Fight Dirty

by Eva Ashwood

  If I’m going to be wearing a gorgeous dress, then the rest of me might as well match it, I figure. I don’t get dressed up often, but the few occasions that call for it seem to be a good chance to go all-out.

  I line my eyes with liner and a little gold sparkle, making them pop and really bringing out how green they are. My lipstick matches the dress, bright red and killer. I leave my hair loose, letting it fall over my shoulders in soft dark curls that I pin back on one side to keep out of my face.

  The dress feels good on me when I step into it, and of course it fits perfectly. I have no idea where the guys got it, or how they guessed my measurements so accurately, but I’m not complaining. It’s comfortable and beautiful, and when I move to go put shoes on, I realize there’s a slit up the side that goes all the way to my thigh, showing a lot of leg.

  Grabbing my phone, I head out of my room. I feel sexy as hell as I walk down the stairs later, the dress moving around my ankles as I do.

  The guys are already gathered in the living room, talking in low voices, and I get a good look at them before they see me. Of course they look fucking amazing. I haven’t seen any one of them look bad in anything yet.

  Like when we went to Sapphire a couple weeks ago, they’re dressed in casual, but nice outfits, clearly designed to show off how well built they all are.

  Levi and Sloan are in dark colors, black slacks and a black shirt for Sloan, the sleeves not rolled up this time, but the top two buttons of his shirt undone, showing skin there that my gaze immediately goes to. Levi’s shirt is a rich gray with a slight pattern to it, tucked into his black slacks. It shows off the spread of his shoulders and the trimness of his waist.

  Rory’s the only one other than me who isn’t monochrome tonight, and his blue shirt makes his green eyes seem even brighter than normal and sets off the golden tones in his hair.

  He’s the first one to see me as I come down, and he stops mid-sentence to stare at me. “Holy shit,” he murmurs.

  The other two turn to look, and I fight the urge to blush as all three of them ogle me a little, taking me in from head to toe, paying special attention to the flash of thigh seen through the slit in my dress.

  Rory comes over and gives a low whistle and then drags a knuckle down my bare arm, setting off goosebumps in the wake of his touch.

  “We did a good job,” Levi says.

  “Oh sure, give yourselves all the credit,” I reply, making a face.

  “We picked out the dress.” Rory grins down at me, heat warming his green irises. “But you really bring it to life. Let’s call it a team effort, shall we?”

  My lips twitch in a smile, and I roll my eyes and shrug. “Whatever. Are we going?”

  “We’re going,” Sloan confirms, taking the lead toward the door without a backward look. Levi moves to follow him, but not before letting his fingers brush against the small of my back, the feeling a little electric since my back is basically bare in this dress.

  Rory does a gallant “after you” bow, and I fall in line, feeling the burn of his gaze as he checks out my ass and the curve of my back while we walk.

  For once, I don’t even really mind all that much.

  The easy, light mood carries over as we drive to the party, and we pull up to a large house on the edge of town. It’s twice as big as the one the guys live in, with a sloped driveway and manicured lawns. Lights twinkle from the windows, and even though it’s a fancy place, the music playing is the low, thumping kind that I associate with house parties at much less nice houses.

  These are gang members, after all. They can dress up nice and live in mansions or whatever, but they still know how to get down.

  The place is already pretty packed when we get in, and I can feel eyes on me as we push through the crowd of people to one of the center rooms. There’s a woman standing behind a wet bar, twirling bottles as she pours some into a shaker for the amusement of the people waiting for their drinks.

  Unlike at Sapphire, the guys don’t seem to want to peel off on their own to hang around on the fringes looking menacing. They stay around me, forming almost a triangle of protection as we make our way over to the bar.

  “What do you want?” Levi asks. He has to lean in for me to hear him over the music and chatter, and his breath brushes against my ear as he does.

  I swallow hard, trying to keep it together and not get all melty five minutes into this party.

  “Whiskey sour,” I say, thinking about one of my dad’s favorite drinks.

  He gives me a look that’s a little impressed, and I flash him a smile as he steps up to get drinks for us.

  Sloan moves to take his spot, not saying a word to me but staying close. Anyone who seems like they want to come talk to me takes one look at him and suddenly they have somewhere else to be.

  It would be annoying as hell if it didn’t feel like… well, like they’re trying to protect me. I don’t know any of the other Black Rose members, can’t say what kind of people they are or what they might want, and it’s clear Levi, Sloan, and Rory want to keep an eye on me.

  Levi comes back with drinks, and he hands me mine with a little wink. I take a sip, and the whiskey burns against the tartness of the lemon, but it’s good. Strong and sour and it reminds me of my dad.

  Rory laughs and leans a bit closer into my side with his own glass in hand, something clear and fizzy with a lime shoved in the glass. “Gorgeous and you can hold your liquor,” he teases. “What can’t you do?”

  He’s close enough that I can feel the heat of his body against my bare arm, and that plus the drink brings a slight flush to my face that hopefully will go unnoticed in the dim light of the room.

  The song changes while we stand in a tight knot, and I watch Sloan knock back whatever he’s drinking with one smooth swallow. He glances over, catching my look, and then tips his head in the direction of my half empty glass like he’s asking if I want another one.

  There’s a little challenge in it, the way there always is when it comes to Sloan, and I follow his lead, finishing off the first drink and nodding at him to get me another.

  He doesn’t smile because he’s Sloan and I’m convinced he doesn’t really know how, but he does nod back and move through the crush of people to get to the bar once more.

  “What is this party for?” I ask Levi, stepping a bit closer to him to let a group of women go past us.

  He shrugs his shoulder. “Nothing in particular. We just like to unwind every once in a while.”

  I can’t tell if he’s being cagey about what it’s actually for, or if the Black Roses truly just decide to throw nice parties every now and then. Everyone seems relaxed, drinking and talking, disappearing up the stairs and into other rooms to do who knows what.

  Gavin Kennedy isn’t here tonight, or at least, I haven’t seen him. Just like the night at the warehouse, this gathering seems to be primarily for the younger members of the gang. There’s no tension in the air like someone’s spoiling for a fight, and no one’s talking about hunting down members of the Jackals or anything, so maybe it is just a chill party to relax and have fun.

  That’s definitely how the guys seem to be taking it. Sloan comes back with two drinks in hand, and he passes mine to me, the same whiskey sour as before.

  “Thanks,” I murmur. Our hands brush a little when I reach to take the drink from him. A spark of electricity jumps between us, but Sloan turns away before I can tell if he feels it too.

  “Hey. Sloan, there you are,” a tall man with a neat beard says as he comes over. “I need to talk to you.”

  Sloan nods and glances back at Rory and Levi for a second before following the man off to some remote corner of the party so they can talk business or whatever.

  It’s not long before someone comes and does the same to Rory, roping him into an impassioned conversation as the two of them drift away into the crowd.

  “Black Rose business calls, I guess,” I murmur, and Levi nods.

  “That’s usually how it is. Whenev
er we’re all together, we take the opportunity to check in.”

  I open my mouth to ask him what they’re checking in about, but before the words come out, someone steps up to Levi and launches into a low voiced rant. Levi glances at me and then leads the man away, leaving me standing alone.

  I consider dancing or trying to mingle, but I feel very outnumbered. I don’t know any of these people except the three I came with, and I’m not stupid enough to think I can trust them.

  I don’t know what they’re involved in or who knows about my dad, and I don’t want to end up dancing with the wrong person or something. So I stay put, sipping my drink slowly and trying to tune into the cacophony of multiple conversations all happening at once around me.

  All three of the guys I came with have stepped away to talk business, and none of them are close enough for me to listen in on them without being obvious. But maybe I can do some snooping on other people.

  Music blares through the room, making it even harder to eavesdrop, but I tilt my head a little to one side as I listen to a few people converse to my left.

  When my phone buzzes in my hand, the vibration against my palm startles me. I flip it over and see my dad’s picture flash on the screen.

  Holy shit.

  My heart races, and I immediately put my drink down and step outside to answer it. I haven’t heard from him since they took him away to do whatever they want him to do, and I have to know if he’s all right. On top of that, I just really, really want to hear his voice.

  “Dad?” I say, hitting the button to answer the call as soon as I’m outside and can hear. “Dad, are you okay?”

  “Hey, kiddo,” he replies. “It’s good to hear your voice.”

  It doesn’t slip past me that he doesn’t answer the question, and he sounds tired. I’ve heard exhaustion in his voice before. Being a single parent wasn’t always easy for him, and there were definitely days that wore him down more than others. But this sounds like a new kind of tired. One that might be born from fear, and it kicks my anxiety up a notch.

  “How are things going?” I ask.

  “Fine.” He hesitates for a beat. “As fine as they can be. How are you? Are they treating you okay?”

  “Yeah.” I nod, even though he can’t see me, gripping the phone tightly. I don’t want him worrying about me. “It’s all fine. I’m still going to classes and everything.”

  “Good,” he says, then sighs. “That’s good. I’d hate for you to be suffering because of something I fucked up. I always wanted the best for you, you know that, right? I just want you to be happy and okay.”

  “Dad,” I cut in. “What’s going on? You’re talking like…”

  Like he’s worried he’s not going to see me again and doesn’t want to say it.

  He sighs again, a heavy sound. “It’s fine, Mercy, I promise. There’s… a lot going on. I’m running out of time, and I’m not sure I can…” He trails off as if he doesn’t want to finish that thought. When he speaks again, something in his tone has shifted. “But you don’t need to worry, okay, kiddo? Not about me.”

  That’s asking for a hell of a lot, all things considered. He’s all I have left, and every day that I don’t hear from him and don’t know what’s going on makes it harder to be sure he’s going to come back.

  I’ve spent the past several weeks trying to find a sense of purpose in all of this, some goal to cling to that would help keep me from going insane with worry. I’ve been trying to keep it together, to find some semblance of normalcy and equilibrium in the fucked up new path my life has taken.

  But hearing my dad’s voice—and the fear and defeat in it—makes all of the illusions come crashing down.

  I can tell he’s trying to be strong, that he wants to seem like he has it all together, but I know him. I’ve known him my whole life, and I can always tell when he’s pretending, trying to downplay things so I don’t get concerned or scared.

  “You just keep taking care of yourself,” he says quietly, his voice rough. “I know you’re tough and you’re smart, and I know you’re not going to let anything get you down. You don’t have to worry about me.”

  My heart jolts. The more adamantly he insists I shouldn’t worry, the more certain I am that I should worry.

  “Dad, I—”

  “I love you, Mercy. So much. I gotta go.”

  Before I can get another word in, he hangs up, leaving me standing outside in the cool night air with the phone pressed to my ear.

  For a second, all I feel is a creeping sort of numbness.

  There’s no way of knowing what’s really going on, and it paralyzes me for a second. And then the freak out starts, the fear and worry rising in me like nausea, threatening to overflow.

  This is it. This is it, and I don’t know what to do. My dad, my best friend for so long, the man who raised me and sacrificed and gave everything I have, is going to die. There’s nothing I can do to stop it, and whatever this assignment Sloan’s dad gave him is going to get him killed.

  I stand stock still for a second, gripping my phone tightly as I replay every word of the conversation over in my head.

  My dad sounded like someone who was afraid for their life. Like he wanted to check in and make sure I was okay so he’d know that I was taken care of no matter what happens.

  No matter if he comes back to me or not.

  It’s unbearable, and it makes tears burn the backs of my eyes. I could tell from his voice that he felt like he let me down, but the truth is, I let him down. I should’ve been able to find a way to leverage my position at the guys’ house by now. If I’d gotten hold of something damaging to use against them, maybe I could’ve struck a bargain in exchange for Dad’s release from whatever “favor” he owes them.

  But I didn’t uncover enough. And now it’s too late.

  I turn on my heel and quickly march back inside. I need one of the guys. One of them, all of them. They have to know what’s happening. They have to be able to do something.

  Almost mindlessly, I push through the bodies in the middle of the room we were in before. Some people give me looks of annoyance, but I ignore them, continuing to shove my way through until I spot Levi standing in a cluster of guys having a conversation.

  “Levi,” I breathe and grab his arm, trying to tug him away.

  His brow furrows as he looks at me. “Hey. Is everything okay?”

  “I need to talk to you,” I tell him, and whatever he sees in my face makes him nod and excuse himself from the conversation. I pull him over to a relatively quiet corner and wrap my arms around myself.

  “What’s going on, Mercy?” he asks me, frowning.

  “I need—you have to find a way to let my dad out of this bargain.”

  “What?”

  “Whatever it is he’s doing, he can’t.” My stomach feels like it’s twisting itself into a giant knot, making the drinks I had earlier slosh around unpleasantly. “It’s going to kill him, and you have to do something.”

  Something flashes in his eyes. I can’t tell what it is, but his voice is softer when he speaks. “No, Mercy. I can’t. That’s not my call.”

  All I really hear is the “no.”

  I see him shaking his head, stepping back a bit, and I feel my stomach flip over. I drop my arms from around myself and clench my fingers into fists. The panic is rapidly being replaced with anger, and that’s a good thing, actually.

  I’m better with anger than I am with fear.

  “I thought you gave a shit,” I snap, my words tipped with venom.

  Without saying anything else, I spin on my heel and march away, leaving him standing in the corner looking surprised.

  My jaw tightens, and I blink back tears as I jostle my way through the crowd.

  Goddammit. I thought they were starting to care about me, at least a little, but obviously I was fucking wrong. It’s always been about their precious gang, about maintaining the Black Rose name and obeying orders. That’s the only thing that matters to them. I�
�ve just been something fun to fuck around with in the meantime, clearly.

  All the laughs and teasing and heated looks are just bullshit that means nothing in the end. Because I don’t matter to them, and I’ve been so fucking stupid for thinking that I do.

  I wish I hadn’t set my drink down before, because suddenly all I want is something to take the edge off. All I can think about is my worry and fear for my dad and how no one will lift a finger to help him. I’m scared and pissed off, and I just need something to soothe the raw edges of my nerves.

  The bar is packed with people, and I can’t stand the thought of waiting in that crush to get a drink, so I wander the house instead, adrenaline buzzing through my veins.

  Near the back of the large house, I step into a room that’s dimly lit, and a pretty woman in a blue dress smiles at me.

  “Hey. You want a drink?” she asks, holding up a crystal cut glass toward me like some kind of guardian angel of alcohol, here to save me from my own thoughts.

  “Fuck, yes.” I take the glass from her, relieved. I don’t even know what’s in it, but it’s clear and it smells like booze, so that’s good enough for me at the moment. I nod to her and lift the cup in a cheers before downing it in three quick gulps.

  I barely taste it as it goes down, and I can only hope the buzz and haze of being a little drunk will set in soon. My heart is aching, already cracking at the edges as the echo of my dad’s voice plays in my ears, and I need something to numb the pain before I do something I can’t take back.

  Please don’t die, Dad. Please don’t fucking die.

  21

  It takes less than a minute for the alcohol to hit me like a semi truck, hot and burning as it kicks me in the gut. My head spins a little, but it’s not the same feeling that I’m used to getting from alcohol. Not even from a strong drink, and the one I just chugged didn’t smell like it was that strong.

  There’s a weird taste in the back of my throat, and just from the way I have trouble focusing all of a sudden, I know it can’t just be the booze. Even with the drink and a half I already had, I wouldn’t be feeling like this normally. Something else must’ve been in the cocktail she gave me, and I curse myself for being stupid enough to just throw something back without knowing what it was.