by M. Leighton
“Travis went to Trip’s again tonight,” I tell her with a concerned sigh. She grunts. Or moans. I’m not sure which. And I don’t know what it means, or if it means anything at all. She does it at random times. “I worry about him when he’s over there. He says they’re just playing video games, but with Trip...”
I give my mother another bite of dinner and then I hold a straw to her lips. “Take a drink, momma.” I tickle her lower lip with the straw and she finally latches on, sucking thirstily.
I feel another pang of guilt. With a shadow following me everywhere I go now, I can’t come home as easily to check on her throughout the day. Since it looks like Sig isn’t going anywhere, in the future, I’ll have to think of excuses to stop by my house for a few minutes here and there.
She grunts again, pushing the straw out of her mouth with her tongue. I smile down into her familiar yet oddly blank face. “I guess that means you’re ready for some more food, huh, Momma?”
After my mother is finished eating, I set about giving her a bath before I brush her teeth and change her bed. As I smooth lotion on her skin, I check for red spots that might indicate bed sores. It’s a constant worry with her lying in bed all the time, but at least she can shift around a little bit by herself. Enough to keep her skin from breaking down, obviously.
When I do to slip a fresh gown down over her head, she holds her arms up like a small child might. The action is small yet poignant, and a well-hidden part of me cries on the inside for all the losses that my family has suffered over the years. Before closing my mind to it, I let the pain rocket through me, tearing away little bits and pieces of scar tissue. It’s a painful reminder, but a reminder nonetheless. And reminders can be good tools in keeping me focused.
Before the tears welling in my eyes can fall, I think of Travis and my insides quiet. He has to be my first priority. Everything I do, I do for him. And one day, it will all work out like I’ve planned. And then it’ll be worth it. All this will be worth it. Until then, I suck it up and press on. It’s the only choice I have.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN- SIG
It’s dark out so I cut across one street and two yards to end up at the back of Tommi’s little house. It’s getting harder and harder to leave her. Whether at night or dropping her off with Lance for the day, I’m getting greedy. I want to spend time with her. I want to get to know her, the real her. The her that smiles with her eyes, the her that watches me from her rearview mirror, the her that looks at me with longing when she thinks I can’t see.
I’ve wondered so many nights what she does when she’s home alone, after her brother leaves. It’s always shortly after that when she’ll bring me a plate for supper or a tin of cookies or some other kind of treat and wish me a goodnight, basically dismissing me for the day. Like a good employee, I go on back to my new “home” and pretend that my duty for the day is over, until the next morning when I wake up to do it all over again.
But not this time. Not tonight. I want to know how she fills her time, what she has in her life besides Lance and her brother.
It’s quiet and I can see that there’s a light on in the kitchen. The only other light is in what appears to be a bedroom. The curtains are closed, but I can see shadows shifting inside. Probably Tommi, judging by the height and build, and the fluid way she moves.
I watch her flit here and there, bending and straightening, reaching for things and turning back. I have no idea what she’s doing, so with a glance left and right, I step closer to the window and peek through the sliver-like part in the curtain.
It is Tommi, as I suspected. I can see her ringing out a washcloth and then turning to her left. I see her shoulders work and when she leans back into the scope of the crack, I can see her mouth moving, too. She’s talking to someone, but I don’t know who. I listen closely. I can hear the sexy timber of her voice, but just a rumble. Not clearly enough to make out words. And that’s the only sound I hear.
She smiles occasionally, but it’s a sad smile. Bereft. I notice the slope of her shoulders when I see her pick up a laundry basket. They look tired and…heavy. Like she’s carrying the weight of the world on them. I shift in front my peeping slit, my eyes never leaving her as she makes her way slowly toward me. I smash my cheek against the glass to keep her in my sight as she bends. That’s when I see the woman lying in the bed. I can’t see much more than her profile, but her platinum hair is the exact shade of Tommi’s and their nose and mouth could be that of sisters. Or, considering the age of this woman, mother and daughter.
Tommi leans down and presses a kiss to the woman’s cheek. She lingers for a few seconds and then straightens, lovingly stroking the woman’s face before she walks out of the room, cutting the overhead light off as she goes.
I think back to what I know about Tommi, about her mother who draws disability checks. I didn’t give it much thought, but this is more disabled than what I would’ve expected. From the looks of it, the woman needs more professional care. Yet Tommi is providing it. All by herself. But why? Why, when I’m sure Lance would give her as much money as she wanted or needed, would she do this to herself?
I back up to follow her through the house. She passes the kitchen and disappears into another room, one without a window. She’s in there for five or six minutes–maybe starting the laundry?–and then she comes out again, her arms empty.
After she gets herself a yogurt and a bottle of water from the fridge, Tommi heads for a room toward the front of the house. I walk around, sticking to the deeper shadows of the yard, away from the windows, until I see the blue flicker of the television pour out into the night. The sheer curtains in the living room are pulled shut, but they’re so thin they provide little in the way of privacy. Of course, if she doesn’t turn on the lights, it’s pretty hard to see in unless you’re right on top of the place, like I am.
I watch her pull her feet underneath her, covering her legs with a blanket as she delicately spoons yogurt into her mouth. Even in the low light, I can see her tongue trail across her upper lip to clean it off. My mouth waters as I think about licking those lush lips and then tasting the flavor of the yogurt on her cool tongue. I’m guessing that not even the most decadent variety could compare to the taste of Just Tommi.
I stifle a groan.
After half an hour, she’s fast asleep on the couch, obviously having meant what she said about staying in. As much as I’d like to stay and watch her, I’m too restless. Instead, I walk back to my house to get my truck. Maybe I’ll stop back by Tonin’s place under the guise of just reporting to him about Tommi’s activities over the last couple of weeks. See what he’s up to.
What I find when I get there, while not really valuable to my investigation, pisses me the hell off!
CHAPTER FIFEEN- TOMMI
I straighten my black sleeveless blouse and slim, short black skirt as I give myself one last glance in the mirror. I try to ignore the longing for relaxed fit jeans and a comfy tee. There won’t be any of that today. Maybe not until all this is over, considering that I now have a shadow.
I walk by Travis’s room and knock again. “If we don’t leave now, you’ll be late. Let’s go!”
I know he’s tired. He didn’t get in until almost 1:30 last night. I could’ve fussed, but I didn’t. I was just glad he came home in one piece and that I didn’t get a call from the police or the hospital. Those are always my two biggest fears when he leaves at night. But my hands are tied, so…it’s a fear I’ve learned to live with.
Travis finally comes out of his room, hood flipped up, hat pulled low. He doesn’t meet my eyes again this morning, just brushes past me and flings open the front door.
I follow him out, my eyes traveling immediately to the spot across the street that Sig occupies. It’s empty.
I’m surprised and disappointed. Very disappointed. Much more than I should be, which should be not at all. I should be relieved to have a few minutes to myself. Only I’m not. I like seeing him each morning. And throughout the day. For the
first time in years, I’ve felt a little less lonely. Despite my brother and my mother and Lance with all his goons, I never feel quite like I’m not alone. Maybe it’s because the game I play is a solitary one, whether anyone else knows it or not.
After I drop Travis off, I pull back out into the street. That’s when I see him. Sig, slumped down behind the wheel of his big, intimidating truck. I have to resist the urge to smile when I see him nod. I don’t know if he can see me looking at him in my mirror or if he can feel it, like I often feel him. Either way, he knows I’m looking.
Even from this distance, I can see the sparkle in his eyes. It’s like he has the inside track on a private joke. He’s the first of Lance’s men who has had a shred of personality, much less this much of one. Most people in his line of work are very hard and unpleasant. Sig is anything but hard and unpleasant.
I study the big hand draped over the steering wheel. I recall the long fingers and wide palm from when he helped me on the side of the highway, the way he handled those tires. I bet those hands could wreck a man’s face if he used them in such a way. But I also bet they could be incredibly gentle, too. On a woman’s body, for instance. I remember all too well the way they felt at my waist when he lifted me into his truck. And then the way they slid slowly from around me, like he didn’t want to let me go.
Of course, it won’t do me any good to think of things like that. He was forbidden before. He’s flat out dangerous now. He could ruin everything. Get people hurt, himself included. And that’s a risk I can’t take, no matter how tempting he is.
I refuse to look behind me again until I pull into the parking garage and find that Sig is no longer back there. I get out and walk to the side entrance that leads to the lobby. Just as I’m reaching for the door, warm fingers–the very same warm fingers that I was thinking about only minutes before–cover mine and I feel Sig’s big presence behind me. I stop, turning to look over my shoulder, his palm still pressed to the back of my hand.
His eyes are dark and intense, belying the half grin that tugs at his lips. The look sums up this man perfectly. He’s playful and flirtatious, but at the same time something about him threatens to consume me. He leaves me feeling breathless and off kilter when he’s close like this.
“Good morning,” he offers in his deep, smooth voice.
I don’t respond; I just attempt a smile. Both of us remain perfectly still.
“I trust you slept well.”
“I did, thank you.”
He watches me. I watch him right back. Knowing I should move. Yet I don’t. I like being close to him, breathing in his clean, manly scent, seeing the way the gold flecks in his eyes seem to spray out from his dynamic pupils like lava spewing forth from an active volcano.
“Thank you again for the chocolate pie last night. I went to sleep with that sweet taste on my tongue.”
Oh god! Why does that sound so dirty?
“I’m glad you liked it.”
“It was delicious. Makes my mouth water just thinking about it.”
I catch and hold my breath. This is why I should be glad he’s not near me more often, or that I’m not with him more each day. It’s been two minutes and already I feel like I might spontaneously combust.
I exhale slowly. His eyes shift to my lips. I watch him lick his own, like he’s wishing he tasted me there. I’m wishing the same thing.
He leans in closer, the scruff on his cheek scraping sensually across my own as he puts his mouth near my ear. “Breathe, Tommi. Don’t forget to breathe.”
Somehow, I’ve turned. I’m now plastered against the building beside the door, my fingers still gripping the handle, his palm still covering my knuckles. The concrete is cool at my back, a stark contrast to the heat I feel emanating from Sig. His body isn’t touching me, but it might as well be. I can practically feel every hard contour, like my skin is reaching out for it.
Then, just before the incredible tension lulls me into doing something stupid, he retreats. Gently rolling our hands until his is on the bottom, he grips the handle and pulls open the door. He holds it for me, his eyes never leaving mine as I smooth my hair and blouse, and walk demurely into the building. I know without looking that his eyes never leave me.
We ride the elevator in silence. I wonder if Sig is aware of the crackle of electricity between us. It’s like a living thing, snapping and sizzling. When the doors swoosh open onto the penthouse lobby, I’m hesitant to meet the eyes of Dane and Gerard. I wonder that I don’t look different, so much so that they somehow know what was happening in there, what I was feeling.
I take a deep breath and make my way to the living room. I stop at the edge when my gaze falls to the couple on the couch.
Lance is sprawled on his back and a girl is on her knees between his legs, her hand down his lounge pants. I clear my throat loudly and he cranes his neck to look back at me. His lips curve into a lascivious smile that tells me so much.
I wondered why he didn’t mention any plans for the day. Now I know. I also wonder if the girl just got here or if she’s been here since last night.
“There she is,” he says of me, tugging on the dark fall of hair that’s spread across his stomach. A very attractive young girl, probably not much more than eighteen or nineteen, smiles up at me.
She starts to unbutton her top. “Finally!”
Lance barks a general, “Leave us!” to everyone in the room. I know that applies to everyone but me.
I don’t glance behind me, but I can almost feel the burn of Sig’s eyes between my shoulder blades. My cheeks sting with humiliation. Most of Lance’s men are used to his…ways, but Sig isn’t. This is the first time he’s walked me upstairs. He has no idea what kind of man Lance really is. Or what kind of person I am because of him.
A stab of regret, a pinch of loss–loss of what could’ve been between Sig and me if things were different–slices through me. I’ll never have a guy like him. Even though he works for Lance, something tells me that he’s a good man. Better than most of the others. I don’t know why. Maybe it’s that he helped me when I was stranded, when he had no idea who I was. Maybe it’s that he was so genuine and kind and polite when he was getting nothing in return. Whatever the reason, my gut tells me that he’s more. Just…more. And that I could never deserve him. This is proof. Proof of what I am, what I’ve become. What I’ve had to do.
I swallow an uncharacteristic lump of emotion as I straighten my shoulders and move into the living room. I stopped being squeamish about stuff like this years ago. There’s only one explanation as to why it would bother me now. And that is just one more reason why I have to keep Sig as far away from my heart as possible. He’s no good for me, for my plan. He’ll only get me hurt. Get both of us hurt. And I’ve come too far to let that happen now.
CHAPTER SIXEEN- SIG
I’m torn. My cock doesn’t know whether to fill up with blood or shrivel into a damn vagina.
The thought of Tommi being undressed by another woman is a huge turn-on. The idea of delicate, painted fingernails scraping over her nipples, the image of ruby-red lips kissing her bellybutton is so hot I could drive a nail into a wooden board with my dick. Holy Jesus!
But.
The thought of Tonin putting his hands on her, his mouth on her makes me furious. Like, put my fist through a man’s face furious. He doesn’t deserve her. I know she’s with him willingly, but I can’t believe that she’d be here if she had any other viable option.
I go back down to the lobby and text Finch, the other undercover. He’s going by the name Hop for the time being and I’m posing as his cousin, so we can get away with a certain amount of casual communication without it seeming suspicious. After leaving Tommi upstairs with that, I can’t just sit on my hands and wait for things to fall into place any longer. I have to do something.
Me: Tonin is tied up with a couple of chicks. Anything I can do to help you?
He doesn’t respond right away. Probably asking his boss, one of Tonin’s higher-u
ps.
Hop: Not right now, man. Just cleaning out the warehouse.
Warehouse?
Wonder what he plans to do with a warehouse? In looking back over what information Finch has been able to turn in, which has yet to amount to much of anything because he’s still unproven in Lance’s operation, I don’t remember any mention of a warehouse. Unless it’s a recent purchase. And if it is, what the hell does Lance Tonin need a warehouse for? It’s not like drug dealers keep stock or anything. But they do need a landing place for shipments when they come in. That or maybe he’s branching out into some other illegal kind of shit. Hell, I’d take anything I could use to bring his ass down. Anything at all.
I make a mental note to see what else I can find out about the warehouse. Maybe Tommi will know something.
Tommi.
Shit.
Rather than staying in my truck or making “casual, friendly” connections with some key people in this building, I go back upstairs to wait. Maybe I’ll learn more up there.
********
I glance at my watch again. I’ve been sitting on my ass in Tonin’s penthouse all day, hanging out with the loser pack of shitheads he surrounds himself with. Evidently, when he’s “in” all day like this, these guys just hang around in the three employee rooms while Tonin and “his girls” as they call them use and abuse the private quarters.
I’ve played Call of Duty for two hours with Henson and Stiff, played five card draw with Jakes, Jimmy and Joman (the three Js as everyone jokingly calls their attached asses) and eaten a late breakfast and two lunches with Barber, the guy who holds a senior position in the ranks of Tonin’s closest boys. He hasn’t had a drop of alcohol, hasn’t taken off his tie and hasn’t let one of us out of his sight for more than a five-minute trip to the bathroom. All-in-all, it’s been a productive day in the way of getting to know the guys, but it’s been frustrating as hell wondering about Tommi and continually having to discard mental images all damn day.