City in the Middle

by Colleen Green

  The information she divulged left my stomach in knots. “This is awful.”

  “It is, but Cam will figure it out.”

  Although she had faith in Cam stopping the mafia from hurting her, I didn’t like her depending on him. It seemed risky. “What if I loaned the money to your father to pay them?”

  “You’re very sweet, but you can’t.” She shook her head. “He owes way too much. They expect three hundred grand.”

  I didn’t want to see her get hurt again. Three hundred grand would nearly wipe out my savings, which I’d reserved to get a place of my own in New York. I hadn’t tapped into the account yet because I was still adjusting to the city, trying to decide if I could live there more than a year. I had done everything I could to not touch that money, but I was willing to almost empty the account if it would prevent Fiona from getting hurt again.

  “I could pay the debt in full.”

  Her eyes widened.

  “Fiona, I insist, this is your life we are talking about.”

  “I’m touched that you would do that, but it’s too much money. How would you even have any left?”

  “I have a job. I’ll go to the bank tomorrow.”

  “Amber, I can’t let you do that. You don’t want to get involved with my dad owing you money. He’d never repay you.” Her eyebrows creased.

  “I don’t care about that.” I threw my arms up. Why won’t she let me help? “At least you’d be safe.”

  “Or worse, the mob could find out you gave Dad the money. When Dad loses more money to them, they’d come after you.”

  “He’d do that? Even after they beat you up, he’d gamble with them again?” How could her father be so careless? How could he place more bets to the same men who had beaten up his daughter? It’s more than a gambling addiction. He must have no conscience and no remorse for causing his daughter’s pain.

  “I don’t trust my father, and neither should you. Please promise you won’t give him one cent. Promise me that you won’t put yourself at risk because of my good-for-nothing father. You could be putting yourself in danger.” Her eyes were welling with moisture about to burst. “I won’t lose you, Amber. You’re my friend.”

  I didn’t want to lose her, either. “I’ll do what you ask.” It was going to be hard, but I trusted her opinion of her father. If she thought I shouldn’t loan him the money, then I wouldn’t. I prayed I wouldn’t regret listening to her. I kissed her on the cheek. “There has to be something I can do.”

  “You found me and helped me get to the hospital,” she said.

  I mustered a slight smile. “I just want you to heal. Then, you can come home.”

  “I just want you safe while Cam figures out what to do. He’ll tell you when it’s time to come back home.”

  “I’ll call your cell and check in with you from time to time,” I said. “Where will you go when you get out of here?”

  “I don’t know, but Cam will figure it out.”

  I nodded and left. The whole situation left knots in my gut.

  Right outside the door, Cam leaned against the wall. I stopped at his side. “I’m putting my trust in you, so don’t let her down.”

  His eyes locked with mine. “I wouldn’t dream of it. Tony is coming to take you back to your place so you can grab some stuff while I stay with Fiona. He’ll pick you up in the lobby.”

  “Thanks.” I walked away.

  My mind spun from trying to find a way to get Fiona out of the dangerous mess, and I couldn’t stop thinking of questions that needed answers. How the hell was Cam going to get that kind of cash? Should I tell Henry? Can he help? How long did the mob give her father to pay back the money? What if Cam can’t protect her? Will they try to come back and finish her off? If I did what Fiona asked, then I’d be helpless to protect her. They could kill her, and I wouldn’t be around to stop them.

  A wave of nausea washed over me. Before I came home and found Fiona hurt, I had stew at the bar, and it rose up my throat. I rushed to the bathroom, flung the stall door open, and clung to the commode as my stomach began to purge its contents. The partially digested stew spewed into the toilet, and the chunks plopped down into the bottom. The water splashed back into my face. I convulsed and gripped the toilet. My body was like a volcano, erupting molten lava in the form of vomit. I retched violently until my belly was empty.

  Exhausted, I leaned against the side of the stall. I wiped my mouth off with tissue. I curled up in a ball, bringing my knees up to my chest and weeping uncontrollably. I couldn’t bear not being unable to save Fiona from another possible attack. I couldn’t imagine living in the city without the woman who had become my best friend. She was always there for me. She had guided me through the city until I could maneuver the fast-paced lifestyle on my own, comfortably, like someone who had lived there for years—like she did. She had welcomed me into her life and her home, and had introduced me to her friends, who became my friends. She always had a happy vibe that was contagious, despite the cold, hard concrete jungle that we called home, where “friendly” wasn’t the first word that came to mind. I couldn’t just run off and hide while she recovered, vulnerable to a repeat offense.

  I shivered as I cooled down and recovered from vomiting. The rush of adrenaline subsided—I knew that, with Cam’s help, I might be able to keep Fiona safe. I tried to stay warm by rubbing my hands up and down my arms. Taking a deep breath, I vowed to do everything in my power to prevent Fiona’s death or further injury. I hoped that it would be enough.

  I couldn’t get in contact with my friends, so I checked into a hotel that Tony recommended. He saw that I got to my room safely then left. It wasn’t my safety I was most concerned with. It was Fiona’s.

  Chapter 10

  Cam, Saturday night

  Isat by Fiona’s side at the hospital, waiting for her to be released. My cell buzzed. I saw my boss’s number. Damn. I had to answer it. I stepped out of the room to talk. After I said hello, he gave me a direct order then hung up. I needed to go to the garage. Business came first, always and above all else. I hated that I had to leave Fiona when she needed me more than ever.

  I arranged for Tony to give Fiona a ride when she was released. Tony offered for her to stay at his father’s house after I explained why Fiona couldn’t go home. I accepted his generosity.

  I drove to New Jersey. On the way, I picked up a spare key from a coworker, since the garage at the used car dealership had closed. Ever since the owner of the dealership couldn’t pay back the loan on his advance from the Macchini family—my family—he was forever in debt to us. He had been informed earlier that I was to have full access to his facility until further notice. I stopped at my place to change into a T-shirt with a work shirt over it. Within the hour, I arrived at the garage, unlocked the door, and stepped inside.

  Since the other mechanics were unavailable, I had to do the job solo. I had been given a few days to complete the task. The timing of it all couldn’t be worse. Their plans included vacations, a baby being born, and God knew what else.

  My stomach ached. I wrapped my arms around my waist. My flesh stung from the contact. I cringed and put my arms by my side. When I sat in the office chair, a burning sensation circled around my abs until I found a comfortable position.

  I closed my eyes and tried to calm down, but all I could see was Fiona’s beautiful face damaged by those assholes. Her swollen eye looked tender and painful. Her wrist was mangled. I opened my eyes, unable to stand the memory of Fiona hurt.

  It made my blood boil with hatred, and my face flushed. I gripped the chair and pulled myself up as my heartbeat raced. As I paced the office like a caged animal eager to be released, my stomach pain subsided.

  The rage gave me something else to focus on: how badly I wanted to make them pay. First, I wanted the tactile pleasure of beating them to a bloody pulp. I smiled at the thought, but it quickly faded into a frown.

  If I harmed those assholes, then the New York family would be furious at my family. I
t would be horrible for business. We had worked with the New York crew for years, with only a few bumps in the road. It would be more than a bump if I interfered with their business—their business of trying to get three hundred large out of an old geezer, who was a good-for-nothing piece of shit.

  Unable to hold in my pent-up rage any longer, I stormed to the office that the guys used for a mini gym. I found a pair of boxing gloves and put them on. I jabbed the bag with my right fist and then punched it with my left. I hit it harder each time. In my head, I wasn’t punching a bag. I imagined fighting the bastards who hurt Fiona. I grunted and threw my full body weight into each swing. I wished the sweat pouring down my body was blood splattering from their broken noses.

  Soaked and out of breath, I collapsed in the corner. My arms ached from throwing constant punches. I stretched them to relax the tension, but it didn’t help much. Tearing the car apart was going to be a bitch.

  Rude fuckers left me with all the work. It made no sense. It was inefficient to make one person do a multiple-person job. It didn’t really matter, because I had no choice but to do it.

  I got up and went to the stolen vehicle. It was gorgeous, a pimped out black 1979 Rolls-Royce Silver Shadow. My jaw dropped as I gawked at its beauty. Chrome trim shined underneath the lights. Custom tires with black-and-yellow rims revealed how little the car was driven by the barely worn tread. The chrome hood scoop complemented the thug style of the exterior. Stepping closer, I could see the interior, with bright yellow leather seats and cherrywood paneling covering the dashboard. The audio system had been updated with the latest technology, including the speaker system. A large skull with deep-set rubies for eyes functioned as an ornate gearshift.

  When I popped open the trunk, I saw individual packages of capsules, which looked like typical over-the-counter meds but had to be illegal. I stepped back, slack-jawed, and took a deep breath.

  Have I found the answer to getting the money to save Fiona?

  Only I knew about the pills. I could assume that from the previous conversation I had with the boss. He had explained that the car was dropped off and my coworker had secured it in the garage then immediately left to meet his wife at the hospital. Normally, business came before family and my coworker would be helping me tonight, but his wife was a high risk for birthing complications, so the boss dismissed him from being at the garage. It was an expensive vehicle that needed to be worked on without any delay, so I was called in to work.

  The job had a tight deadline. However, the fastest way to save Fiona would be to sell the drugs first and dismantle the car later. It seemed an impossible task. Even though I had no idea what the stash in the trunk was worth, I foresaw no other way of getting what I hoped would be enough money to pay Liam’s debt. I ran my fingers through my hair and paced in front of the car.

  Can I pull off such a thing? Christ, I’m a mechanic, not a drug dealer.

  Since I didn’t have any connections in the world of pushing pills, the fastest way to sell the stash would be to take the car, full of drugs, and drive to where I thought I could sell it. I noticed the New York license plate on the car. Avoiding that state could help to prevent seeing the owner of the stolen vehicle. I’d heard of an area in New Jersey that could have potential users. I’d need to pack heat and have backup, and it would have to be someone who had nothing to do with my family.

  I couldn’t run the risk of them telling the boss what I found. My boss would want most of the profits for himself, and that wouldn’t work for me.

  Aggravated by all the problems, I went to my locker and pulled out my hidden stash of bourbon. I poured a generous portion into a paper cup. In one sip, the warm sensation eased the tension. I paced again.

  I remembered that the New York family would occasionally help us. In fact, they owed us a few favors. I heard that they had a new bodyguard. Maybe he could watch my back. He came highly recommended and had no ties to our family. But I doubted that I could call in a favor, since I wasn’t ranked high enough for that. I stopped going back and forth, poured another shot, and threw it back.

  Fuck, there has to be a way!

  My only choice was to go to the New York family. I could speak to one of their capos and tell him I would do them a favor later, in exchange for this favor. The favor would be me using his bodyguard for my job. Since it was a personal favor, his boss need not know. After all, skippers were known for making side deals. Even within the families, greed could win out over loyalty.

  The image of Dean, a New York capo, flashed before me. According to rumor among the lower levels, he did side jobs. I let out a long exhale. Maybe he could help me.

  Fiona’s father owed money to Dean’s crew, who was in charge of gambling in the Bugiardini family. Since I didn’t know how much the drugs in the trunk were worth, I didn’t want to give Dean the pills in exchange for paying off her father’s debt. Even if I did try to pay off his debt with the drugs, there was no guarantee they’d accept my offer as paid in full. Most likely, they wouldn’t. They would want cash.

  Dean’s family was like mine. They didn’t have any connections to the world of drugs. If they did, this whole mess would be easier. My family frowned upon people who pushed pills or narcotics. The New York crew didn’t do it, either, but something told me they wouldn’t shun the idea.

  If Dean knew about the drugs, he’d want me to become a dealer for his family. I would never sink so low as to become a drug pusher for life. I would have to ask for Dean’s help but not mention the pills. I had to be in charge of the whole enterprise.

  It was the last Saturday of the month, and I knew exactly where Dean would be. Lucky for me, it was close by.

  Chapter 11

  Cam, later that night

  Iparked in the lot of a strip club in New Jersey that the New York family owned. They used it as a common meeting ground for New York and Jersey wiseguys to discuss business deals and settle disputes. We agreed a long time ago to meet there only if something pressing came up.

  As I walked to the front door, I remembered the last time I was in this slimy joint and witnessed the protocol of how to get Dean alone.

  I took a deep breath, opened the door, and entered the club. I choked from the smell of cigarettes and cheap cologne. A few steps away, a bunch of guys hovered around the bar. Their eyes darted back and forth, from the stage to the occupied stools. With all the seats next to tables taken and many of the reserved sections full, I assumed they were waiting for a spot at the bar. They barely budged as I made my way through the crowd.

  I spotted “Lean, Mean Dean” through the haze of cigarette smoke. Of course, “mean” was a drastic understatement. He sat at a large table, surrounded by his crew. They were in the only section that overlooked the whole bar, and dim lighting and nearby speakers helped to conceal his appearance and conversation. Plus, his table was located in the only area that wasn’t watched by the prying eyes of security cameras. Although they were owned by the establishment, rumors implied he was paranoid that the Feds could tap into the video feed and use it as evidence.

  Next to them was Candy, the youngest and most voluptuous stripper in the club. She was a vixen who was up for anything, including being used as a pawn to get Dean alone to talk. Across and one level down from her was a red leather love seat. A bouncer stood next to it, keeping a close eye on her and the couch. I slipped him a one-hundred-dollar bill and showed him that I had more where that came from. He nodded, took the reserved sign off the end table, and motioned for me to have a seat. I had the perfect spot to go for it.

  The next step was catching Candy’s attention from afar. She knew what the couch was for and inevitably would check to see if any customers needed her special touch. How quickly she attended to big spenders was no secret. It would start on the furniture and continue in the back room. Except, in my case, she would be finishing with Dean, who could be the same age as her grandfather. I winked at her and leaned back into the leather cushions. She watched as I gave her the signal tha
t I needed to talk to Dean alone by taking out four hundred-dollar bills and putting them halfway down my pants, one by one. She winked back. I spread my legs. She licked her lips and looked down at the bulge in my tight jeans. Her hypnotizing emerald eyes locked with mine as she swaggered over.

  The thought of her rubbing against me caused a wave of guilt to wash over me. Betraying Fiona by being there was bad enough, let alone having Candy trying to tempt me.

  She approached me, got on her knees, and leaned down while arching her back. I breathed in her jasmine scent. She put her arms on my thighs, slowly working her hands up them. Her heaving chest pressed against my legs. Her touch became firm as she rubbed her long fingers up my cock. I sank deeper into the leather and moaned. She continued caressing until she pulled the money out with her teeth. My insides pulsated. I couldn’t hold it in much longer unless I could get her to stop. My face flushed. Between not getting any for days due to Fiona having a full schedule before she was attacked and Candy’s hot body, the attention was almost too much. She tucked the wad of bills into her snug panties.

  She rose in slow motion and lingered at my neck. Her mouthwatering boobs pressed firmly against my chest, and I could feel her heartbeat. She whispered, “Thanks, hon. Believe me, the foreplay is much more fun than pleasuring that freakin’ ancient, broken-down excuse for a man.” She kissed me on the neck, smiled, and turned around.

  I watched her sultry stride as her perky ass swayed. She went to Dean and whispered in his ear. She led him by his tie to the back room.

  Once I simmered down from the encounter, I stepped up to the bar and ordered bourbon. Still recovering, I forgot to order the cheap brand. An older gentleman dressed in a suit, who had been sitting with Dean when I came in, leaned into the stocky bartender and said something while handing him a crystal glass. The bartender, who looked like he belonged in a weightlifting competition, poured top-shelf bourbon into it.