator."

  And there it was.

  It was out.

  And Atien shocked back hard, his mouth falling open.

  It was maybe the first time in her life that she saw him looking shocked.

  "What?" he asked, his voice airy.

  There was no way to backpedal, to play it off. It was time to come clean.

  "Yeah, the men in your office, well, they didn't think a woman should be out in the field. I was never offered to go on a job. I was stuck at a desk every day for years, doing everyone else's grunt work, getting screamed at when I couldn't perform literal miracles."

  "What? How did this happen? Why wouldn't you come to me about it?"

  "Cry to daddy because the boys were being mean to me?" she shot back.

  He sighed at that, understanding the truth in her words. "How did I not notice this?" he asked himself, shaking his head.

  "You were busy."

  "So busy that I couldn't see what was at the root of the change in you the past few years."

  "Dad..." she said, feeling uncomfortable.

  It was one thing for her to see the changes in her personality, being that she knew herself so well. But she had maybe naively believed that the changes were slow and slight enough not to be something that was broadcasted to those around her.

  No one wanted to know that those around her, those she loved and loved her in turn, were aware of her becoming a guarded, prickly, colder person.

  "When did I become so busy that I couldn't see my own daughter was unhappy?"

  "I wasn't unhappy," she half-lied. "I was just... determined to prove myself."

  "You never needed to prove yourself to me, Espy. I always knew what you were capable of."

  "But no one else did."

  "Honey, anyone who has met you for point-two seconds would know better than to believe you weren't capable of exactly what you set your mind to," Enzo's voice cut in, making both her and her father's heads swivel in the direction of the door where he was standing, several bags in each of his hands.

  "Mr. Locklear, I assume," he said, moving in, his heel kicking the door closed before he put the groceries down on the counter so he could reach out and shake her father's hand.

  For some reason - beyond any logical reason - the moment felt poignant, important.

  And as the hands of men who seemed incredibly important to her in that moment met, there was a strange swelling sensation in her chest.

  "Atien," her father offered. "And you would be Enzo."

  "Yes, sir," he agreed with a nod as he moved to stand beside her. "I thought I would beat him, honey. Xander just sent me the warning text. Obviously too late. I suspect on purpose. I think this going-to-be-a-dad thing is fucking with his hardass reputation."

  "I hardly think my own daughter needs a warning text about me visiting," Atien objected, sou
nding offended.

  When she looked, she realized he was eyeing up Enzo. She suddenly wished he was the type of man who gave his inner thoughts away. She wanted to know what he thought of Enzo. And it was perhaps the first time in her life she ever felt that way.

  "All due respect, sir, it was clear the two of you weren't on the best terms. And since I know her, and I don't know you, her best interest is the one that matters most to me in this situation."

  There was a heavy silence, the tension seemingly palpable. She had absolutely no idea what his reaction to a statement like that might be.

  She certainly didn't think, though, that his reaction would be a smile that threatened to split his face.

  "I like this one, Espen. Not one of those muscle-bound jackasses without two brain cells to brush together. Or, alternately, the smart but wimpy milksops who would hand you over in a home invasion before they even offered up their wallets."

  "Great taste in men she's had, huh?" Enzo asked, clearly enjoying the way her mouth literally fell open.

  Her father - this man she thought she knew so well - had never been that dad. The dad that teased her. The dad that sized up the men she introduced him to. The one who brought up embarrassing things to people he thought were new suiters of hers.

  "There was one. I don't know... four years or so ago? He was a professional iguana breeder," Atien agreed, voice amused.

  "Oh okay. We are so not doing this," Espen said, but no one was going to listen.

  "You got to pick Paine for details. I get to do the same with your old man," Enzo said, shrugging. "It's only fair."

  "So I hear you and Espen are in competition for a job," Atien said as he and Enzo moved over toward the living room. "Are you still... intact?" he asked, shooting Espen a bemused grin.