Daring You

by Ketley Allison

  “Nothing,” I say as I rise. I’m still that naive twenty-year-old who thinks she can fall in love with her brother’s best friend and have no consequences. “Goodbye, Ben.”

  His hand stays on the doorframe. “Astor.”

  “What?”

  “Just think about what I said, okay? About the Delaney family.”

  Slowly, my world darkens a shade further. “Right, because that’s why you’re here.”

  “I don’t mean it like—”

  “I’ll see you later, Ben.”

  I make sure, this time, to summon the ice around my heart to swirl its deep freeze into my gaze.

  Ben lowers his head and shuts the door.

  It’s only when I’m sure he’s gone and hear the elevator ding its arrival and descent, that I fall back onto the couch and curl up tight.

  Bright, morning sunlight bursts its rays into my bedroom, completely at odds with the endless gray winter days, and I throw a pillow at it.

  The pillow thunks quietly against the window, and plops to the ground. I spend a moment finding parallels with the pillow’s descent and my heart, then decide to stop being so morose and get on with my Tuesday.

  I make my way to the bathroom and begin my usual shower and makeup routine, deliberately keeping Ben out of my thoughts as I coat foundation over my acne scars and use black eyeliner to draw attention away from the purple bags under my eyes. I’m definitely not thinking about the way my thighs tingle every time the image of his fingers dancing inside me bursts through.

  My phone rings its fire alarm sound I programmed into it, letting me know it’s someone at work. My mascara clatters into the sink as I rush out of my bathroom to find my cell, thinking it’s somewhere in the kitchen around the dinner I never cleaned up.

  There it is. Beside Ben’s empty mug, old coffee stains acting like a direct map to where his lips hit the ceramic.

  I toss the mug in the sink with a satisfying clunk and answer.

  “It’s Astor,” I say as greeting.

  “Hey, you.”

  Taryn’s voice comes through the phone, and my shoulders immediately relax. In my determination to rid this apartment of Ben evidence the easy way (trash chute), I didn’t check who was calling. Could’ve been Mike. Or Yang.

  “You find anything?” I ask her.

  “It’s why I’m calling,” she says, then lowers her voice. “That money you asked me to tail? Well, it led to something.”

  She must already be at work, I think as I head back into my bedroom and search through my closet hangers, one hand still holding the phone to my ear. My heart thrums through a few beats, thinking finally, we’ve landed Ryan Delaney, and before anyone else. So far, emails and voicemails have been silent on any other associate giving Altin Yang what he wants.

  “Just get here,” Taryn says. “I don’t want to talk about this over the phone.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” I say, but I completely agree with her. Mike’s probably lurking behind her cubicle, ready to nab whatever delicious treat Taryn lays out, whether it be her breasts or a clue to Ryan Delaney’s whereabouts. “I’m on my way.”

  Taryn clicks off, and I decide on a simple, high-neck, sleeveless black dress suit and top it off with a blazer. I throw a black peacoat over the outfit, top it off with my white beanie and leather gloves, and call myself New York ready.

  The car’s waiting for me outside when my heels hit the lobby floors, and I wave to Ernie and Stu, the weekday security guards, as I push through the revolving doors.

  I see the black car and head to it—

  “Astor Hayes?”

  “Yes?”

  My steps halt, reacting to my name.

  A man approaches, dark and heavy with black clothing, exactly like I am. Except, he’s wearing sunglasses against the bright winter sunlight, an accessory I forgot to include in my morning inventory.

  “Can I help you?” I ask.

  “You’re the lawyer for Angel and José, yes?”

  “I’m one of them.” I adjust the strap of my heavy, leather tote. “Are you a reporter? Because I have no comment—”

  “Have you found the boy?”

  The man, about a foot away now, is breathing fog too close to my face. I step back instinctually, taking note of the pock marks on his cheeks, his scarred, flat nose. The black fedora furthering his disguise.

  At the mention of the boy, I’m instantly on alert. “What boy?”

  “Angel tells me you’re close to discovering where the boy is.”

  “I’m sorry, who are you?” But after saying it, I second guess why I’m even standing here. He knows one of the defendants. That’s bad enough. “If you’ll excuse me, I have to get to work.”

  “My apologies, how rude of me. I’m Enrique Chavez.” He holds out a gloved hand.

  I hesitate, internally berating myself for not recognizing him sooner. Out of politeness and job security, I shake his hand.

  “Yes, I remember now,” I say. “But…what are you doing at my apartment?”

  “It’s on the way to the courthouse. I’m going to the arraignment, and Altin said you were one of the lawyers that will be there, too. It’s how I got your name.” He smiles. “And your address.”

  “I—hang on.”

  I’m frantically trying to process his words at the same time I’m pulling out my phone and checking my email. Altin said I’m on the case? How can that be? Taryn and I only just...

  Then I see the text.

  Taryn: Had to give Yang what we had. He gathered us in the conference room and demanded info, was going crazy no one was giving him anything. I’m sorry!! WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU?

  Shit. Shit, shit, shit.

  I’m later than I thought, if Altin Yang’s already rounding up the associates in preparation for the arraignment this morning. I had it in my head to get there before dawn, but then Ben happened, then sleep happened, and—dammit.

  “I really have to go, Mr. Chavez,” I say, and am about to apologize, but then remember he’s accosting me outside my apartment building.

  Chavez lowers his sunglasses, and I get that eerie feeling like I’m being studied by a snake in the grass. “I’m counting on you, Miss Hayes.”

  “I really don’t know why,” I say, and continue a confident stride to my car. It completely belies the queasiness sloshing around in my stomach. “I’m not in charge of José and Angel’s defenses. Altin Yang is.”

  He follows me. Even opens the passenger side door for me to get in. “Yes, but I have you to thank, I’m told. For the new information. Now, if only you could just give it to me.”

  “I don’t really know what you’re talking about.” I duck into the car and attempt to shut the door, but he stops me.

  “You’ve figured out where the boy is,” he repeats patiently. “I’d like to know.”

  “Sir,” I say, praying my voice remains steady. I’m wavering between screaming at him to go away, or remaining polite in order to keep my job. This annoying, scary man is one of Yang’s top clients. “If I’m going to make the arraignment, I need to leave now. And that’s what you want, right? For your…friends…to make bail?”

  “Of course, of course,” Chavez says, but still won’t let me shut the door.

  My mom’s voice bursts through. You can always leave a situation where you feel uncomfortable. I don’t care if it’s a sleepover, or a party, or with a boy who’s hitting on you and you don’t want to be rude. Leave. Never feel like you have to stay to be the nice girl. Call me, and I’ll always be there to pick you up.

  No, Mom. You’re not here now.

  “But if you could just tell me where you found him?” Chavez tries again.

  “I’ve told you once, Mr. Chavez. I don’t know.”

  Like a bracing wind blowing between buildings, his eyes tunnel into me. “You know where Ryan Delaney is. Altin so much as said. You have the papers, and you’ll be bringing them to the courthouse. I want them. Now.”

  “Mr. Chavez, I don’t have a
ny papers.”

  And I didn’t. Perhaps Taryn did. Likely, I need to get my head out of my angsty ass, stop mooning over Ben, and get back into the thick of climbing the ladder at the firm of CW&C so I’m not made to be so out-of-the-loop again.

  I grip the inside handle, and with all the Yoga-Pilates strength I possess, slam the car door shut. Chavez barely gets his fingers out of the way before they become attached to the vehicle as it drives off.

  “Thank you,” I say to the driver.

  “That was one persistent fucker,” he replies, and in typical city fashion, that’s the end of our conversation.

  Unable to resist, I look out the back window, and sure enough, Chavez is standing at the curb, staring at my car. As the distance widens, he steps out into the street to watch me turn a corner before he’s out of sight.

  Quelling a shiver, I redirect my route to the Staten Island courthouse, then spend the rest of the drive shaking off Chavez’s unsettling focus. Ben’s warning keeps running laps around my head, bringing with it a pounding headache that massaging my temples isn’t helping.

  These men don’t play around. Don’t get involved with them.

  Chavez didn’t really do anything, and yet I still feel warned.

  An email notification blips its arrival, and I open it. It’s a memo from Taryn, outlining everything she said to Altin Yang and…

  Oh, dude.

  I bring my phone closer to my face.

  I was wrong. I totally lied to Enrique Chavez.

  Ryan Delaney’s location is in my possession.

  17

  Ben

  “You wanna maybe not drop a barbell on my head?”

  Ash’s voice cuts through whatever vortex my brain decided to redirect to, and I refocus on being his spotter as he bench presses 250 pounds.

  “Sorry, bro,” I say as he grunts through another repetition. “I got caught up in—” Astor.

  “A chick, no doubt,” Ash says after a harsh exhale. He pushes the bar up again.

  “Speaking of, haven’t heard much about those lately.” Easton comes up beside us in the gym, a towel draped over his neck while he uses another one to wipe his forehead.

  “Am I the only one getting thoroughly and happily fucked?” Locke asks from his seat on a bench beside us, chugging from his water bottle and being a lazy asshole, as usual.

  I’m not in the mood to talk about my feelings, so I decide on the usual bro code of sarcasm.

  “I’d say you two are the only ones going through a dry spell,” I say to Ash and East, then give extra attention to Ash’s deadlift, since I don’t actually want to be responsible for his sternum being crushed. “Not me.”

  East takes a seat beside Locke and asks me, “Since when are you getting laid?”

  I say, “Since last night,” as a way to get them off my back. Too late, I realize the deep, dark, crevice full of shit I’ve landed in.

  “Oh, yeah?” Locke raises his brows and spreads out his legs, getting comfortable. “Who now? A cheerleader? Nah wait, you’re off season. A barfly?”

  This is an excellent time for a your mom joke, but since it’s Locke’s sister crowding my mind and his mom passed away from cancer….ah jeez, I better hold my breath, ‘cause I’m swan diving right into the center of this shit pile.

  “Nobody important,” I say, except she’s everything important.

  Admittedly, I kissed Astor to get her scent off my trail. She’s too close to wondering why I was so invested in the SI Slaughters, and thinking I’m smarter than her is the greatest mistake I can make. She’s not only intelligent, she’s quick. Darts like a viper.

  What I didn’t expect was how much I missed exploring her lips. Both of them.

  Worse, she tasted just as lonely as I remembered.

  “Dude, you’re fired.” Ash gives one last, growling push and places the barbell back in its holder.

  “Sorry,” I say, and don’t mean it.

  “What’s with you lately?” Locke asks, but it’s half-hearted concern. He’s been knee-deep in raising a child, recovering from a life-threatening injury, and having a woman permanently move in with him. Locke’s busy adjusting to a family that loves him. I could tell him right now, no issues, and he wouldn’t blink.

  It’s East I’m worried about, and his unusual perceptiveness. People usually take his quiet demeanor as shy, but he’s too busy watching and cataloguing the world around him to care. I’ve actually seen East’s reserve reduce girls to tears. Chicks crush hard on that sort of thing, I guess.

  “Do we need to institute another dare or something?” Ash lifts off his back, leaning forward with his palms on his thighs.

  “Jesus, no,” I say, at the same time Locke guffaws, “Hell yeah. Now that I’m a taken man, I can watch you bimbos run amok all over this town.”

  “It’s been years,” East adds. “Hopefully we’re older and wiser at this point.”

  “Older, maybe,” I say.

  “It ain’t up to me to spice up your sex lives, anyway.” Ash rises, then pulls his phone out of his gym shorts and grins. “Looks like I’ve got a date tonight. What do you two suckers have? Locke, I know what you got. Shut it.”

  Locke claps his hands together and stands. “What I got is two beautiful women waiting for me at home, one with mushy pancakes, and the other in lingerie. I’d say I’m a lucky man. Every single one of you should think on that.”

  Ash makes a sound of disgust. “Six months ago you were just like us, princess. Don’t act all queen on us now.”

  “Just sayin’.” Locke shrugs. “It’s good to be happy.”

  For reasons unknown, Locke puts me in his scope as he says it.

  “Whatever. ‘Bye, you fuckers,” Ash says, then turns and hits the men’s locker room without another word.

  East salutes and goes the same way as Ash does, and I start to follow, but Locke cuts me off.

  “You sure you’re okay?” he asks.

  “Totally.” I shrug off any remaining unease. About Astor, my old self, my parents…the arraignment this morning.

  “Uh huh.” Locke’s mouth flatlines. “You and my sister should talk.”

  The swallowed unease stiffens my spine. “Why do you say that?”

  “Because you’re both depressed teens sitting in your black-painted bedroom, writing angsty poems in your diaries.”

  I go to the side wall and throw a green tea infused cold towel around my neck. The perks of a top-of-the-line, TriBeCa gym. “Nice analogy.”

  “Seriously. Something’s going on with the both of you.”

  I cover any clues I might inadvertently give off by toweling my face. “Whatever’s happening with her has nothing to do with me.”

  Locke’s unusually silent, and I peek through the white cotton, but his expression is carefully, annoyingly, blank. Right at the moment I think I should maybe say something, he adds, “I think she and Mike are on shaky ground.”

  Hell, thank the gods for this towel. I respond carefully, “Yeah, I might’ve noticed she was a bit off about that, too.”

  “Not that I give a damn.” Locke pushes open the change room door, and I follow him into the steam. “He’s about as personable as a hot fart.”

  “What’s she doing with him, anyway?” I can’t help but ask.

  “He’s smart, competitive, from a good family, I dunno,” Locke says. “All the things she looks for on paper.”

  I’m living under a secret identity due to almost being murdered, slept with Astor because of what she thinks was a ruse, and come from a middle-class, Connecticut adoptive family.

  I think wryly, yep, I’m real gold laid out next to Mike’s bronze.

  “She always thinks she has to do what’s right,” Locke says. “I’ve given up trying to convince her being a rebel is a lot more satisfying.”

  Except for that one time she fucked me without telling you…

  “But she doesn’t love him,” I say.

  Locke cuts me a glance as he opens his locker.
For a moment, Astor’s eyes look back, a pure blue so full of understanding I almost back away from it.

  What exactly does he know?

  “Astor doesn’t love many people,” Locke says. “Especially from the opposite sex.”

  “Should we do something about it?” I spin the combination numbers on my own locker. “Beat Mike up? Threaten to kill him? I’m all for it.”

  “Nah, he’s not worthy.” Locke peels off his workout shirt and throws on a fresh one. “Besides, he’ll do the torching for us. Astor and him are competing for the same spot in a law case or some shit.”

  I slam my locker door too hard after changing, but keep my voice carefully controlled. “She told you much about that?”

  “A little. Got a text from her a few minutes ago, though, that she was on her way to the hearing. Something to do with those two killers’ bail.”

  “Yeah. It’s all over the news.” I throw my sports duffel over my shoulder.

  “She was cornered out front of her apartment.”

  All my attention dives into Locke. “Say what?”

  “Some honcho, I don’t know. But she called me, asked me to stay on the phone with her as she drove to court, to make sure she wasn’t being followed.”

  My chest is swelling in ways it only does when I’m running for a touchdown during a live game, but I try for lightness instead of breakneck speed. “Is that why you missed twenty minutes of training? To have a chat with your sis? She’s okay though, right?”

  Locke claps me on the back as we walk forward. I’m glad he doesn’t feel how tense it is. “Astor’s been on high profile cases before. I’m not worried, otherwise I’d be there in a hot second. But she’s…different. Looks tired. More stressed. I think I might swing by, anyway—”

  “I’ll do it.”

  Locke stops at the gym’s exit out onto the street. “Yeah?”

  I nod. “You’ve got to get home to Lily and Carter. Like you said, this isn’t a big deal—it’s not even a trial. I’ll go, make sure she’s okay, then fill you in.”

  Locke, same height as me, keeps my stare dead-on. “I appreciate that, man.”