“Uh, it’s just some personal stuff,” I say hastily, and step across the cluttered floor to try and take the pile of papers back. Natalie cocks her head and I can see the little cogs turning in her brain as she puts two and two together.
She puts a hand on my shoulder and gives me an apologetic look. “What is it?”
I tuck the newspapers under my arm and turn away. I knew this would come up eventually. I just didn’t expect it to be now, while I have so much else going on. But when it rains, it pours, I suppose.
“I was in class when it happened. A summer class — intro to biology,” I begin quietly. The memory comes trickling back into focus. I was nineteen then, just starting out in college and totally absorbed with sorority life, with studying and partying in equal doses. “A cop came into the lecture hall and interrupted the professor to ask for me.”
“Oh no,” breathes Natalie.
“Yeah. They drove me to the hospital and I waited in the surgical ward for hours. All three of them were there. My mom, my little brother Steven, and my dad,” I say slowly, swallowing back the lump in my throat. It’s still hard to think about, even after a few years. Sometimes when I close my eyes I can still remember the smell of the hospital.
After a moment I continue. “Well, my dad was driving when the brakes went out on the bridge. He swerved so he wouldn’t hit the car in front of him but the car spun out and hit the railing on the left side. My mom was in the passenger seat and Steven was in the back behind her. They got the worst of it. Obviously, Dad pulled through after some stitches and a concussion. But my mom and brother… they didn’t make it.”
“Oh my God. I’m so sorry, Katy. I met your dad shortly before he died. He’s the one who hired me, and he was a great guy. But you know better than I do, he was all business. I had no idea what kind of stuff you guys went through.”
I shrug, rolling the newspapers up and out in my hands — a nervous tic I’ve developed. I always have to keep my hands busy with something. I know I’m strong, but I guess all that trauma has to come out some way or another.
“Yeah, Dad and I have that in common,” I admit lightly.
“Hey,” Natalie says with a gentle faux-punch to my arm, “you’re a tough kid. And maybe I didn’t know him for very long, but I can tell you without a doubt that he would be so proud of you.”
“Thanks, Nat,” I reply. But it’s hard for me to believe her words, knowing how close to falling apart I am, so close to losing everything my dad worked so hard for.
She sits down on the floor cross-legged and picks up a black binder full of baseball cards and photographs. A grin spreads across her face and she looks up at me.
“This all his stuff, I imagine?” she asks.
I nod and sit down across from her. “Yep. Dad was a huge baseball fanatic. I was eight when Steven was born and I remember my dad trying so hard to get him to say “Go Mets” as his first word.”
Natalie laughs. “But that’s two words!”
“I know! That’s what my mom said, too,” I reply with a chuckle. “But his first word ended up being ‘Kate,’ much to my father’s disappointment.”
“That’s adorable. You must’ve been his hero, Katy.”
“Yeah. There was a pretty wide age gap, you know. Eight years. But he was still like my best friend in a lot of ways. We used to quote cartoons at the dinner table to annoy Mom and Dad. They could never figure out what we were talking about. I miss him a lot,” I say with a sigh.
“I can’t even imagine,” Natalie says.
“It helps being busy all the time, you know,” I reply, trying to brighten my tone.
“Well, running the club definitely keeps you on your feet.”
“That’s for sure,” I murmur. “I just hope I can keep it afloat. I kinda feel like the club and I are both running on fumes at this point.”
“Owning a business is a lot of pressure, Katy,” she replies, shaking her head. “But you gotta realize that you’re not alone in this, okay? We’re all here for you. I know it sucks that all those guys quit when your dad died because they couldn’t handle working there without him around. I get that. I can’t really blame them. They were all good friends and some people just can’t cope very well. Just know that they didn’t leave because they wanted to abandon you, alright? And either way, you got me, Ashton, Charles, and the rest of the crew on your side. We won’t let you or the club go down without a fight.”
“I know. I’m lucky to have you guys around,” I answer, beaming. Despite the burden on my shoulders and the dark cloud of an unpaid debt looming over my head, it really did feel good to know that my employees were in this for the long haul.
“So, weird question: is this on the list of things to sell?” Natalie asks, holding up the binder of baseball cards. I stare at it for a long moment, pondering what degree of guilt I would suffer if I were to sell my dad’s beloved memorabilia.
“I don’t know,” I answer uncertainly.
“Because I can tell you right now, some of these cards are probably worth a pretty good amount of money at this point. Nothing too insane, of course, but it could help,” she explains. “But that’s only if you’re okay with it. I know it’s hard to let go of stuff like this sometimes. No judgment if you decide to just hold onto it.”
I bite my lip and shake my head slowly. “I might have to put that on hold.”
“Totally understandable. We’ll put it in the “not today” pile.”
I start looking through the online auction pages on my tablet, checking the competition. “Maybe I could sell my body parts on the black market,” I muse aloud.
“I hear kidneys go for, like, ten thousand each or something,” Natalie says, playing along.
“Oh, that’s perfect. I don’t need my kidneys anyway. What have they ever done for me?”
“And ten thousand is enough for, what, two months? Best idea yet.”
“What about my liver? Surely I can do without that.”
“Katy, you own a club. Where alcohol is served. Your liver is very important.”
We both laugh and I get to my feet. “On that note, do you want any more wine? I know I could really use something to make this a little less depressing.”
Natalie yawns and slides her phone screen open, squinting at the digital clock. “Aw man. Actually, I think I need to head out. I’m supposed to meet my mother for dinner, unfortunately.”
“Oh, that sounds like a good time,” I say from the kitchen. I hear Natalie scoff in disagreement. I open the refrigerator and pour myself another glass of wine.
“Yeah, listening to my mom list the many reasons why she’s disappointed in me is always a real party,” she retorts, and I can almost feel her rolling her eyes.
“Do you want a shot or something before you go, then?” I offer, only half serious.
She laughs and waves her hand dismissively. “Don’t tempt me, Katy. The last thing I need is for her to accuse me of being an alcoholic, too!” She gets up and opens her arms to hug me before she plucks up her bag and sweater.
“Good luck with all this,” she says to me before she leaves.
I shrug. “I got it. No big deal. I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”
“Yep. I’ll be the one behind the bar.”
And with that, she walks out into the hall and gets into the elevator. I plop down on the couch again, swirling my glass of wine absentmindedly. Looking around the room at all the memories strewn about, I heave a sigh, realizing that I still don’t know what the hell I’m even going to do. I start researching how much I could sell my couch for, when suddenly there’s a sharp knock at the door. I glance over in confusion. It’s eight o’clock at night.
Then it hits me. It’s probably just Natalie. Maybe she forgot something — or perhaps she’s decided she wants to take that shot, after all. I smile to myself as I cross the room to answer it.
When I turn the lock, I'm knocked back from the door as it gets shoved open, and I hear the voice of the man in the
back greeting me through my sharp cry.
4
Katy
"Katy, darling! How good to see you again!"
The three burly Russians who muscle their way into my home are Oskar, Nic, and Konrad, the mob's collections agents assigned to me. I scramble back, wide-eyed and heart pounding as they advance into the room, Nic taking a post by the door while the other two fan out and survey the place.
Oskar is the leader of the group, and he usually does all the talking. He's a shorter guy with blonde hair and a beard, and he's as insipid to listen to as he is to look at. He's not the most muscular of the three, but he's got the sharpest tongue by far.
Nic is the quiet muscle. He's a monstrous brute of a man, all muscle and stony eyes. I've never heard him say more than a couple of words, but he doesn't need to say much that his muscles don't say for him. He has cropped dark hair and a scar across his face.
Konrad is somewhere in between the other two, and he sends chills down my spine. He's tall and lean with light brown hair and a crooked nose, and he always looks at me with an unnerving hunger in his eyes. His tendency to move suddenly and make jerking glances when he's around me all tell me he wants me, badly. He doesn't seem to like taking orders from Oskar, but I know Oskar brings him anyway because of how vulnerable he makes me feel.
"Hard to believe it's that time of the month again, isn't it?"
“That’s right," I breathe, moving carefully around the coffee table, "and I'll have your money for you tomorrow before opening, just like always, you don’t have to worry about me forgetting the drill.”
“Of course not,” Oskar chuckles, no mirth in his heavily accented voice. Konrad advances into the room, and I back away as he moves, making room for Oskar to stride in and survey the disarray of my place.
“You’ve done a lovely job of picking up where your father left off, Katy, always on time.” He reaches a hand to me and pinches my cheeks condescendingly. “He’d be so proud! He was always the sort who knew when to do what was best for his little business.”
As the blood boils under my skin and I hold back the urge to claw his eyes out for daring to make light of the subject, Oskar flops down on the couch, kicking his feet up on the coffee table and spreading his arms out over the back of the couch.
Konrad hasn’t moved since backing me up against the window. He’s standing uncomfortably close to me, and I can hear his breathing. Nic hasn’t moved from the door, standing there like a sentinel.
“This is just a courtesy call,” Oskar drones, checking his nails idly while he makes himself comfortable. “You know, we’ve had a few of our boys come through the Amber Room over the months.”
I know that some of the clubbers have been Russians, but in Brighton Beach, that’s about a third of the clientele anyway. Not all the Russians are with the mob, but there’s no way to check, either.
“Oh really?” I feign ignorance, “Can’t say I’ve noticed. I’ve got a lot of guys with hot accents that pass through, and it’s rude to ask all of them about their work.”
Konrad likes my words a little more than I’m comfortable with, and I hear a rumble from his chest as he moves almost imperceptibly closer to me, as though he’s extending his creepy aura my way. Oskar is laughing.
“Maybe so, maybe so. Come, get comfortable.” The order is directed more at Konrad than me as he pats the couch cushion next to him. I feel Konrad’s eager hand on the small of my back, pushing me towards the couch.
Before I can react, he takes the opportunity to put his hands around my hips and spin me around, thrusting me down on the couch next to Oskar and taking a seat on the other side of me. His hand is itching to slide around my waist, but I don’t think he dares act out of turn around Oskar.
“You know, usually,” Oskar starts, tilting his head and looking at me as though he were a patron flirting with me at the club, “the boys, they have nothing but good things to say about your place. Good music, not too big, classy atmosphere, and let me tell you, some of my boys, they have expensive tastes!”
I don’t like where this is going.
Oskar flexes his hands, raising his eyebrows as though about to deliver bad news. “But lately, they say the crowds are a little thin, you know?”
“Really? From what I can tell, we’ve had outstanding retention with the regulars,” I half-lie. The club has indeed had more repeat customers in the past month, but Oskar is right, the spontaneous nightly crowds haven’t been out in force lately.
Konrad takes the opportunity to elbow me lightly. “Don’t interrupt the boss,” he grunts.
“You may be right,” Oskar continues despite our interjections, “my boys, their eyes are not always so good, you know? Could be that they don’t have good eyes like you.”
I know I can’t break the gaze he’s locked me in but there’s something in his eyes that makes me want to squirm as they bore into mine.
“But my thinking is that since baseball season is over, your business boom is dying down a little, no?”
I swallow and pray he doesn’t notice. “You can’t rely on a sports season to keep crowds all year ‘round, Oskar.”
“No, I am seeing this now,” he smiles wickedly, and I feel my mouth grow dry as I realize I’ve played into his trap, “maybe this success of yours over the past few months, it was just ah, how do you say, ‘riding the coattails’ your father left for you in the middle of the season?”
Involuntarily, my fingers ball into a fist on the couch next to me, and I shudder as I feel Konrad put his clammy hand over it warningly.
Oskar crosses his legs and folds his hands over his knees. “But look at me, I’m being terribly presumptuous! I would never want to question your skill as a businesswoman, Miss Foss.” The name is said with biting condescension, and I realize there’s nothing I can say to persuade these pigs of anything. They’re here for their own amusement.
“The club scene is not one you can predict so easily, and even the best of businesspeople can have a club go under, if the limelight shifts on a whim.” He’s looking out the window wistfully, trying to contort that sleazy face of his into a philosophical expression. It really just makes him look like he’s trying to pass a kidney stone.
The next moment, Oskar stands up abruptly, leaving Konrad with me on the couch. As soon as Oskar’s back is turned, I feel Konrad’s hand copping a feel up my back, and goosebumps rise on my arms.
The fair-haired mobster steps around the house, perusing the items that have been taken down to be sold off. My heart sinks as I realize he’s putting two-and-two together.
“But a shrewd woman like you, she puts away some money for the hard times like this, no? That would be the wise thing to do, I think. Otherwise, even a lovely woman like yourself could be pushed to give away things she doesn’t want to part with.”
Oskar’s perceptiveness astounds me as his eyes fall on the box of Dad’s baseball goods. My heart sinks in my chest, and the faintest, cruelest of smiles comes across his face as his eyes catch sight of the blanching of my face.
He bends down to pick up a signed baseball, tossing it up and down in his greasy hand as though it were just a toy.
“Hah, I used to play a little, you know?” He turns his eyes to Nic, who’s been standing like a statue by the door. “Used to be a pitcher, and they told me I had a damn good arm, too. What do you think, Nic?”
Without further warning, Oskar winds up his pitching arm and sends the signed baseball full-force at Nic’s stomach, and the sound of the pop the impact makes evokes a wince from even Konrad. Nic’s face is utterly unfazed, but he gives an approving nod.
Oskar has heinously aggressive “short man” syndrome. Little shows of masculinity like this are all too common, I imagine, but to interrupt them in any way would be more destructive to everyone around him by a long shot. He chuckles to himself as the old ball rolls back to his feet across the floor.
“Really though, Katy, back to business,” he says, making his way into the kitchen and
opening my fridge to rummage around a little, finally taking out a beer and popping the top off as he helps himself to it.
“I used to own a club just like yours, Katy,” he sounds suddenly friendly, stepping forward and smiling at me. I notice that Konrad’s hand is still on my back, even though Oskar is looking at me evenly.
“Well, okay, not quite like yours, but close. Mine was a little more, ah...it catered to different tastes, to a different crowd.” I can hear Konrad suppressing a laugh as his grin grows wider.
“And all my employees, they were the loveliest women Brighton Beach had to offer. Some of them with golden locks that spilled down their back like a golden river, some with eyes like rainy skies you could get lost in forever as they danced for you…!”
I suppress a grimace. The strip clubs around town are full of hard-working women, and I can’t stand the thought of those dedicated workers being at the whim and mercy of this pig.
“Some of them were fine little things with long brown hair,” he adds, his eyes narrowing at me as he reaches out to take my chin in his hand, turning me over like a piece of meat. My jaw clenches.
“I would hate for a fine business like yours to fail at paying its dues, Katy,” he resumes a facade of professionalism, stepping back and peering out the window. “If you aren’t able to pay the debts all the other hardworking business owners can pay responsibly, well, you know I can’t guarantee the safety of your business.”
I know it’s a threat, and I know better than to derail his machismo. “Of course, Oskar, that won’t be a problem.”
“Won’t it?” He casts a sidelong glare at me that is almost as terrifying as Konrad’s subtle groping.
Oskar lets out a deep sigh, turning to face me with a sudden longing in his eyes that chills me to the bone.
“My girls, Katy, they were so dedicated. They often left the men who visited my little establishment wanting so much more, you know? And who am I to deny paying customers?”
Saved by the Outlaw: A Bad Boy Romance Page 42