Just Say The Word

by Tiffany Patterson

  “You didn’t have to walk me down.”

  “I did. Despite my feelings of what you did or didn’t do in the past, I was raised to walk a woman to her car, at the very least.”

  She nodded. “I appreciate that, Damon. And, differences aside, I am thankful Sandra and Monique have someone like you.”

  I raised an eyebrow.

  “You look out for them. Sandra needed that back then and I wasn’t there for her. It’s taken a long time and a cancer scare for me to see where I went wrong.”

  “It shouldn’t have taken all of that.”

  “You’re right. It shouldn’t have. Have a great night.” Turning, she pressed the button to unlock her brick-colored Mercedes.

  I stepped back and watched her enter her car and drive off. She seemed remorseful over her treatment of Sandra in the past, I guessed, but I still would keep an eye on her. Just knowing she was living in a brownstone and driving around in a luxury vehicle while her granddaughter was struggling to raise a child with no help from anyone still pissed me off.

  Swallowing down the anger, I made my way back into Sandra’s building and headed up to her apartment.

  “Thanks for doing that.” Sandra smiled as I entered back into the apartment.

  “Come here.” I pulled her to me once I double checked to make sure Monique was still in her room. “Thanks for dinner.”

  “I’m glad you enjoyed it.”

  “We’re still on for Saturday night?”

  “Of course. Monique’s staying over my grandmother’s for the first time.”

  I frowned. “You sure that’s a good idea?”

  “You don’t think so?”

  I shrugged. “I’m not saying that, just asking a question. They’ve only known each other a few weeks, right?”

  “Almost two months. And I’ve known my grandmother my whole life. I was worried about how she’d be taking care of Monique in case she got sick or something, but her pump has made it so much easier to maintain her glucose levels throughout the night.”

  I nodded. “That’s good.”

  “Yeah, I’d forgotten what a full night of sleep actually felt like. Turns out it’s not too bad,” she giggled against my chest.

  I raised an eyebrow, lifting her face by the chin to look up at me. “I sure as hell hope you don’t think you’ll be getting a full night’s sleep on Saturday. I plan to have you up all night, just like last Saturday and the Saturday before that and the Saturday be—”

  I jumped back, laughing when she swatted my arm with her hand. “Quit it before I tell short stuff you’re trying to beat me up.”

  “She’d probably try and defend you, too. Telling me it’s not nice to pick on people.”

  “And she’d be right. You know we’re not with that bullying shit.” I pointed at her.

  She swatted me again, aiming for my abdomen.

  “Speaking of, I should go tell her goodnight before I head out.”

  “You better. Or else, she’ll be in here mad at me for making you leave after she went to bed.”

  I chuckled and made my way down the hall, knocking on Monique’s half-closed door.

  “Diego, I gotta go, Mr. Damon’s here … Okay, bye!” She waved into the screen of the tablet before pressing a button to disconnect the video chat.

  “Hey, short stuff. I’m heading out. I wanted to tell you that dinner you helped your mother make was delicious.”

  Her smile was just like her mother’s. “Thanks, Mr. Damon. And thank you for the brownies. They were really good. I tried to get mommy to make them but she said she could just buy some. She doesn’t like to bake.”

  I chuckled.

  “Way to tell all my business.”

  I smirked at Sandra over my shoulder, as she stood leaning against the doorjamb of Monique’s room.

  I moved farther in the bedroom. “Don’t blame your mom. I don’t like baking too much either.”

  “But you’re a boy. You’re not supposed to like baking,” Monique quickly countered.

  “What?” Sandra shrieked. “Where did you get that?”

  Monique shrugged. “It’s just true. Everyone knows women are supposed to like to cook.”

  “She’s right,” I told Sandra who gave me a narrowed eye stare down. I laughed, shaking my head before moving to the side of Monique’s bed, kneeling down. “Nah, that’s not the truth, short stuff. Women and girls can like whatever they want,” I stated in a serious tone, glancing up at Sandra and tossing her a wink. Her shoulders relaxed a little as she breathed a sigh of relief.

  “Then how come it’s always the mommies in the kitchen cooking? Even Diego said that’s how it’s supposed to be.”

  I glanced up at Sandra. “I told you I didn’t like that little boy. See what he’s filling her head with? How’s she going to be the first black female president when he got her thinking stuff like this?” I shook my head.

  Sandra rolled her eyes. “Leave Diego alone. I know for a fact that both of his parents do the cooking at their home.”

  “Yeah, but Diego said it’s only because his daddy likes to cook. He has to because he works at the fire station. But he’s not supposed to.”

  I sighed again. “That’s that bullsh—” I paused, glancing up to see Monique’s eyes, the same as her mother’s, staring at me. “Uh, listen, short stuff. Diego’s not wrong, just mistaken. Men and women cook and bake. It’s not the responsibility of one or the other.”

  She gave me a funny look, as if she was trying to gauge whether I was the insane party in this conversation, or if she was.

  Finally, she shrugged. “If you say. But can you bring me some more of those brownies when you come over again?”

  “Monique! We don’t beg for stuff. Mr. Damon was nice enough to—”

  “You got it. They’ve got some lemon bars I hear are pretty good as well. I’ll pick some of those up next time, too.”

  “Yess!” she screeched, clenched fist by her side as if she’d just scored a winning goal.

  “You’re going to spoil her rotten,” Sandra remarked as we moved back into the living room. We’d just finished reading Monique a book she’d asked for. Something she and her mother, apparently, did every night. I was surprised when she requested I stay for the reading but one look and the word no just wasn’t in my vocabulary. What the hell was going on?

  “Nothing less than what she and her mama deserve,” I responded, pulling Sandra by the waist to me. I gazed into her large eyes and the feeling was overwhelming. I wanted to know everything about her—past, present, and future. “Where’s Monique’s father?”

  Her entire body language shifted with that one question. A haunted expression crossed her face as she pushed against my chest, silently requesting I release her. Reluctantly, I did so.

  “Why are you asking about him?”

  Was that a tremble in her bottom lip?

  “You never mention him. Neither does Monique.”

  “He’s not relevant. Never has been.” She pivoted her head, staring down at the floor in the corner of the room.

  I moved closer and lifted her face to mine by the chin. “He’s completely out of the picture?”

  She nodded before looking away again.

  Something wasn’t sitting right. The expression on her face was too full of fear. I knew what fear looked like, and to see it in the eyes of the woman who dominated my thoughts, over a simple question about the father of her child, it was hitting me square in the chest. A muscle in my jaw ticked as I ground my teeth together. I took a step back, running my hand through my beard, trying to calm myself down. She obviously wasn’t ready for those questions.

  But that didn’t mean I was giving up.

  “I’ll drop the questions for now.” I pulled her into me again, placing a quick kiss to her lips. She responded to the kiss but I still saw the whisper of unease in those maple syrup pools she called eyes.

  As I headed out the door all types of thoughts crossed my mind. The main one being that
once I caught the bastard who’d caused her to wear that haunted expression on her face, I’d wear his entire ass out.

  ****

  “Haven’t seen you in a couple of weeks.”

  I grunted as I passed over the threshold of the basement building where our fights were hosted. I held out my right hand for Connor to smack. Once he did, we tapped shoulders, as was our usual greeting. He closed the door behind me. Connor O’Brien was the actual owner of this building. He was also a former professional pro-fighter who’d retired some years earlier. And while he had numerous legit businesses throughout the city and state, few people knew that he ran one of the most notorious and far-reaching underground fighting rings in the continental U.S.

  “Been busy,” I finally responded to his earlier comment.

  He looked down on me from his height of six-feet-five inches, with those hazel eyes, and nodded.

  “Been there.”

  I lifted an eyebrow but didn’t care to question what he meant by that. I wasn’t in the mood for much talking. After leaving Sandra’s that night, I found myself unable to sleep. If it wasn’t the damn nightmares I’d had for nearly two decades, it was visions of that haunted expression on her face when I asked about her daughter’s father. Either I needed to get in the ring, or I’d be at her door at half past midnight demanding answers. The nightmares that’d haunted me for years I couldn’t do anything about—I’d long since accepted them as part of my reality—but her ghosts I could fight … maybe. If she’d open up to me. But since I knew she was too sensitive to be pushed just yet, here I was, at the place where I could let out the part of me that felt like a caged animal, needing to break free.

  “We’ve also got a newbie tonight. That should interest you.”

  I glared at Connor. “I don’t fight newbies.”

  He nodded and stared at me over his shoulder. He’d begun walking closer to the ring where guys had already started to gather. “You’ll want to fight this one, I’m guessing.” He gestured with his head toward the ring.

  Glancing up at the center of the ring, I saw someone who looked eerily familiar. I noted the dark, almost black, slicked back hair, the thick but solid frame, and six foot stature.

  “Is that …”

  “Mike Russo Jr. As requested.”

  My eyes shot over to Connor whose face was neutral as he stared at me.

  “Joshua requested I let him in. For you.”

  I nodded.

  “You ready to fight him now?”

  “Hell yeah,” I answered without needing to even think about it. My hand tightened around the strap of the athletic bag that I’d slung over my shoulder. My fingers literally itched to get into the ring.

  “Thought so. Follow me.”

  I followed Connor into the changing room to ready myself for the fight. He helped me with my hand wraps since Buddy was already out in the ring.

  “I trust you’ll leave him alive.”

  I gave Connor a stern look. “I make no promises.” I started for the door, but Connor’s hand on my shoulder stopped me.

  “You know who his fucking father is, right?”

  I looked Connor dead in his eyes. “I know exactly who the fuck his daddy is.” I tightened my fists.

  Connor pushed out a breath. “Hell. I’ve never run a from a fight in my life, but if this shit goes wrong, I’m kicking your ass once the dust settles.”

  I snorted. “Like you could.”

  He grunted and tapped me on the back.

  I made my way from the changing room to the ring, nodding at a few of the guys I knew. I passed underneath the ropes and came face-to-face with Mike Russo Jr. He squinted in my direction once he saw me. I didn’t flinch. I took the opportunity to memorize his face. I wasn’t surprised to notice that he looked like his old man. That caused my stomach to clench.

  “You must be Damon.”

  Sounded like his fucking father, too.

  This ain’t him, Damon. I had to remind myself that this was Mike Russo’s son and not the bastard I’d hated for eighteen years. The motherfucker who’d murdered my father as I hid behind a fucking dumpster.

  “I must be,” I retorted.

  His dark eyes narrowed but he didn’t say anything else. Good. I couldn’t stand the sound of his voice just because it reminded me of his father.

  “All right, gentlemen. You know the drill. No biting, no face shots, and make sure you’re wearing your cups. Everything else goes,” Buddy began his usual spiel.

  I ignored everything around me, and focused entirely on Mike Russo Jr. Just before Buddy lowered his arm between both of our bodies, signaling the beginning of the fight, I wondered if this Russo knew what his father had done to mine. Did he know who I was?

  And with those thoughts running wildly through my brain, I struck out the first opportunity I got. He’d left his entire right side wide open. Showing no mercy, I attacked his ribcage with a vengeance—with a right hook, followed by a left uppercut. The first punch stung and caught him off guard, but the second punch is what caused him to crouch low, the wind knocked out of his body. As he stood bent over at the waist I had every desire to throw an elbow at his face, effectively ending the fight before it even began.

  But I backed off.

  I reminded myself that junior wasn’t my main target. He was a couple of years younger than I was, which meant that he likely had nothing to do with what his father had done to mine.

  “Shit, I thought you were going to take it easy on me,” he grunted as he rose, uprighting himself on his two feet.

  “Why the fuck would you think that?” I countered, and immediately aimed a left cross at his face. He dodged that one.

  “I thought we don’t aim for the fa—” His question was cut off when I sent a knee to his right side ribs.

  “Less talking. More fighting,” I challenged, bending low and sending a swift side kick to the back of his knee, taking his legs from under him. He fell to his back, and before he could figure out what was happening, I pounced on top of him, locking his arms in a position that he couldn’t last for very long in. He’d either have to tap out or risk suffocating. At that point, I didn’t give a damn which option he chose.

  Seconds later, Russo’s hand, which was trapped between my legs, tapped my thigh. He’d made his choice.

  Slowly I released him from my hold and stood. He moved even slower, needing to take his time to stand back up. Buddy moved between us, granting me as the winner of the fight.

  “You’re tough,” Russo leaned in and said to me, holding out his hand for me to shake.

  “I need to speak with you.” I glared at him as I took his hands.

  His brows raised.

  “About your father,” I stated, moving in closer so only he could hear me.

  He glanced around before nodding.

  I motioned with my head for him to follow behind me as I turned and headed straight for the changing room. Holding the door for him to pass through, I looked around to ensure we were alone. I nodded to Connor who moved in front of the door to make sure no one entered.

  “Hey, man, I don’t know what this is about but I’m not my father,” Russo Jr. began, holding his hands up.

  “Is it true you’re on the outs with your father?” I questioned, arms folded over my chest.

  Russo paused, giving me a sideways glance. His dark eyes narrowed as he examined me. “How the hell do you know that?”

  “I know people. Is it true?”

  “What the fuck is it to you?” he questioned defensively.

  I wasn’t perturbed. I’d be defensive, too, if someone I just met started asking questions about my father.

  I stepped closer. “I don’t like your father either.”

  He grunted. “Get in line. There’s a whole list of people who can’t stand him.”

  “I’m at the top of that list.”

  He shook his head. “No one hates that fucker more than me. No one.”

  I stared into Mike Russo Jr.’s dark
eyes and saw the pure hatred that sizzled there. He was telling the unmitigated truth. This man hated his father. I could use that.

  “I’ve been trying to figure out the best way to get back at him for years now. Ruining his real estate deals hasn’t been enough. He’s weakened but still in business.”

  Russo’s eyes widened. “That was you? I’ve been trying to figure out who’s behind his real estate business tanking.”

  “Why?”

  “Why?”

  I nodded. “Why have you been trying to figure that out?”

  He glanced around the empty changing room.

  “What you say won’t leave this room.”

  “How the fuck am I supposed to know that?”

  I narrowed my eyes on him. “You don’t, but you also wouldn’t be here if you weren’t the type of man who took risks, either.”

  He grunted and nodded. “I’ve been trying to get my father put away for years. I became an accountant just so I could learn the ins and outs of money laundering and racketeering to pass what I knew about my father’s organization to the FBI.”

  I paused with a raised eyebrow. He was dead serious.

  “Money laundering?”

  Russo nodded. “He’s too good at covering his tracks with murder and selling drugs but the money never lies.”

  I knew that. It had been what held me back all of these years. Russo Sr. had too many ties with the local law enforcement.

  “What if I told you I knew someone on the inside who worked for him and was ready to pass some information to you that could help put him away?”

  “I’d tell you I need a fucking name and number.”

  I smirked. “You seem anxious.”

  “I’ve been waiting to do this my whole fucking life. Anxious isn’t the word.”

  I nodded. “Cool. Here’s my card.” I moved, picking up my gym bag from the floor and removing my business card, and then passing it to Russo. “Call me in two days and we’ll make something happen.”

  He took the card, looking it over. “Two days.”

  I nodded. “Two days.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Sandra

  I glanced over my shoulder as Damon came up behind me. We’d just exited the town car that dropped us off in front of one of Williamsport’s most popular lounges. The lounge turned into more of a nightclub after ten p.m., which is what the time was. We’d gone out for dinner and now were meeting some of Damon’s friends.