Troy

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Troy Page 4

by S Kline


  The deep rumble of his laugh through his thick chest pulls me from my thoughts. I sip at my beer and stay silent. He might think it’s because I don’t want to talk to him, but in actuality it’s because he makes me feel weak and unstable. The scent of his warm skin mixed with clean sweat, and some woodsy cologne fills my lungs as he steps closer and leans into me.

  “Why weren’t you at the fight? I missed seeing you prance around for me.” A ghost of a smile lingers on his lips.

  I know he doesn’t mean it. I’ve seen some of the girls Troy has hooked up with over the years. Unlike me, all of them are model-worthy. I’m average at best. Still, some part of me wants to believe Troy could see me like he sees them. That he really does enjoy seeing my body on display in that ridiculous green bikini, but I know better.

  “I’m sure.” I place my hand on his chest, marveling at the firmness under palm for only a second as I push him back and put much needed space between us.

  “I’m hurt,” he says throwing me a wicked smile and holding his hand against his heart in mock pain. My heart rate sky rockets.

  “You’re a big boy, you’ll be fine.”

  “You have no idea, princess.” His eyes darken, and I can feel heat wash over my skin as my fingertips tingling at his insinuation.

  I have to force my eyes not to drop to the zipper of his jeans. I’ve heard girls talk about exactly how “big” Troy is, but I’ve always rushed away before I could hear much else. I turn my gaze away from him, and hope he can’t see the blush I know is on my face. I lock eyes with Marcus across the room. He smiles at me, and the movement causes his dark eyes to crinkle at the corners, and his dimples appear in his cheeks.

  His gaze moves to Troy, and I can’t exaggerate how quickly his smile vanishes. He marches through the throngs of people, ignoring the brunette tugging at his arm, and storms his way straight to me.

  Troy turns to see where my attention is. When he clocks Marcus heading toward us his whole body tenses. I bite my lower lip, and my hands wring together in front of me.

  Marcus makes it over to us and immediately throws his arm over my shoulder, pulling me into his side. Troy smirks at him, seemingly unaffected by Marcus’s hostile reaction to seeing us talk. If it weren’t for the momentary tension I’d witnessed, I would think him completely indifferent. They just stare at each other. Neither of them speaks, and I’m both nervous and embarrassed by their actions.

  I pull away from Marcus, the force of my movements breaking the spell. Marcus looks down at me, worry clear in his gaze.

  “I’m going to go check on Addie, and then I’m heading back to Clovers. Stella called a little bit ago. She needs me to talk to Sara.”

  Talking to the girls is something I do occasionally when they are having a rough time. Sara especially needs someone non-judgmental to talk to. However, I’ve been duped on more than one occasion when Stella has claimed one of the girls needs talking to, and then gets me to call in a drug run for her knowing the girls are past their monthly limited supply.

  Marcus wrinkles his brow and pulls me in for a warm hug, running big hands over my back. I pull back and paste a smile I don’t really feel on my lips. I turn toward Troy, his posture is relaxed, and the earlier tension in his shoulders is gone.

  “It was good seeing you, Troy.” I shuffle my feet and cross my arms over my chest.

  Icy-blue eyes flick my way before looking around the room. “Yeah, you too, Kace.” His voice is flat and withdrawn.

  I bristle at his sudden indifference to my presence. How messed up is that? I don’t want his attention when he’s giving it to me, but as soon as he stops I feel desperate for it. And the merry-go-round takes another spin.

  I shake off the thoughts and turn to move back through the crowd. I don’t stop to talk to anyone else. I don’t even try to find Ethan to say good-bye. He’s probably busy trying to get Trisha to talk to him again. I wish he would just give up and find another girl who won’t play games with him.

  I climb into the silver Audi Daddy bought me for my birthday and pull out of the circular drive. I’m careful not to hit one of the many drunken morons lingering outside by the cars.

  The drive to Addie’s is quiet except for the low hum of the engine and Snow Patrol playing softly over the speakers. I grip the steering wheel tighter to ease the trembling in my hands.

  Troy has always had this effect on me, this mind-numbing, adrenaline-fueled, spell on my psyche. It is one of the biggest reasons for me to stay far away from him. The fact that he is incapable of not fucking as many women as possible is the other reason.

  Not to mention his standing in the organization. When Troy moves up in rank his power in Palms will be endless. Troy will have his pick of women, even if he wasn’t so ridiculously good looking, women and power go hand-in-hand.

  I have only enough time to briefly swing by Addie’s before I need to check in with Stella. She isn’t a patient woman, and I have already spent too much time lingering at the party. I could call Daddy and have him talk to Sara, but in all honesty I wasn’t sure he wouldn’t sleep with her. That wouldn’t help either of them. I love my father, but I’m not as oblivious to his wild ways as he would like to believe.

  I park outside Addie’s two-story townhouse and climb out of my convertible. The lights are all out so she is probably in bed already, but I head up to knock on the door anyway.

  The earlier warmth in the night air is now crisp with a fall chill. I shiver and try running my hands over my bare arms in an attempt at warmth. I knock twice more but when there is still no movement to be heard on the other side of the door I turn and walk back to my car. Addie is either asleep or out, and with the way she’d been spewing vomit earlier my guess is on the former.

  I climb back into my car. I might as well get my meeting with Stella over with. Sara, one of the girl’s, is having a difficult time coping with Stella’s demands. I need to calm her down before Stella sends one of the boys over there to handle the issue, permanently. None of the girls are allowed to leave Clovers without permission from Stella. It is too dangerous to have them running loose in the streets. They know too much.

  Sara is used to living on the streets and hustling money from any John that comes along. That way of life is foolish, not to mention dangerous, and Stella refuses to let her girls participate in that lifestyle. She has her faults, and can be harsh at times, but Stella makes sure the girls are safe, they have a place to stay, warm food, and all she expects in return is their loyalty to her.

  Sara is the one girl here whom I feel the sorriest for. She is only two years older than my twenty-two years. She is frail and suffers from a major heroin addiction. She also has a two year old daughter she isn’t allowed to see, ever. I couldn’t imagine living life the way she has.

  I’m sure the endless supply of drugs that run through Clovers is a pretty nice incentive for them to stay as well. I can’t imagine living life as nothing more than a revolving door for any man to use as he pleases, but I know I can’t judge them. I may have been born into this life by happenstance, but I have lived it pretty pampered.

  Clovers is only three miles out from Addie’s, in the seedier side of Palms. The side of Palms where crime is at its highest, and the Fianna Fáil reign supreme. I pull up outside the massive mini-mansion that serves as Clovers. It is lit up with lights burning in every window; shadows playing against white curtains. It looks like something between a flashy nightclub and a family home. Most of the officers on this side of town are active participants in what Clovers has to offer, so Stella never has problems when it comes to the law getting involved.

  I walk up the cement steps and pause briefly as I am assaulted by the scent of cheap perfume that blows freely in the breeze. I lift a hand up to knock but the door is pulled open before my fist makes contact and leaves my hand suspended in the air.

  Stella stands in front of me in all her madam glory. She is wearing a sheer black teddy, her curly red hair piled atop her head, and all of her l
ong limbs on display. I never have understood why she settled for this lifestyle. She looks like anyone’s older sister; pale skin, wide eyes, and a bright smile.

  “It is about time you show up, Cher.” Her voice is silky and still holds a hint of her French accent.

  “I got here as soon as I could.” I step in around her and hold my breath.

  The overtly sweet smell of the perfume is much stronger inside. I swallow thickly as my mouth waters and my nose burns. It would take a few minutes for my senses to adjust to the assault, just as it did every time I came here.

  “How is Sara?” I tilt my head toward the winding staircase behind me that leads to the upstairs bedrooms where the girls take their Johns.

  “Oui, yes. Don’t you worry about that whore. I ’ave taken care of her disobedience. I actually need you to run some more drugs in ‘ere to me. We are running low. I’ll ‘ave a riot if the les filles find out.”

  Great, like I want to run drugs through the whore house tonight. I really hate when Stella uses one of the girls to get me here, especially Sara. “Give me a few minutes. I’ll put in the call.”

  She nods and takes two steps back to lean elegantly against the wall as she keeps her light green eyes on me. I pull out my cell phone and dial in Dylan’s number. Daddy had assigned Dylan to manage drug running for the organization the day he turned eighteen. Every once in a while Stella lures me here to make this call, usually only when they’ve already burned through their monthly supply and she was afraid of what Daddy would say if he found out.

  The call goes to his voicemail, and I mentally curse him knowing there is only one other person I can call. There is only one other person who knows where Dylan’s stash is. My stomach cramps as my finger hovers over Troy’s name in my contact list. I only ever call him when I can’t reach Dylan, which isn’t very often at all.

  No longer feeling lightheaded by the sweet smell in the air, I pull in a deep breath and connect the call.

  His groggy, masculine voice rumbles through the phone sounding rougher, deeper than usual. “Troy.”

  “Hey Troy.” I bite at a fingernail as a fluttering sensation begins to take hold deep in my belly.

  “Kaci?” His voice is still groggy, but a little more alert now. There is a shuffling over the phone as if he is sitting up. “Am I dreaming?” His voice mumbles over the line so softly I don’t think I am meant to hear it. So I ignore it.

  “I need a run to Clovers and I can’t reach Dylan. Want to help me out before Stella puts a heel through my head?” I flick my gaze over to see Stella smirking at my idea of humor.

  “Yeah, of course.” I shiver involuntarily at the deepness in his voice. I have always loved the way his deep cadence had the ability to do that to me. Rumble over my skin like a caress even without his touch. “I have to throw something on so give me twenty minutes.”

  I know that he is probably referring to the drugs, but I can’t help picturing him half-dressed and throwing clothes over his lean, muscular body.

  “Understood.” My voice cracks with my response, and I pray like hell he didn’t notice.

  I put my phone back into my pocket after silence falls over the line. Troy has a bad habit of just hanging up when he is finished saying whatever he needs to say. No “goodbye” or “see you in a few” just complete silence.

  “I should get the les filles ready. If Troy Donovan is on ‘is way to Clovers they will be dying for a peek at ‘im.” Stella’s whiskey voice reaches me just as she moves closer to the stairs. “You ‘ave to admit, Cher les filles. Troy Donovan is a whole lot of sex in jeans. Any of my les filles would amour a taste of that boy.”

  My stomach churns again. Has Troy been with any of the girls at Clovers? Not that it would be my business, or ever matter to me. I am just simply curious. Even though the girls are tested regularly, that would still be beyond gross. I know from the rumors that Troy has a very healthy sexual appetite, but would he stoop to hookers?

  “Get that ill look off your face, Cher. Troy has never touched one of my les filles. I was merely pointing out that they would amour if he did.” She continues on her path up the steps without looking back at me again.

  I hadn’t realized I was being that transparent. I shuffle over and sit down on the red velvet couch that sits against the foyer wall. I only venture further into the house when it becomes absolutely necessary. Accidently getting an eyeful of one too many grinding bodies has taught me the safety of the front door. I cross my legs and browse the web on my phone while I wait for Troy. I am so wrapped up in an article about the benefits of a new facial moisturizer, that I don’t notice all of the barely clothed women who are now taking residence beside me. That is until the door opens and I look up to be met with the most intense, icy-blue eyes.

  Troy’s eyes are the most magnificent I’ve ever seen. A chorus of “Hey Troy” rings out around me, and I feel my face blush when I realize I’ve been staring at him. The silly grin on his rugged face makes him look less serious, and more like the twelve year old boy I remember in my dreams. I stand and slip my phone back into my pocket as I step up to him.

  “You get it?” I tilt my head to the side and bite my lip as I study him.

  He nods and slides an arm around my waist, pulling me up against his warm, firm body. I freeze. His head bends down to me, and he presses his lips against my ear, letting the warmth of his breath whisper over my skin. “Just go with it, please.” He whispers so quietly I know only I can hear him.

  I nod because that’s all I can do with Troy this close to me. My heart is pounding and my lungs refuse to expand. The strong scent of booze mixes with his usually delicious sent. I raise a brow at him wondering how drunk he is. Should he really be driving?

  “It’s in the car, babe.” His voice is low, lips parted, as he runs his long finger over the length of my jaw.

  I clear my throat and flick my gaze around to take in the many hard stares aimed my way. “Let’s go get it.”

  I hurry out of his grip and head around him, back out the front door. I take quick steps toward his bright yellow car. I can hear his footsteps quicken as he rushes to catch up to me. A firm hand grips my elbow and swings me around until I am again locked in his icy observation. My greedy eyes roam between his eyes and his full, enticing lips.

  “Sorry about that.” He shrugs a non-apologetic shoulder at me, belying his words. “I hate being hit on by hookers. I thought maybe if they thought we were together they would ease up.”

  I laugh at him and feel myself start to actually relax in his presence. “They fuck married men, and you think they’d care if we were a couple?”

  He lifts a brow and presses his lips tightly together. “Don’t say fuck, Kaci. It’s not very ladylike.”

  Troy is almost a foot taller than me, so I have to lean up on my tiptoes to get eye-level with him. “Fuck.” I whisper into his face, a satisfied smile tugging at my lips at my sudden bravado.

  Our breaths mingle between us as reality suddenly hits, and I try to figure out what caused me to get this close to temptation. I could have sworn I heard a hitch in his breath as his clouded eyes roam over my face. I can’t let this happen. I drop back to my feet and turn back to his car.

  “I need to get those in to Stella, where did you put them?” I wring my fingers together and avoid his gaze.

  I hear him let out a deep sigh behind me, but he says nothing as he walks toward the front of the car, swings open the door, leans in, and pops the trunk. He walks around to the back of the car, and lifts the lid fully, exposing the duffle bag inside. I lift it out and sling it over my shoulder.

  “I’ll catch you later, Troy.” My voice is pitched high, and I bite the inside of my cheek in an attempt to calm my nerves.

  He nods and I turn to head back into the house, pretending my heart isn’t still pounding, and my body isn’t begging for his closeness again.

  “I’ll see you at the meeting tomorrow night.” His voice rings out behind me, sounding more like a pr
omise than farewell.

  Chapter Four

  Troy

  I leave Clovers and head back to the party. I really shouldn’t be behind the wheel, but I couldn’t resist seeing Kaci. The sound of her voice over the phone, pulling me back to conciseness was like a dream come true, even if it was only because Stella needed drugs.

  After Kaci left earlier I’d headed upstairs to one of the many guest bedrooms, and let myself drift to sleep to the images in my head of her smooth thighs. The way they looked under the dim lighting of the living room, the way they felt under my touch, and the way I imagine they would look wrapped around my waist. Like all good things the dream was over too soon.

  I park the car and stumble slightly on my way up to the house. The party is still in full-swing and doesn’t look to be calming down anytime soon. As I step into the house the first thing that catches my attention is Ethan—more specifically the fact that Trish is in his arms and they are all but fucking in foyer.

  He’ll regret that in the morning when Trisha goes back to avoiding him and flaunting a string of different men just for his viewing pleasure. I don’t get why Ethan plays these games with her. Hell, I’ve never had an actual relationship so I guess it makes sense that I don’t understand.

  I let my eyes roam around as I walk through the house, grab a beer from the bar, and lean against a wall to watch the girls dance in the open space of the dining room. I can feel the vibrations on my ass when my cell starts going off in my pocket. I shift to place my beer on the bar as I reach to grab my phone.

  Addie’s name on the screen is like a sucker punch to the gut. I shake my head and silence my phone. I don’t want to deal with this tonight. My goal is to get so lost in my head I won’t be able to think about my impending fatherhood. Clearly I’m not high enough.

  I push the phone into the front pocket of my jeans, and shove through the crowd. I scan over the many drunk faces of party-goers in search of Dylan. He’s not hard to find, and when I spot him I laugh. He’s standing on a table with his cell phone out taking pictures with a giant grin on his face.

 

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