I could tell that something had hit the ground less than fifty feet away from us on our flank. But that wasn’t what had me jumping out of my skin. It was the sound before it, the distinctive crunch that comes from skin pounding against skin that unnerved me the most, that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.
It was a familiar sound, and all it did was make me want to flee, make me want to give into the pull of something far-away, something foreign. Something so damned removed from myself that I could never look back.
But this time, I did look back… because the sounds were coming closer. The madness was starting to spread. A sailing cocktail glass was the least of our worries.
The bar was breaking out into a full-blown brawl.
Angie ducked… just as a couple of ounces of well-aged Scotch came soaring across the bar, sans-container.
“Shit,” she hissed. “Fucking great. That stupid couple over there got the patrons all riled up. Shitty drunks.”
I shook my head, squatting beside her near the stools bordering the now-dampened bar. I looked the patrons over. “No, not shitty drunks. More like shitty people. I’m not blaming this on tequila. Don Julio deserves better than this fuckery.”
The observation had barely passed my teeth before a fist began to fly. Hits began to quicken. The boyfriend from the argument was now swinging a chair at a group of guys, and a gaggle of chicks were playing “Ring-around-the-Rosie” with each other’s hair. Except this version was the MMA edition of the cute little kiddie game we’d all played as girls. These chicks were clawing, clasping at any ponytail their perfectly-polished little hands could find.
And Javi was in the middle of it.
Trying to hold them all back. Attempting to squash a blue crush of drunken anger that couldn’t be contained.
I loved him for trying. I hated that he had to.
My friends were better than this shit. And maybe so was I. I stood just as the scattered swears in the vicinity turned to screams, and that’s when I saw him.
Jeff.
Just a flash of his face amidst the fighting throngs in Tino’s, and I was transported back to a time—a memory. It was the first time I looked into a pair of blue-green eyes that I’d grow to never fucking forget.
He wasn’t at the bar when I approached. Not then, at least.
The liquor had already absorbed its way into my bloodstream. I rocked to the rhythm of the music in Tino’s bar by the third round of drinks, and somewhere in between the fourth and what I think was the sixth, I was lost to it, floating in the feeling of not being in control… and not doing a damned thing about it.
The bar was crowded that night. And loud. The after work yuppies that tried to permanently attach themselves to Penelope and I just an hour before were long gone and, in place of their boring beers, their suits and ties, came the tequila and tattoos along with a bevy of brawlers, bikers and bad ass chicks—an atmosphere that had become synonymous with home.
I was in my element. We should have been winding down from a long night’s worth of work, but when I felt that bass, heard the rhythm of a hypnotic hip hop beat fill the air with vibration and my body with its pulse, I was a goner.
Hips swinging, my skin still tingling from the hard-hitting melody, I extracted myself from Penelope’s side, sashaying my tipsy ass to the bar without a care in the world.
I ignored the stares of the men around me, and even when I heard the whispers and catcalls, I kept walking, making a beeline for the bar before a bold one could decide to make an approach anyway.
Unfortunately, I wasn’t quick enough.
A tatted-up dick in leather intercepted me like a linebacker coming for a quarterback. Except I was no Tom Brady. I didn’t finesse my way out of those type of situations…
I bulldozed through them.
Which is exactly what I tried to do when Leather Dick reached out and grabbed my arm. I snatched it back just as he threw his own arms in the air. He held his hands shoulder-high.
“Whoa, whoa. Easy there, little lady.” Strike one. “I’m not here to bother ya. Just curious. I think I know you…”
I looked at his face. There was a scar below his eyebrow. His hair was darker than ink. Instinct made me look at his hands, and when I saw that they were still in the air, I took a good hard stare at them.
The actual ink below his wrists told me everything I needed to know.
I tried to spin away from him once again. I threw a “Not likely” at him and started on my way. That’s when he said something that put a shiver under my skin.
I whipped around, the alcohol ambling through my veins making me bold as hell. Any other time, I would have run in the other direction if I’d heard this name. But this time? It infuriated me.
Dark waves of hair tumbled across my shoulder as I turned towards a man whom I realized was no longer a stranger. He did know me. Just like he said. Escaping my past wasn’t as easy as Angie was making it look.
I glared at the man. “What did you say?”
He grinned. “I said ‘Marco.’ You’re Marco’s girl. We met once at a local party ten years back…” He came closer. “But that was when you two were together.” He snorted. “That was before he went to jail—well, prison… but a cage is a cage, right? And now I see why he resisted it so strongly.” He looked me over from head to toe. “Any man would kill to stick around for you. Who could blame him?”
I balked. “The State of New York penitentiary, that’s who.”
My rage was rising.
Leather head simply shook his head. And it wasn’t the only thing that was shaking. My entire body was vibrating. Not from fear… but from the pure unadulterated anger that was starting to work its way into my system.
Every time I tried to start a new life, the old one came clawing its way back—the stalker on my track that never went away. I knew I wouldn’t be rid of it until I was rid of him—Marco. Until I was rid of everything that had to do with New York. My past. Everything that came before I’d found what to do with my life… and felt it slipping slowly but surely away from me. My friendship with Penelope Castalano, my fake boss, was clouding my judgment. It’d never been so hard to be a federal agent.
Speaking of which… I had to get back to her. I had left her by herself on the dance floor for far too long, and I knew the wolves were descending—the biggest of which was in front of me. He was practically licking his chops like I was a fresh kill for the taking. The only thing that could make this more obvious was if he rubbed his hands with glee.
I was shocked when he actually did it, rubbing them together in this suggestive way that made me want to scratch his fucking eyeballs out.
I stepped back, and he kept talking.
“Look here, sweetheart. We don’t have to talk about Marco. He’s old news. Now, none of us really know how he got busted. He should have been smarter… Maybe that way he still lays a claim on you. But the second he doesn’t, you’re open game. That is… unless you want to be my girl…”
He made a move to touch me, and I dodged it with a side step, never breaking the stare. My anger had solidified into purpose, and right then and there, I made the decision I knew would change the course of tomorrow. I was pursuing this rogue mission all the way to D.C.
I’d hand the agency the man they’d come to believe as “Salt” if it killed me.
I glared at the leather-vested reject from the “Sons of Anarchy” with venom sitting on the edge of my tongue. And then I basically spewed it at him.
“I’d rather eat a poisoned dick. But fuck you very much for the offer.”
I offered up the sweetest smile, then I rotated on my heel. I could feel the tsunami of fury getting ready to rage at my back. But before it could crash, he descended. He touched the small of my back so slightly that I almost believed I had imagined it. I could hear his voice from two feet behind me, and it was more magnetic than the hip hop track that had my body humming earlier.
I was rooted to the spot when he said
five words I’d never forget.
“Put that poisoned dick on hold…” The voice was dry and melodic. “The only person getting ready to eat anything, Miss, is Mister Maloni here. He’s going to be stuffing his fucking face with a huge heap of his own words if he doesn’t apologize to you right now.”
The voice was serious, and as I turned, I could see that the voice had a body, one with a back that was facing me. A thin grey sweater covered the shoulders of a specimen that was more mini-Hulk than man. His size was understated but the muscle beneath was undeniable.
I stared at the line of him longer than any glance should ever be. In fact, I wasn’t just looking at him; I was gawking.
His taut body was blocking the sight of the bastard that was bringing up Marco, but I could tell the man he just called Maloni was furious. He was spitting his statements, tripping over his own words instead of speaking them. Whatever the stranger said had caught him completely off-guard.
I loved every second of it.
“Fuck are you talking to, limp dick?” he spewed.
“I’m talking to you.”
“Who told you my name? Frankie B or somebody up in here? You guys fucking with me? What I’m doing over here is none of your business, pretty boy. This is between me, my dick and that sexy little witch behind you. Heard that bruja bitch had sex that could put a man under her spell.”
I could hear his grin, but couldn’t see it. I wanted to throw up. Correction: I wanted to throw up all over the highly-leathered asshole and pray to God that he’d drown in it or something.
I’d never felt so exposed. I’d never felt so fucking embarrassed. But before my angry tears could take on the form of a fist, the stranger cut in, causing the building well inside of me to dry up.
“Bruja, huh? So, she’s a witch?” He exhaled hard. “Guess that would make me the Wizard of fucking Oz. And what are you supposed to be…? The fucking scarecrow?”
The man paused. I knew he was too stupid to know how badly he’d just been insulted. But I also knew he didn’t like the comment; he just couldn’t figure out why… and he huffed like a two-year old in need of a change from a dirty diaper.
Birds of a fucking feather. It was the same attitude that Marco had when he didn’t get his way. He and all of his friends were more alike than he’d cared to admit. I didn’t regret putting him away. But I’d need more than just regret if the Gafanelli mob ever figured out who put their prize punisher behind prison bars…
“You know me or somethin’?” the leathery bastard continued.
“I know more than just your name, Maloni.” The stranger was calm. “I know your wife. I know that you live at 333 Crescent Street. I know that you’ve been orchestrating part-time dealings of a little ‘white’ with the Valetti family, and I know… that if Don G heard about your little side hustles, he’d have you strung up by the balls on 5th Ave. I know a whole fucking lot. Enough to bury you with.” His voice sunk to new levels, making me shudder. “Would you like to test how much I really know?”
Mister Leather Dick was shocked into silence, it seemed. And so was I. The new stranger pushed his grey sleeves past his well-defined forearms and up to his elbows, and I looked down at his wrists as the fabric moved. I saw nothing. My curiosity heightened.
Who was this guy? He didn’t have the customary black ink on his wrists like Maloni, as I had expected. He seemed innocent enough. His copper hair was long. It fell past his neck in this sexy, disheveled way that made me think of a tousled lion’s mane. Hell, he was built like one. And the Maloni guy was no more than a meal for him to eat.
I got the feeling that the stranger was teasing his prey, tenderizing the meat before he ultimately went in for the kill. I sensed that Maloni understood it, too. He backed off, mumbling a quick “sorry” over the stranger’s shoulder before shuffling away.
I waited, breath bated. Mr. Know-It-All still hadn’t said a word to me. At least, not to my face. I was dying to get a good look at him, to take a peek at a man who’d made a member of a very powerful organization scurry away like a little mouse, his tail tucked between his frankly underdeveloped chicken legs.
Most of the men in this joint would have acted like nothing was happening. Fuck it; most had. But he hadn’t. He had stepped in when no one else had, and I wanted to see his face. The face of the voice—my “No-Inked Knight.” The “Savior of too many Tequilas.”
Or, as I liked best, Mr. Know-It-All.
He shrugged with one shoulder, rolling it back. He reached towards his waistline, and I saw at his lower back what I hadn’t seen before. What I should have seen.
How did I miss it?
Probably because I was too occupied taking in everything but his lower back. His strong shoulders. The messy hair.
Mr. Know-It-All was armed.
And as I watched him make the sly move to re-tuck the tip of his black and silver gun, he suddenly turned.
I noticed his mouth first… and then his eyes. In a matter of seconds, it no longer mattered that I didn’t know who the hell he was, what the hell he was doing there, or the fact that his innocence had gone flying out the door the minute I saw that he was packing some serious heat—that he was armed. Heavily so.
What mattered was that I was the very opposite of that. Completely disarmed. My defenses hit the floor the second I looked into his sea-green eyes. They were blown to smithereens when he looked into my eyes, stared there for a second… and smiled.
And that’s when fighting and chaos began.
Ang grabbed my hand, shaking me from the memory. She screamed at me. “Come on!” But I was still stuck in the flashback, still reeling from all that I remembered.
I was drawn to the chaos. I found myself staggering towards it, looking for those eyes again. I surprised even myself when I started running towards it, rushing almost blindly. The fight had grown bigger, and at the center of it, I knew I’d seen those blue-green eyes peeking out at me.
But this wasn’t a dream. This was reality. And I knew I’d regret it forever if I let this moment pass me by. He was here. I knew it. I screamed his name.
“Jeff!”
Crash and Burn
SIENNA
“Si!” Ang called out behind me. I was losing her panicked voice amidst the noise. The sound of broken bar stools accompanied the shatters of smashing glass and still I proceeded towards the melee, determined.
I wanted to see those green eyes again. Needed to. They were a reminder that I wasn’t dead, that the life I’d had a chance at living wasn’t a dream at all. That it was real.
That I was on my way to becoming something more than this—this waitress in a crummy backstreet bar. Until life came and snatched it away.
But my big break wasn’t the only thing getting snatched in Tino’s bar that night.
From the fray, Javi emerged like a rolling hurricane. His brow furrowed, his face enraged, he rushed towards me like a desert storm, sweeping me up into his arms. His curly dark hair fell to the middle of his forehead, and it brushed me as he flipped me over his shoulder, carrying me away.
He sat me down outside of Tino’s bar in the warm weather with a worrying Ang not too far behind. He pointed at me like the big brother he’d always been. His stare was hard. Much too hard for me to argue with.
I shrank as he came down on me with tornadic force.
“Have you lost your fucking mind, Sienna? What the hell do you think you were doing?”
I tried to steady my chin. “None of your business.”
“The hell it isn’t my business,” he motioned back towards the bar. “I’m trying to stop these fuckers from tearing Tino’s to shreds before the cops get here. And you go and try to join the fucking shredding session, Si. That wasn’t a mosh pit you were trying to join in there; it was a full out fucking brawl. You could have gotten yourself hurt… or worse.”
He leaned over my huddled body perched against the side of the building on the sidewalk. His eyes went soft for a second. He looked at Ang. T
hey seemed to share some secret knowledge in that moment, and when she nodded at him, he hung his head. Somehow, the simple motion seemed to rein Javi in. He looked up at me, and what I saw was a brotherly love that I had never truly known. My own brother was gone—well, for all intents and purposes. And Javi was the only family I had left. The only person besides Ang that truly gave a damn about my life and anything that involved me.
I was lucky to have them. It hurt my heart to think that I might leave them both behind. All for a shot in Hell.
But it was better this way.
They lived a different life than mine; they wanted different things. I’d never truly fit in with my friends. As we all got older, Javi and Angie began to crave what we all lacked as children--that peace, quiet and comfort that came from cushiony paychecks. Money never really mattered to me. Sure, I needed it to survive, to not live in the ratholes of my youth, but what I really yearned for was the possibility of making a difference.
I wanted to fight for the good guys. For once. Growing up on a street thrumming with mobsters, thieves and crime bosses, I also wanted thrill, purpose—action, like all the other budding thugs.
But where they wanted to perpetuate violence, I wanted to stop it—a trait that made me an outcast, a title that stuck with me to this day.
The moment Parker had given me his proposal, I had decided. I knew that I was going to D.C. whether my closest friends liked it or not. As always, Javi, ever the older brother, seemed to know what was going on inside my head.
He sighed. “Look, I don’t know what the hell is going on with you, but I wish you’d let me help. Let us help.” He motioned to Ang. “I know you’re still reeling from being fired from the Bureau, and I know that may cloud your judgment sometimes, but...” He inhaled harshly. “It’s one of the reasons why I…”
Another smash sounded from inside the bar. A couple of people rushed out of the front doors in its wake, and Javi looked towards the street at the few cabs starting to line up.
“Shit. Alright. I need you both to get your asses in a cab and go home. I don’t want to pick you up and carry you the entire way, but I will.” He glanced up the street. “The cops are finally arriving. And if you don’t want to be here when the shit really hits the fan, I’d get out of here. Now. It’s not going to be pretty when some of these shitkickers start resisting arrest. Know what I’m saying?”
Among the Flames (Kisses and Crimes Book 3) Page 5