by L A Cotton
“What is it with you and strip clubs?”
Perkins laughed through his grin and clapped me on the shoulder. “Come on, kid. We don’t want to be late.”
I followed Perkins to the door. He knocked twice and the door opened, but only enough for us to make out the bald head of a huge looking guy.
“It’s me, Dan.”
“Perkins, that you? Been too long, man. Get in here.”
Dan eyed me as he opened the door fully and stepped aside to let us through. Perkins called back, “This is Jackson, Michael’s kid.”
Apparently, that was enough for Dan to relax. He tipped his head at me as I moved past him, eyeing the gun holstered at the back of his jeans. My pulse raced; adrenaline surging through me. It didn’t take much to work out that this was an important meeting, that Marcus was finally revealing more of the family business to me. Why now was the question I should have been asking myself, but instead, all I could think was that I was one step closer to learning the truth about Dad.
The hallway started to open into a room, but Perkins stalled and turned back to me. “Stay close. Don’t speak unless spoken to and listen carefully. We’re here as messengers. Listen and report back. Got it?”
I nodded, following him into the room.
~
The room was in fact a bar, with plush leather stools and booths lining one wall. Over to the right, a square stage with a pole disappearing into the ceiling backed to a runway leading into a curtained-off area. Prints of blurred bodies hung on the walls, and a hypnotic beat played quietly through hidden speakers. Two topless girls served drinks to the group of men huddled in front of another black door. It felt like we’d walked into an upmarket strip joint on a night, not at ten in the morning.
“There he is. Perkins, get over here,” a short stocky man with thinning hair called out.
Perkins nodded for me to follow, and I jammed my hands into my pockets and dutifully followed.
“Pat, Bobby, guys, this is Michael’s lad, Jackson.”
The six men all stared at me, a mixture of expressions on their faces. I tipped my head in a slight nod but remained silent. They weighed me up, that much I could tell, but that worked both ways. And first impressions told me that Pat and Bobby were good friends of Perkins, their relaxed stances and the way they stepped back to welcome him into the fold. One guy, a taller dude with a clean-cut fitted suit, screamed slimeball, and the remaining three were all playing their cards close to their chests. Like me, they stood poised and stoic, not giving anything away.
“Nice to meet you, Jackson.” Pat stepped forward and extended his hand. I shook it. “Your father was a good man. You look just like him, son.”
Bobby looked about to extend his hand when the door behind him opened and an older woman appeared. She must have been closer to Perkins’ age than my own, but she was beautiful. A slim body wrapped in some kind of silky robe, her whole demeanor screamed sex and power.
“Gentlemen, he’s ready for you.”
He? I wanted to ask, but there was no time as Perkins ushered me through the door behind the other men. The room was smoky; it clung to the rays of light streaking in through the blinds covering high windows on the far wall.
“Take a seat, gentlemen,” a voice said from the far end of a huge glass table. Darkness cloaked that end of the room, and I was unable to make out anything other than the silhouette of a man.
The men I had entered the room with found their seats as if they were pre-assigned. Unsure of where to sit, I lingered behind.
“Your seat is next to Perkins, son,” the voice from the darkness called.
Moving to sit next to Perkins, he flashed me a quick grin. I took in everything—the number of seats, the entry and exit points, and the distinguishing features of the room. Just like any other exchange I’d participated in over the last two years, my senses were on high alert unsure of what to expect.
We sat in quiet waiting. More men entered the room; some clean-cut with an air of importance like Marcus, and others more rough around the edges like Perkins. It didn’t take much to work out this was a business meeting. I’d met a few of Marcus’ associates over the years but never in an official capacity. None of the faces seated around the table looked familiar.
“Close the door, Jimmy,” the voice at the head of the table demanded, and the older guy entering the room pulled the door closed behind him. I could just make out the shape of a gun holstered on his left side, and things started to feel a little too real. I’d had a gun pulled on me before, but I didn’t carry and it was something I had no intentions of doing. Not unless absolutely necessary.
“Good, let’s get things started.”
“Bobby?”
Bobby cleared his throat and started talking. “Business is up by five percent, boss. The latest shipment of those iPad things was a real hit with the high school. Every student and his dog are walking around Olympia with one.”
“And the club?”
“Business is booming, plenty of lonely horn dogs wanting to blow off steam and keep their dicks wet. Had to take on a couple more girls just last week.”
“Thank you, Bobby. Joe?”
A fair-haired guy shuffled in his seat and helped himself to a glass of water before clearing his throat. “Things are good; the new club is set to open next week. There was a little hiccup with the adjoining businesses, but nothing Sammy couldn’t fix. We interviewed last week. The girls are real special, very accommodating.” His eyes hardened a little, and I wondered how he’d come to that conclusion. “The Latinos are still trying to hustle in on business on the east side, but I have some of the guys taking care of it.”
“Good; don’t give in to any more of their demands but keep things under wraps. The last thing we need is the media picking up a turf war story. Keep me informed.”
“You got it, boss.” The guy ran a hand through his short hair, a look of relief on his face.
The faceless voice at the other end of the room went through each of the men around the table, and as he called on each one, they reported on business in their area. From what I counted, the twelve men around the room represented three states and at least eight different cities. I listened intently, storing away each piece of information for a later date.
Eventually, it was Perkins’ turn to speak. He talked with ease, detailing both Marcus and Maconey’s joint venture in supplying Reibeckitt and Chastity Falls with whatever illegal substance was required. But he never mentioned the bad coke, and it had me questioning just exactly what the hierarchy was here.
Most of the men around the table referred to the faceless voice as boss. Some referred to him as Frankie. In all my years with the Donohues, I’d never heard Marcus refer to anyone by that name. I’d heard talk of the family—the uncles in other states—and I’d even met a few in casual circumstances. But this felt different. I was party to something much bigger here.
Realizing everyone had taken their turn, I waited to be called upon. However, it never came. Most of me felt relieved; what would I have said? That I pushed baggies of coke in a few students’ hands here and there? Kept the stoners high? I didn’t want to hold my hands up to that, but I couldn’t deny the sliver of disappointment I felt at not being considered an insider yet. I needed to be one of these men; it was the ticket to discovering the truth about Marcus and my father. It was the key to bringing Marcus down. I just needed to work out my angle and position all the pieces.
Faceless reached for a glass of water and his whole face came into view. Memories flooded back to me, and I sat pinned to the chair trying to keep my pulse even. I recognized him. He was older, aged around the eyes, and his hair thinning, but it was him. The same guy in photos with Uncle Marcus and Dad. Except whenever they had talked about him, they hadn’t referred to him as Frankie; they’d called him O’Connor.
~
After O’Connor had excused us, the men congregated back in the bar, being served tumblers of amber liquid by the same topless w
aitresses as earlier. Perkins mingled while I remained at the bar perched on a stool, trying to slot together all of the pieces of the puzzle that had unfolded in front of me around the table. The only solid conclusion I was able to draw was that Marcus had been holding out on us. Sure, Braiden and I had our ears to the ground growing up. We weren’t stupid. We knew the kind of weight the Donohue name carried in Chastity Falls and the immediate surrounding areas, but we never questioned just how far that reach went or where the orders came from. Details like that were always strictly need-to-know.
Even when Shaun, Travis, Kyler, and Dennis arrived freshman year, we didn’t question their immediate allegiance to the family. Friends of the family, Marcus had said, but after listening to the men talk, I was beginning to wonder just exactly how their families were connected to the Donohues. Dennis had alluded to a contentious relationship between his family and Marcus on more than one occasion.
Itching to get out of there and question Perkins, I caught his eye across the room and he nodded, excusing himself. Maybe I should have tried to talk to Bobby and Pat, but my mind was too busy trying to process everything. I needed more time to make sense of it all.
Once Perkins had said goodbye to everyone, we walked in silence to the car. Perkins didn’t offer me the keys as he had on the ride over, but that suited me. I wasn’t sure I would be able to concentrate enough to drive.
“So…” Perkins left the question hanging as we climbed in the car and belted up.
“I have questions.”
“That’s what I’m here for, kid. We’ve got all day.” He turned the key and the car sputtered to life.
“And then?”
“We meet the guys tonight for poker.”
“Poker? Are you fucking kidding me?”
“Do I look like I’m joking? Frankie always holds a poker game after the meeting. It’s not optional.”
I stared at Perkins in disbelief. Not only had Marcus sent me here without warning, but I now also had to endure a whole night with those men. With all the questions running through my mind, it was a recipe for disaster.
“You gonna look at me like that all day, kid, or you gonna ask me one of those questions burning inside that head of yours?”
“Frankie, he’s the boss?”
“Yep.”
“The boss of what exactly?”
“It’s complicated.”
“Are you going to actually answer me or play these fucking games all day?” I spat, my patience wearing thin already.
Perkins laughed a deep hearty laugh. “I guess you could say Frankie is the Godfather in our little scenario. Except this ain’t no movie, and there ain’t no horse’s head. Well, unless you piss off Jimmy; he can get a little bloodthirsty.”
Godfather…Mafia.
“The mafia?”
Perkins laughed again, but this time it petered out into an exasperated breath. “Look, kid, I’m sorry you got stuck with me having to fill in the blanks, but your uncle and Maconey thought it would be best coming from someone objective. Your family, shit, I mean your uncle’s family, is one of many Irish families who came to America in the late eighteen hundreds…” I nodded, not looking for a history lesson. Everyone knew, at least in part, the tales from films like Gangs of New York, and our Irish heritage wasn’t a secret, that much I did know. “They settled in New York, Philly, even New Orleans, but it never mentions our glorious corner of the country, and you know why? Because we were clever. Our ancestors didn’t come storming in looking to take over major cities; we spread out and moved into small towns. From Tacoma right down to Reno. Of course, we’ve grown considerably since then.”
“We?” Pretty certain of the answer, I asked anyway.
“The Irish mob, kid. Welcome to the family.”
Chapter 11
~ ANA ~
The image of Jackson sitting in the booth while some naked slut writhed on the guy next to him played on my mind all day—just as it had the day before. He would be home soon, and I had no idea how I would react. Part of me wanted to pick up the first thing beside me and launch it at his face while another—less brave—part wanted to break down in tears and demand he reassure me it had to be wrong. That the grainy image wasn’t the guy I had spent two years loving. But I knew better. So I waited. Waited for the moment Jackson walked into our home and fed me a pile of lies and excuses.
I didn’t have to wait long. I’d just washed my face and changed into my nightshirt when the front door opened and I heard his footsteps on the floor. A few seconds later, the refrigerator whirred to life and the faucet whooshed. Obviously in no rush to come and see me, I pulled up the comforter around my body and stared up at the ceiling.
Minutes ticked by and still nothing.
Already feeling weary, my eyes started to grow heavy and my breathing slowed until I was petering on the edge of oblivion. I wanted to confront Jackson, to demand answers, but his absence spoke volumes.
Feeling defeated, I let sleep claim me.
~
Jackson was gone when I woke, his side of the bed cold. A stab of pain tore through my heart. What was happening to us? Why was he allowing this to happen? I’d asked myself that very question every day since we moved into the house. I knew the answer. I was, in part, to blame, but it made it no easier to bear.
Revenge was a powerful motivator, just like any other strong emotion. Guilt, grief, hate. Emotions like that took hold of you and festered until the roots entwined with your lifeline. I knew because I’d experienced it, but my pain—my guilt and grief—hadn’t caused an extrovert reaction. I didn’t lash out at those around me or engage in risk-taking behavior. I shut down; lived inside my own thoughts fighting against growing urges to hurt the one person I blamed for the death of my parents and ex-boyfriend.
Myself.
Jackson was on a path of self-destruction. His need for revenge blinded him. The second he called Marcus, all those weeks ago, and agreed to take over Braiden’s spot in the Donohue family, something had changed in him. And I’d been watching that transformation ever since. I thought telling him of my suspicions would open his eyes to his family’s true agenda, but all it had done was cement his position with them.
We had already survived so much, but as every new day passed, I felt less and less sure we could survive this. Marcus didn’t really want us to be together, Briony definitely wanted to tear us apart, and Jackson was being pulled in so many directions, it left little time for us.
My phone vibrated on the nightstand, ripping me from my internal war.
I needed to burn off some steam. Sorry I didn’t wake you last night, but you looked so peaceful. I missed you.
J xx
Still unsure how I wanted to handle the text I’d received from the unknown number, I didn’t reply. I needed time to think, to clear my head, and sift through the murky waters growing around us.
~
“Ana, Ana, wait up,” a voice called from behind me. I turned to find a red-faced Mari running toward me. “I’m glad I saw you.”
“You are?” I cocked my eyebrow at her.
“Sure, we haven’t had a chance to catch up lately. What with classes and everything. How’s it going?” Mari fell into step beside me as we walked in the direction of the Pauling building.
“Hmm, everything’s okay, I guess.”
“Good, that’s good.” Her voice wavered and I glanced down at her hands. She was nervous; the way her fingers rubbed together was telling.
“Did you want something?” I asked a little too bluntly, but I was still reeling from the situation with Jackson, and I really didn’t have time to deal with Mari and her crazy.
“No, I just wanted to say hi. Oh, and invite you to Paul’s birthday. I’m throwing him a surprise party.”
“You are?” This was news to me.
“I am.” She beamed.
“Okay. Well, I’ll be there.”
“Great. It’s just a quiet thing, you know. Just the regular group.” Mari s
lowed beside me, and I stopped turning to her. Something was stuck on her lips.
“What’s up, Mari? I have to get to class, so if there’s something else…”
“I, hmm, I was wondering if we could have it at your place? More room, you know?”
“Okay, I guess. Just let me have the date, and just us guys. Nothing wild.”
The last thing I wanted was it turning into a party to rival the ones at Fallen House.
“Seriously? You don’t mind.” Her face softened a little, and she smiled until her whole face lit up.
“It’s fine. Paul’s a good friend; it’s the least I can do.”
“Thanks, Ana.” She shrieked excitedly. “I’m so excited. I’ll call you, okay, and we can go over the details.”
Great.
“Okay.”
~
I moved through classes in a blur. I should have been used to the drama by now; the what-ifs and what nows. That was all my life had been for two years. It didn’t make me love him any less, it just made loving him harder. But we had been through too much to just throw it all away, and as I sat trying to focus on the lecturer at the front of the room analyze the impact of social media on the English language, I tried to imagine my life without Jackson. A life away from Chastity Falls.
I couldn’t.
Somewhere along the way, Jackson had become a part of me. Intrinsic.
He had saved me. And I was determined to do the same for him.
It wasn’t an epiphany, just a matter of fact. No matter what happened between us, how much he pulled away, I was determined to push back. Because if we were arguing, fighting, hell, even hating the shit out of each other, at least it meant there was still something there. If he wouldn’t open up to me, then I’d have to make him.
~
After classes, I headed straight back to the house. The nervous energy bounced in my stomach, but I was ready to confront him. I refused to just sit by and watch our relationship wither. It seemed so simple now, but I guess, deep down, a part of me wanted him to figure it out on his own. To realize he had to try to fix us. That clearly wasn’t going to happen, and I was done moping. Of making myself the victim. I’d spent enough time being that girl.