by Sam Crescent
The Mike situation was tricky. It hadn’t happened within their borders, but Mike and his buddies had robbed the convenience store without reason or permission.
Jonathan sighed. “Fine. But after I deal with the Irish. Tell Mike I’ll see him in a few days, and that he is forbidden from doing anything about this witness he claims was there until I’ve met with him.”
The tower of the hospital came into view and he clenched his jaw. He’d give Claire a few days to process and chill out, but then he was going back for her. In high school he’d had the presence of mind enough to not drag her into the pile of shit that was his life. After all, he’d fully expected to be dead by now. With no desire to go to college—who would have paid for it anyway?—and a string of juvenile arrests and petty misdemeanors hindering any sort of decent job, he saw no place for himself but the streets that had produced him.
Things were different now. She would be safe. He could protect her.
In the South Side Kings, you kept what you killed. This was enforced on multiple levels to serve as a deterrent to in-fighting among the members. If you killed someone who had a family you became responsible for taking care of them. You took on all gang related duties that person had in addition to your own until someone else was assigned to the tasks. That normally took a while as punishment for killing a brother. Because of all this, the only time one King killed another was usually when someone challenged the leader.
That’s how Jonathan had found himself in charge of one of the toughest gangs in the city. Jonathan’s mother had asked him to come see his ailing father. He hadn’t expected to find out he was in the Kings. But once you were in, there was only one way out. It was a lifetime membership, as the saying goes. And his father’s membership was nearing its end when Jonathan arrived, hence his mother’s summons.
The man leading the gang at the time had been a truly awful human being named Ramon. Jonathan’s dad was unable to perform his expected duties, which didn’t sit well with Ramon because of debts owed. When Jonathan realized that his mother had been forced into prostitution to help pay his father’s debts, he’d lost it and gone to Ramon. Without his mother’s knowledge, Jonathan had joined the Kings and offered his services to repay his father’s debts. When Ramon refused to release his mother, Jonathan challenged him. Certainly not the smartest thing he’d ever done, but he’d won. Ramon was old, fat, and cocky. Jonathan was young, fit, and had earned a pretty penny on his own as a champion underground fighter.
The challenge was over before anyone realized what was happening.
“Boss?” Will’s voice broke through his thoughts.
Jonathan flexed his fingers, returning the blood flow to his tightly clenched hands.
“Take me to the gym.”
****
Will had arranged for a meeting on neutral ground. O’Brien was a stubborn one though, and made Jonathan wait for an audience. They sat across from each other at a table in a little diner two days later. The lunchtime crowd would make it quite difficult for someone to overhear their conversation.
“So what do you want?” O’Brien asked, slamming his empty glass on the table. Plates of food sat untouched between them.
“Blunt as ever, O’Brien.”
“Hey, it was your man who contacted us, not the other way around. So I say again, what do you want?”
Jonathan leaned back against the booth, feigning a calmness that he did not actually feel. O’Brien was his senior by many years, with a proficiency for gang politics and double-speak that Jonathan simply didn’t possess. He had to tread carefully.
“When I took over the Kings and we first met a few years back, I was under the impression that you had agreed to stop pushing heroin in my territory.”
“That I did.”
“Then perhaps you can explain why I’ve been finding your sellers on my streets lately?”
“What can I say? I can’t keep track of all my guys every minute of the day. If some of them wander from home, well, that’s their problem, isn’t it?” O’Brien’s eyes narrowed and his voice dropped to a menacing tone. “Except when they come back bloodied and with empty pockets. Then it’s my problem. And yours.”
“I pay you back tenfold. There shouldn’t be any problems.” Jonathan paid a great deal of money each month to O’Brien as compensation for his “lost sales.” The man had nothing to complain about.
“Perhaps. Or perhaps we need to make a cost of living adjustment.”
“From what I hear, your cost of living is plenty high.”
“I’ll be the judge of that.”
“I already pay you well above street value. Keep your guys out of my territory. End of discussion.” Jonathan’s patience was running thin. He may be new to the game, but he refused to let this asshole walk all over him.
“I told you, I can’t watch them twenty-four-seven.”
“Maybe you have too many to watch, then,” Jonathan suggested.
The implied threat was not lost on O’Brien. The smug look dropped from his face and his eyes flashed.
“Thanks for lunch, boy. Hope you enjoyed it. You may not get many more.”
The threat only mildly concerned Jonathan. He’d have been more concerned if O’Brien hadn’t threatened him. What angered him more was the fact that the greedy bastard was trying to extort even more money out him. Jonathan waited for O’Brien to walk through the doors before rising himself. He tossed a few bills on the table and headed out. Claire, of all people, emerged from the restroom as he passed it by.
“Excuse me,” she said angrily when he stopped, blocking her path.
“Claire, we need to talk.”
“There’s nothing to talk about. Please let me leave. I have to get back to work.” She attempted to sidestep him, and he moved with her. “Damn it, Jonathan! Let me by!”
A few diners at some of the nearby tables began to take notice of them. With a hand on the small of her back, he led her into a small hallway. The fact that she didn’t fight gave him hope.
“What do you want?” she demanded, arms crossed.
“You.” The simple statement had the impact he’d hoped for. Surprise momentarily lit her face and her stance relaxed.
“You already had me,” she said softly.
“Did I?” Taking a chance, he cupped a hand to her face and stroked her cheekbone with his thumb. Claire’s eyelids fluttered, hiding the deep ocean blue he loved staring into. “Can’t I still have you?”
“I…”
Jonathan glanced to the dining room. They seemed to have lost their audience. He surveyed the remainder of the small hallway. There were two doors. One said Office, the other was unmarked. He tried the knob of the unmarked one since it was the nearer of the two. It turned easily in his hand and opened to reveal a small storage room with some extra chairs, linens, and the like.
“What are you doing?” she asked, eyeing the room.
“Giving us some privacy.”
She hesitated, but entered.
“For what?”
“You have me, Claire. You always will. The question is, can I have you?”
“I don’t understand.” She looked everywhere except at him as she shook her head.
“Bullshit. You’ve always been a bad liar, baby girl. You’re just scared.”
“Fuck you.” This time she did look at him, and she looked pissed.
Bingo. Jonathan nodded. He’d hit the mark.
“That’s what I thought.” He grabbed her head and kissed her, calling her bluff. A startled sound escaped Claire before she wrapped her arms around his neck and returned the kiss.
“Tell me no. Say the word and I’ll stop,” he said between kisses.
“Shut up.”
Jonathan smiled as he slid a hand under her waistband and slipped beneath her panties. “Oh, you like this, don’t you?” He easily pushed a finger inside her. “You’re so wet for me, Claire.” She gasped as a second finger joined the first and he began stroking. “Do you want me to
fuck you? Right now? Right here?”
Claire hitched her leg up around Jonathan’s thigh, giving him better access. He drove his fingers in and found her g-spot easily.
“Yes. Please.” She clung to him, her rapid breathing heating his neck.
“Turn around.” Claire spun and grabbed the back of a chair. He pushed her scrubs and panties down around her knees before unzipping his jeans. “You know you’re mine, Claire. Just admit it,” he said as he rolled the condom on. He didn’t give her a chance to respond before burying himself in her.
She let out a stifled groan.
“Keep it quiet, baby girl.”
“I’m not yours, goddamn it. Stop calling me that.”
Jonathan smirked and drove in harder.
“Asshole.”
“Not without a whole bunch of lube, baby girl.”
He put one hand over her mouth, covering her reply. His other arm wrapped around her waist while he fucked her hard. Jonathan fought to hold himself off so that she came first. She claimed to not be a sub twenty-four-seven, but she was so damned responsive to his every touch and command. Her body knew she belonged to him, no matter what she said. Now he just had to find a way to convince her. When she came, she bit down on the fleshy pad of his thumb hard enough to break the skin. With a grunt he thrust one final time and held her tight while their bodies trembled.
“Claire,” he whispered, face buried in her hair. Pomegranate scented golden curls surrounded him.
“This was a mistake,” she said. “I have to get back to work. Please let go of me.”
“Claire, please,” he begged, even as he did as she asked.
“No, Jonathan. This can’t happen again. I can’t be with you.”
“And if I wasn’t in the Kings?”
Her eyes cast downward, and she looked guilty.
Jonathan felt like she’d just gutted him. It wasn’t a feeling he was used to or liked.
“I suppose I should have expected that.”
“I’m sorry.” She wouldn’t look at him.
“No, I’m sorry. I’m sorry that you’re going to ignore what’s between us and not give me a chance. I’m sorry that I can’t change who or what I am, and that you’re not willing to look beyond that for a chance at happiness.”
Her head snapped up.
“Look beyond it? Are you fucking kidding me? How can I just ignore that mark on your wrist? You want me to be happy to be with a gang member? Like it’s some kind of fucking honor or privilege? How can I be happy when I now wonder when you’ll be the next one coming through the doors at work? When I now constantly worry for your safety?”
“That’s bullshit and you know it. You want to think that you’re better than me, than my world, yet you find ways to be a part of it anyway. You know what kind of dangers you face when you walk alone. Fuck, Claire, do you think I haven’t seen you around before the other day? I’ve seen what you do in the bars. Then you go home to your fancy little apartment in Uptown and pretend that makes you safe, and you can forget those of us down here in the gutter exist and excite you. You could be happy with me, Claire. But you choose not to be.”
“You’ve been following me? Are you fucking serious?” She grabbed the doorknob. “Leave me alone, Jonathan. I mean it. I’d hate to have to call the cops on you.”
Chapter Five
“I don’t have long, so I’ll make this quick, Mike.” Jonathan rolled his head, stretching his neck. He hadn’t gotten much sleep in the last few days between the increasing skirmishes with the Irish and keeping tabs on Claire. She’d be pissed if she knew he was still having her followed, but he didn’t care. He needed to know she was safe, even if she wanted nothing to do with him. Once everything had settled with the Irish, he’d make her see she belonged with him.
“Enrique is dead because you talked him into your little stunt. And Tommy is in the hospital still. Tell me again why I haven’t kicked you off my lands.”
“Aww, c’mon boss, you know how I feel about that. Ricky was like my little brother, man.” Mike crossed himself. “I slipped up, I was drinking and got carried away. You know how I get.”
“Stupidity on your part does not equal mercy on my part. What is so goddamned important that you needed this meeting?”
“There was a woman inside Pop’s store when we hit it. Enrique, he scared her off ’cuz he thought she looked all strung-out and shit. But she wasn’t.”
“Why are you so sure of that?”
Mike leaned forward excitedly. “She had on those hospital clothes, like nurses and doctors and shit wear. So I been looking when I’m there seein’ Tommy and I saw her. She works there. She couldn’t have been strung-out ’cuz they test the people there. So she ’members.” He looked proud of himself, as if he’d managed a Sherlockian bit of detective work.
Jonathan sighed. “Listen, I’ll talk to the clerk again, but he said the store was empty. And even if there was someone, nothing has come of it. Stop creating trouble where there isn’t any. We’ve got enough problems right now with the Irish.” He checked the time. The clerk would have started his shift almost an hour ago. Jonathan wanted to get this done and over with, if only to shut Mike the fuck up. “I’ll go to Pop’s tonight. In the meantime, I want you patrolling over on 117th Street. Go. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
Sending Mike over to police the border with the Irish was like throwing a hand grenade into a grease fire. Jonathan knew this full well. It was time to send a message. Guys like Mike had one good use, and being a hot-headed dick was Mike’s specialty.
And if Mike happened to get himself killed, it would suit Jonathan just fine.
Not that it mattered. Jonathan had other plans in the works to deal with the Irish and the heroin issue. He didn’t mind the pot dealing his guys did, or even the rampant prostitution that went on. But heroin was getting out of control, and turning rather deadly now that there was so much fentanyl involved. So now there was an anonymous source feeding information to the cops from inside the Celts, who in reality was a King. Every bit of info went through Jonathan first, and he decided what to tell the cops. If too much got out, O’Brien would get suspicious.
Of course, Jonathan also had to continue fighting on the ground to keep the game going. If he didn’t fight back, everyone would think that he’d gone soft, and would threaten his position. He certainly didn’t expect to live to a ripe old age given his career choice, but he wasn’t ready to go just yet. Mike was a very expendable pawn in Jonathan’s game.
Will appeared at the side of Jonathan’s desk.
“Are we walking?”
“Yes. I need some air.”
“Are you sure that’s safe, sir, given the current situation?”
“Probably not,” Jonathan sighed as he stood. “But right now, I don’t give a fuck. Besides, we have to make a few stops along the way. Let’s go.”
****
Steve’s hand went straight for the gun the moment Jonathan and Will stepped inside Pop’s nearly two hours later. Jonathan paused.
“Not looking for trouble, man. Just here to talk,” he said, arms open.
“We already talked.”
“I know. And I was happy to leave it alone.” Jonathan and Will stepped aside to let a customer exit. “Unfortunately, someone else wasn’t. So I need more information from you.”
“I told you everything.”
“I’d like to believe that, but I don’t think you did.” Jonathan glanced at Will, who nodded his head.
“We’re clear, sir.”
“One of my guys says there was a witness. Now, he’s a huge fuck-up. Normally I’d just ignore him and go on with life. But he won’t fucking drop it. He claims to have seen her working at the hospital.”
Steve’s hands, resting on the counter, turned white from how tightly he fisted them. Jonathan nodded his head.
“So he’s not lying.” He watched Steve’s eyes flick to Will, likely assessing his chances at taking one or both of them out before he
himself was shot. “Look, you know who I am. And you know the changes I’ve made in how things run in South Side now. I don’t mean this woman any harm. Truly. If she hasn’t caused any trouble, I’m happy to let sleeping dogs lie. If you know who she is, I’d like to just keep an eye on her to shut my guy up.”
“How do I know I can trust you?”
Jonathan had to admire the set of brass balls on this guy. Not many people would give him so much shit knowing who he was.
“You never will trust me. It’s the nature of who you and I are. But I can point out to you that you’re still breathing, while one of my guys isn’t—rightfully so on your part—and another one will probably never walk again. And you’re still breathing free air. I see no reason to change those two facts.”
Steve crossed his arms, and Jonathan noticed the bottom of a tattoo showing below his sleeve. The part he could see were the words Semper Fidelis. No wonder he wasn’t afraid of Jonathan.
“One of my foster fathers had a saying,” Jonathan continued. “‘Death before Dishonor.’ I may have ended up back on the streets instead of making something of myself like he tried so hard for, but that saying stuck with me. I took it to heart. I give you that promise. Death before Dishonor. I will keep this woman safe, at all costs.”
By the time he’d finished speaking, Steve was nodding his head in agreement.
“I’ll hold you to that. If something happens to her, I’m coming for your head. She doesn’t deserve any shit from the likes of you. She’s in here a few nights a week while waiting for the bus. She doesn’t live around here. Cute little thing, curly blonde hair. Real funny, a bit of a smart-ass. I think her name is—”
“Claire,” Jonathan finished. Fear wrapped icy fingers around his heart and squeezed. He checked his watch. She should have gotten out by now. He’d ordered everyone indoors to avoid unnecessary casualties, but that didn’t mean everyone would have listened. Especially Mike, if he’d spotted her at the hospital earlier. “Son of a fuck!”
Steve’s face went from surprised to concerned, and he once again grasped the gun.