by M. S. Parker
Candy helped out up front from time to time, but today wasn’t an ideal day to have her name on the schedule.
Frank pointed at me with the wrench and it took an extra burst of self-control not to make good on my threat right then. “Boy, you ain’t got no place telling the employees when they can leave and when they can’t. You just one yourself.”
“You are.”
His brows scrunched down low over his eyes and I could see him trying to figure it out.
Helpfully, I said, “You’re saying it wrong, Frank.” I pointed at him. “Now see, I really am from the backwoods of Kentucky, but when you talk like that, you make us all look bad. The proper way to say it would be… you are just one yourself.”
His face turned an even uglier shade of red, and he took a step toward me.
I sighed. Shit. He really wasn't going to let it go.
“You really want to do this?” I cracked my neck and gestured at him. “All you had to do was leave Candy alone. Stop breathing down her neck and staring at her chest. Treat her like a person, and this would all be done, but you had to go and act like an asshole. Now I’m asking you again...do you really want to do this?”
“You’re the one who oughta be asking.” Frank hitched the wrench up and propped it on his shoulder. He grinned at me, baring teeth stained yellow and brown. “All you gotta do is get in trouble one time, Bobby boy, and you know what happens to you.”
I shrugged. “True.” Then I smiled. “But I doubt that'll be much comfort to you when you’re picking metal shavings out of your ass for the next six months.”
I took a step toward him.
His eyelids flickered.
The door in the back opened in that moment, and the garage owner stepped inside. Peter Brewster studied me, studied Frank and the wrench, and then crossed his arms over his chest. “Why did Candy’s brother just call me?”
Frank’s face underwent a total transformation. “Beats the hell out of me, boss. This ex-con you hired...” He shrugged and jutted his chin in my direction. “He’s always bossing her around, telling her what to do.”
I heard a faint sniff from the doorway, but I didn’t look back.
“That the truth of it, Bobby?”
Running my tongue across my teeth, I studied Peter. He’d been a pretty decent boss, hadn’t made a big issue out of my past, just told me to keep my nose clean. I appreciated the chance, but I wasn’t sure I could keep my nose clean if I had to keep working around Frank. He was going to hurt somebody – a girl like Candy probably. I may be an ex-con, but he was a perverted bastard.
“It’s not true.”
She was the first one to speak, and she peaked around the corner, glanced at me, then at Pete. Not once did she look at Frank. His face bled back to that ugly red, and I subtly shifted, staying between them in case I needed to move.
There wasn’t any need, though, because Peter was doing the same. He’d had his eye on Candy for a while. More evidence that Frank was a dumbass.
She swallowed and in a halting voice, started to talk.
Frank ended up getting his teeth knocked down his throat that night.
But it wasn’t me who did it.
Pete was a solid guy, built like a football player who’d let himself go just a little. A little. Not a lot. Under that first layer of semi-soft fat, there was a hell of a lot of hard muscle, and although Frank had come at him after Pete told him to clean out his locker, Pete hadn’t so much as budged.
And then Pete had swung out with one big, rawboned fist, and the dumbass had gone down like a felled tree.
I’d been happy to help haul his ass out.
I was less happy now though.
“I’m sorry.”
An hour later, I was sitting in the office, staring blankly at the wall.
Pete had just given me my final check, along with a bonus that added up to two weeks of pay as a nice it’s been good knowing ya gift. Even though I hadn't done anything wrong, he was letting me go.
I should've just shoved the wrench up Frank's ass. I still would've lost my job, but I might've felt better about it.
Pete continued, “I don’t like it, Bobby. You’re a good worker and if I could ride it out, I would. But–”
I shook my head and stood. “You’ve got your own to look after, Pete. I understand.”
I did, too. Mostly. One of his regulars, a stuck-up, tight-ass named Jamie Rice, had thought I looked familiar. Once she’d figured it out, she'd started going around plastering my image on telephone poles and anything else she could find.
GUILTY. WE DON’T NEED HIS KIND HERE.
She claimed it was her Christian duty that had her speaking up.
Candy had, surprisingly, been the one to get in Mrs. Rice's face about it. “I’m pretty sure Jesus had thieves and liars and adulterers among his followers. Besides, what was that saying about stones, Mrs. Rice?”
I could have hugged her for it, but I hadn't wanted to freak her out. She was one of the jumpiest people I knew. After Mrs. Rice had stormed out, Candy had told me, in her shy, nervous voice it would all blow over.
But it wouldn’t.
No surprise there. Things didn't work like that for me.
The past two weeks, business had been slow and today, one of Pete’s regular contracts had called to say he was taking his business elsewhere. He said he had...concerns.
Concerns.
Didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out what that meant.
I held up the bonus check. “Can you afford this?”
“Sure.” He grinned widely. “Pete didn’t get any severance.”
I laughed, and while there was some humor in it, it was tired too.
Pete rose, and after a moment, he held out his hand. “Bobby, you’re a good kid. Something will change for you.”
“Yeah.” I accepted his hand and tried not to think about how wrong he was.
Good kids didn’t make the mistakes I’d made.
Blindly, I gathered up my gear and started out the front. I couldn’t go out the back – there was a deadbolt that had to be locked each time and I’d left my keys in the back.
Candy was standing in the front talking to her brother when she saw me. She gave me a nervous smile. I just nodded back. She started to say something, but she saw my bag and her mouth fell open as she realized what happened.
“It’s because of her?” Her eyes narrowed.
I shrugged. Mrs. Rice may not be the nicest person in the world, but I wasn't going to put the blame anywhere other than where it needed to be. “It’s because of me. She’s just letting people know.”
I looked at Candy's brother and gave him a short nod. Noise blared from the TV, and instead of getting into a conversation I didn't want, I watched the screen as I pulled on my miserable excuse for a jacket.
The caption across the bottom read: The Princess Is In Town!
Below that, the words: Derby Parade Grand Marshal!
The screen flashed to a woman. Blonde, built and beautiful. “I thought the princess had brown hair,” I said, latching onto the distraction with both hands.
“Not that princess,” Candy said, laughing a little. “That’s–”
A familiar set of lights reflected in the windows across the street and I craned my neck. “Aw, hell. My bus.”
I shoved outside, but I was already too late. The bus was already lumbering up Broadway before I'd gotten two steps. I cursed as I watched it go.
“You need a ride?”
Candy’s brother stood in the door with her peering around him. I blew out a breath and then shook my head. I wasn’t about to have him hauling her down to the area where I lived. I doubted he’d be comfortable with it either. He was a nice guy. A good kid.
“I’m good.” I forced a smile, then turned around, walking away from the garage for the last time.
It was a six-mile walk, but it wouldn’t kill me.
Maybe I’d luck out and see a help wanted sign along the way.
Yeah. Right.
I had a bit of extra money stashed. Not even close to a lot, but it would let me pay for the rent on time, which meant I wouldn’t have to worry about being out on my ass just yet, and for a few weeks, I didn’t have to worry about going to bed hungry while I searched for a job.
I’d be okay, for a while. If I was careful.
The big problem was going to be telling my parole officer. That had me grimacing and craving a drink.
Striding down West Muhammed Ali, I cut through the crush that was already forming around the so-called party venue that was Fourth Street Live. It was cold. Louisville, Kentucky is one of the weirdest places on earth, as far as the climate went. Last week, it'd been almost eighty, hot enough that I’d been dripping with sweat as I worked in the garage, but now it was in the low thirties, and people were gearing up for all the stuff the city did for the Derby. Two minutes of horses racing around a track, and the city treats the whole month of April like a party.
Right now, the area around Fourth Street was packed, a stage set up in the middle, cold weather be damned. Girls were tottering around in heels, their skirts barely wider than the palm of my hand. Their shirts, if they could be called that, bared arms and flat, toned bellies, backs, tattoos and pierced navels flashing.
I’m a healthy, warm-blooded male, so yeah, I looked. And I wanted to grab them a damn coat. It was freezing. I was shivering in the threadbare coat I’d found in a secondhand store back when the winter had moved in on us, and I was still freezing my ass off. Under that pathetic excuse for a coat, I had on a flannel and T-shirt and I was still freezing. How could they stand to be out here in what little they were wearing?
I guessed the alcohol helped.
One of the young women looked up at that moment and caught my eye. A slow smile curled her lips, and a hint of appreciation twisted through me, but I just kept on walking.
That place had a dress code and dollar limit even for their outside venue that I couldn’t afford. If I had to drink, it was going to be some of the cheapest shit beer available. My money had to stretch, and my taste buds could survive.
Up ahead, a couple of cop cars sat, lights flashing.
It was instinct that had me turning left on Fifth. There were more of them the next block up, and I hooked another left, swearing as it led me back to Fourth. I made a right and strode past the ritzy Seelbach. I didn’t bother to look at the hotel. That was where the high-rollers stayed. Around Derby time, this place got crazy, but it was only the first week of April, so it shouldn’t have been lunatic crazy.
Except it was.
I dodged a couple of reporters and ducked my head, scowling as I waded through the mass of people. Dammit, I’d gone that way to avoid people.
I was so busy trying to avoid that I missed seeing her right up until she crashed into me.
I caught her arms, trying to steady her.
She was a cute little mess of blonde curls and the kind of curves our society likes to mock. The kind of curves I actually preferred.
For one brief second, we stared at each other and I thought…wow. Then I thought whoa, because she tore away, quicker than that dynamite body should've been able to go. Even as she was moving away, my brain started picking at the puzzle.
She was familiar.
Why was she familiar?
She moved so fast, I was left standing there with my hands in mid-air while I pondered the question. Lowering my hands, I looked up to see if I could find her, and then swore, lunging for her just as she took a step onto the road.
We ended up sprawled on the street with me half on top of her. “The fuck’s the matter with you?” I growled at her as the car laid on its horn, speeding by without even slowing down. Big shock there. Asshole driver. “You want to end up dead or what?”
She glared at me. “Get off of me, you idiot.”
I narrowed my eyes. I'd just saved her life. I wasn’t expecting a reward or anything, but being called an idiot didn't really seem like an appropriate way of thanking me.
“Carly!”
She didn’t even turn her head, although I had no doubt who they were talking to since her entire body went tense beneath me.
“You got a death wish?” I asked. I started to shove off her, my weight going to my hands. Then my body kicked on, sending a loud and clear message to my brain that maybe I didn't want to move. Fuck.
“Get. Off. Me,” she said, enunciating each word like she thought I was slow.
“With. Pleasure,” I said, echoing her speech pattern and drawing my words out more than normal. The Eastern Kentucky twang came through more thickly as I took care to enunciate those two words.
Her eyes narrowed as I pushed off her and settled on my heels, offering her a hand to help her up. Her dark pink dress was now streaked with grit from the road. The pink was pretty, not garish. It made me think of roses. I’d bet my last nickel that the dress was trashed now. Expensive stuff wasn't made to last.
She didn’t accept my hand, sitting up slowly on her own. She was just a few inches from me and when I breathed in, I caught a headful of her scent. Wow and whoa echoed inside me again.
She licked her lips.
I glanced down at her mouth and had the fleeting desire to kiss her, trace my tongue across those gorgeous lips.
Then she could slap me, and maybe even press charges.
That would cap off my night just right.
But I was still considering it, might have even put some real thought into doing it, except somebody shouted her name again.
She still didn’t look away.
I cocked my head. “Carly,” I murmured.
She lifted an eyebrow. In contrast to her goldilocks blonde, her eyebrows were strong, dark arches over eyes of vivid blue. A sexy combination, especially when combined with that little mole by the right corner of her mouth. “It’s Carly—not Carralee.”
“Carly,” I said, taking care to draw it out again. I smirked. “That’s what I said.”
She gritted her teeth. “Are you always this obnoxious?”
Before I had a chance to answer, two men grabbed me from behind. That was their first big mistake. I’d been grabbed from behind before. A man couldn't do time and not get grabbed from behind.
I reacted more out of instinct than anything else, and it ended only a few short seconds later. One of them was doubled over, coughing, struggling to catch his breath. The other was faster, and he’d figured out quickly I wasn’t some dumb-ass who couldn’t fight. But in less than a minute, I had him bent over with his arm twisted up behind his back.
“You move,” I warned. “I break it.”
I was dead serious. When it came to fighting, I was always dead serious.
The sound of someone behind me caught my attention, and I looked up, never easing the pressure I had on the man’s arm.
The second man squinted up at me as he struggled to catch his breath. “You’re going to jail over this, you know. Might as well make it easy on yourself.”
I laughed at him. It wasn’t a pleasant sound. I could tell by the way his mouth tightened. “I’m going to jail because I reacted when you two tried to jump me? You know the laws in this state? Just back the hell off.”
Chances were, I would go back to jail because of this, but these assholes didn’t need to go throwing their weight around just because they were rich. Except I didn't get the chance to find out exactly what would've happened because I suddenly found myself being accosted.
A huge bag hit me in the head and I almost lost hold of my captor. I turned my head, gaping down at Carly. I had to blink twice to bring her into focus and I knew I was going to have a nasty headache later. “What the hell is the matter with you?” I demanded.
“Let him go!” She brandished her purse at me.
I snarled. “I swear, if you–”
The man I held tensed.
I reacted.
There was a particularly sickening noise a bone made when it broke. I’d heard that
sound more often than I cared to admit, and it turned my stomach every damn time. But as I’d rather the sound came from somebody else instead than me, and I didn't give empty warnings, I had no choice.
As he howled in pain, I let him go. He'd be down for at least a minute, most likely more since I hadn't gotten a super-soldier kind of vibe off of them.
Then Carly swung her purse at me again.
I swore and caught the damn thing, throwing it down. “What is your problem?!” I shouted.
That’s when everything went crazy.
The man still standing rushed to put himself between the two of us.
Some guy with a camera practically tackled Carly, and I grabbed him, throwing him back.
The dude with the broken arm surged to his feet, cradling his arm but struggling to get between Carly and the crowd. Dimly, I realized what was going on. Reporters. Something else clicked too.
Carly was somebody important. Or at least somebody the reporters wanted a piece of.
So I did the only thing I could do.
I’d caused this mess. Only seemed right to help fix it if I could.
Another reporter nosed in and I grabbed him, shoved him back. Did the same thing over and over as I cleared a path between me and the men who fought to keep between Carly and the horde. She was pale and furious, and when her eyes met mine, I could tell she wished she had the room to hit me with her purse again.
If she had the chance, I planned on giving her a free shot.
One bearded burly guy with a camera shoved in close. So close that the lens of his camera came within inches of her heart-shaped face, and I was near enough to hear her startled intake of air.
That was it.
I shoved between them, blocking his view of her. “Back off,” I growled.
“Freedom of the press,” he said, grinning madly.
Then he shoved me.
“Yeah?” I glowered down at him, using every inch of my size to show him that I didn't give a rat's ass about what he thought he knew. “You just put your hands on me. I’m pretty sure freedom of the press doesn’t cover that. So what are you going to do when I lay you out – in self-defense, of course – and you spend the night in the hospital?”