Together We Stand

by JA Lafrance

  “Want to tell me what you’re doing here?” he pressed, his voice soft.

  “I wanted to make sure you were all right. Your situation was the stuff of nightmares. And then you told me not to call anyone. I wanted to be sure that you had someone here to get you home or wherever.”

  His eyes opened, and he turned his head so that he was looking at me. “Thank you.”

  “Any time.”

  “Is that all?”

  Did I dare? “I was wondering if you would like to have dinner with me?” I fully expected a rejection and prepared myself for it, but at least I’d put it out there.

  Silence filled the room, his blue eyes widened, and my heart rate increased.

  “Like a date?”

  “Well, I just figured that, you know.” I rubbed the palms of my hands against my jeans, unable to understand what I was trying to say, realizing he probably didn’t understand me either.

  “Sure, why not? Besides, after things heal, maybe we could have some fun playing hide the nightstick.” He winked.

  My dick hardened. “Fuck me.”

  “Only if you’re good, and it could take some time before junior here is ready for any extracurricular activities.”

  I chuckled and ran a hand down my face. “I suppose I could help you with physical therapy.”

  Outside the room, someone spoke, “Emily, you should let them have a moment. Remember what Benji said. Maybe this is the guy.”

  I cocked an eyebrow at him, and he shrugged.

  The petite woman from earlier barged in after that and announced that someone would be in shortly to discharge him, right before she looked at me expectantly.

  “Hi. I’m Lucas Gambit.”

  She marched up to me and stuck her hand out in front of her. “Emily Dixon. Benji is my idiotic brother. Thank you for helping him yesterday. Lord knows his friends didn’t do shit.”

  “Em,” Benji whined, and it made my grin broaden a little more.

  “What? Only an idiot would drink tequila and then think fucking a vacuum was the best idea ever. For someone with a genius-level IQ and a photographic memory, sometimes you are the stupidest person I know,” she snapped. I liked her.

  “Wow. Really?” I commented.

  “Yeah. 197,” he grumbled as if he hated admitting it, and I noticed Emily’s expression softened.

  “Benji, I brought you some clothes. You should be able to change. I grabbed you some sweatpants and a tee. We’ll wait out here for you. The nurse should be here any time.” Emily waved everyone out of the room and shut the door. “Sorry about that,” she said, meeting my gaze. “He’s weird about his IQ. Most guys get sick of him being smarter than them, and others tell him that he is boring and emotionless. He isn’t. You just have to get to know him. He shows his feelings more than he says it. He was going to propose to his last boyfriend, but before he could ask, the asshole broke up with him. Turns out, asshole had been sleeping with someone else for a good part of their relationship. Benji was heartbroken and threw himself into his work. My brother is a good man, but if you aren’t actually interested or don’t like quirky, then don’t get involved and don’t hurt him. I will fuck you up.”

  “I imagine you could. I am interested, and I can’t even tell you why, but I want to get to know him more,” I told her truthfully.

  Epilogue

  Benji — One Year Later

  I dropped the box I carried into our new house and fell onto the sofa. Boxes and crap littered the open space. I was hot, sweaty, and dirty, and not in a good way, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t for a good cause. Moving day. After a year together, I’d finally agreed to move in with Lucas. He was supposed to be a distraction, someone fun to play with to scratch the itch, and he became so much more. He got me the way no one else did, not even Emily.

  I never thought I would find someone who loved me, accepted me, and thought my mind was sexy instead of a burden. Lucas was different, which made me luckier than many. He was everything I looked for and never found before him, and he loved me back.

  “Taking a break already?” Lucas asked, spinning around, searching for a place to drop the box he lugged into the house. Eventually, we were going to have to sort through everything, but that could happen later.

  “I needed a little break. Why didn’t we hire movers?”

  “I suggested that, and you said, ‘Why spend the money when we could do it ourselves?’” Lucas dropped beside me.

  “Right, but when I’d said that, I fully expected Emily, Cliff, my parents, a couple of your friends, and Chuck to help me. I wasn’t expecting to go out to dinner with everyone and food poisoning to hit them all. Thank god, we decided to leave before dinner was served.”

  “No joke.” He shook his head and cringed. All of them, all eight of them, were sick and currently best friends with the toilet. The whole restaurant got the illness, and it made headlines today. We survived because we decided sex was more important than food. My sister joked that we were young, dumb, and full of cum, which had made my mother turn a bright shade of red.

  I leaned against him, uncaring that he was as sweaty as I was. This is where I belonged, where I wanted to be for the rest of my life, here in his arms. The man had saved me in more ways than one the day he rammed his way into my life.

  Digging into my pocket, I pulled out a ring and held it up so he could see it. I turned my head so I could look at him. “I don’t know if you realize it or not, but you saved me that day when I decided to experiment with the vacuum. You called the ambulance that got me to the hospital, but you did so much more than that. You showed me that I deserve love, that I could be loved, and that someone does want me. I’ve become more rounded and a better man because of you, and I promise I will be graduating soon. No more school. It’s time to grow up and become an adult. Lucas, will you stand beside me, grow up together with me, and continue saving me for the rest of our lives?”

  He took in a shaky breath and released it. “Yes! I love you!” His lips were suddenly on mine.

  When we broke apart, our foreheads leaning against each other, I grabbed his left hand and slid the ring on it, kissing him when it settled onto the base of his finger. “I love you too. Any boxes still in the truck?”

  Shaking his head, Lucas said, “No.”

  “Then I think we need to start christening this place,” I suggested, biting his bottom lip.

  “I couldn’t agree more!” He pushed me back and crawled over me. “I think it’s time for some special physical therapy.”

  About Maria Vickers

  Maria Vickers is a bestselling and award-winning author who currently resides in St. Louis, MO with her pug, Spencer Tracy. She has always had a passion for writing and after she became disabled in 2010, she decided to use writing as her escape. She believes that life is about what you make of it, you have to live it to the fullest no matter the circumstances.

  From a young age, she has always loved books and even dreamed of being an author when she was younger. Growing up in the Navy, she used to weave tales for her siblings and her friends about anything and everything. And when she wasn't creating her own stories, she had a book in her hand. They transported her to another world. With her books, he hopes her readers have the same experience, and that they can relate to her characters.

  Getting sick changed her life forever, but it also opened doors for her that she thought would always be out of reach.

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  Misdirection

  Cassia Brightmore

  An unprecedented pandemic.

  A growing criminal threat.

  In the midst of chaos, new love was born. Now, all they have to do is survive.

  — Misdirection

  Misdirection

  Prologue

  “Misdirection. What the eyes see and the ears hear, the mind believes.”

  ~John Travolta

  Trust.

  The most fragile bond in a relationship. Once earned, it becomes as precious a
s gold; as dangerous as a bomb.

  Once lost, it’s rarely recovered.

  To trust is to take a leap of faith.

  And sometimes, leaps can be fatal.

  Chapter 1

  A thin layer of smoke floated through the air in the darkened nightclub, forming a forbidden pair with the steady pump of music resonating around the room. Red and black velvet chairs surrounded a small stage, a few men scattered around the tables awaiting the next talent that would take the stage.

  Under the bright flash of a strobe light, sat a bulky man, surveying the crowd with feigned disinterest. The COVID-19 pandemic might have shut the doors on all indoor businesses, but his club was unlike any other. It served as the epicenter of his organization; the meeting ground for underground deals, and in some occasions, the final elimination of partnerships.

  Joe Benza might have been starting to show his age with thinning hair and slight sagging in his belly, but he was far from over the hill. As the leader of the West 9th Street gang, he’d been known as the most feared and vicious man in the city for over twenty-five years. A fact that gave him an enormous amount of pride, while at the same time exhausting him. His men were loyal to a fault, good soldiers to have at his side. His specialties ranged from drugs, guns, grand theft and prostitution. Nothing went on in the town of Glen Abbott without his explicit say so; no matter the consequence. It was one thing to be respected; it was quite another to be feared. Fear is what kept the men in line, his enemies at length, and his customers coming back for more.

  He took a long drag from his cigar, savouring the flavour of the aged Cuban. Swirling his scotch on the rocks in its tumbler, he replayed the events of the last twenty-four hours. Running an empire like his, it was imperative that he was constantly one step ahead, not allowing any type of error to occur. He demanded efficiency from every man in his employ, the punishment when anything less than that was delivered brutal and unforgiving. His hard ways had cost him many a man over the years, but was crucial to building everything he now had. The deal he’d recently made would take his business into international territory, a feat he’d avoided for years, but now was an essential move that had to be made in order to maintain control. Worry niggled at the back of his mind over the new partnership, a fact that didn’t go unnoticed by his right hand man, Fabrizio Greco who was seated on his right side.

  “Doubting yourself, boss?” he asked, his piercing blue gaze boring into Joe’s dark eyes.

  “No.” Joe’s denial was swift as he straightened the maroon coloured tie at his throat. It was a bold-faced lie, but he was not one to show weakness, not even to his oldest friend and confidante. In his line of work, the second you wavered, that was when the enemy pounced.

  The DJ expertly tapered off the pounding music and picked up the mic. “Gentlemen, for your viewing pleasure tonight at Strip on the 9th, please welcome to the stage, Cherry!” Hoots and hollers followed the DJ’s announcement, and Joe made a slow spin in his chair, giving the stage his full attention.

  Cherry was the club’s newest asset. Most of the regular girls were in lockdown; not willing to brave breaking quarantine rules to perform at Joe’s club. While not showing up for work in normal circumstances would have meant immediate dismissal, Joe could hardly blame them for being cautious. They were living in unprecedented times; family needed to come first. “Cherry,” the tiny redhead obviously named for her bottle coloured hair, had made her way onto the stage, her skimpy silver sequined number barely covering up the goods. What she lacked in experience, she definitely made up for in looks and bravado, as she took a running start at the stripper pole, catching it with her left hand and swinging her body up into an arc.

  “Nice,” Fab commented approvingly, his eyes travelling down the young girl’s fit frame.

  “Enough,” was Joe’s only reply, his eye on a commotion at the back entrance to the club. No one used the black painted double doors but himself and his men, all of whom were already inside, scattered throughout the club. His bouncers appeared to be arguing with a few men he didn’t recognize, their voices becoming raised. Not concerned, Joe simply ashed out his cigar and nodded to the brunette bartender to pour him another scotch. His men were all well trained for any situation; vetted and completely loyal to him. No one would dare fuck with him on his turf; not unless they had a death wish.

  Joe raised an eyebrow as Tyler, the most hot-headed of his men, grabbed one of the strangers by the back of the neck and with an over-exaggerated show of strength, tossed him out the door. There was a loud crash followed by a series of grunts as the men made short work of disposing of the rest of the intruders. When the door banged shut, Tyler found Joe in the crowd and gave a curt nod, signalling the trouble had been handled.

  “Boss, this deal with the Merriott family, you sure it’s the right move? We’ve never worked this closely with another crew before. Who’s to say these assholes don’t try to cut us out of our own damn business? Why should we trust them?” Fab tossed back a shot of tequila and signalled for another.

  Joe pinned his friend to the spot with a cold, menacing stare. “You’ll trust them because I fucking said to trust them. You think I’m some pansy-assed leader? That I don’t know how to run my own crew after all these years?” He gained his feet and towered over his second, fury pumping off him in waves.

  “No. Of course not. I’m only suggesting that—”

  “I don’t give a fuck what you’re suggesting. Shut that shit up. You ever think that I know exactly what I’m getting into? What my end game is? These motherfuckers won’t ever get the chance to fuck with us—we’ll be the ones running their shit by the time I’m through. You’ve forgotten who the fuck I am, Fab.” Joe straightened to his full height, his smile anything but friendly. Toothy, cold and full of malice.

  Fab cleared his throat and shifted in his chair, not worried but not completely at ease either. Joe was known for his impulsive decisions and the last thing he wanted to see happen was his empire fall due to misguided ideas. He also didn’t want to be missing his hands, the fate the last man that dared to question him had suffered.

  Before he could form any type of response, a loud bang drew their attention. The back doors of the club were kicked open, a stream of men dressed head to toe in black rushing in. Tyler took out the first two men on his own with short jabs to the windpipe, but crumbled to the ground in a heap when the third man raised a Glock and dropped him with no hesitation, firing only a single shot. On the stage, Cherry screamed and scrambled to take cover, losing her footing on her sky-high stilettos.

  A total of ten armed men entered the club, spreading out in a wide arc. Joe’s men immediately responded, not a coward among them and drew their own weapons, each one prepared to go down in a fight. The numbers were close, each set of men keeping weapons trained on each other. The man that stepped forward, clearly the one in charge, didn’t seem concerned in the slightest.

  Fab moved to place himself between Joe and the obvious leader, but Joe stopped him with a simple hand on the shoulder.

  “Quite an entrance,” he commented, taking a sip of his drink. He tilted his head at Gordon, a skinny kid still earning his stripes, to check on Tyler.

  The man stripped off his mask, and ran a hand through his thick dark hair. He was unrecognizable to Joe, but that didn’t mean anything. In his line of work, he met dozens of people and could hardly keep track of them all.

  “We have some business to discuss, Mr. Benza,” he stated, drawing a package from his coat pocket. He tossed it onto the bar beside them, nodding for Joe to take a look. Obliging, Joe peeled the foil aside and raised an eyebrow at the kilo of coke.

  “What we have is you in possession of my product, Mr…”

  “Beane. Diego Beane.”

  “Okay, Mr. Beane. What the hell are you doing with my coke? This hasn’t even been chopped up yet for distribution. I suggest you give me some answers right now if you and your boys want to make it out of here in one piece,” Joe’s tone left
no room for argument, his blood boiling at the fact that someone had hijacked his coke.

  “Oh, you won’t be chopping up any of this precious gold. You see, I’ve got your shipment. In fact, I’m going to be running all your shipments from now on.” Diego spread his arms wide and turned in a slow circle, smiling as if they were all old friends.

  “The fuck?” Fab spat out, not wanting to put up with any shit. He raised his gun and took aim, ready to teach the lowlife prick that fucking with the West 9th gang was not a wise choice.

  “Ah, I thought you might have that reaction to my announcement,” Diego replied. He was way too cocky, a fact none of them liked one bit. “You see, by the end of this meeting here, you’re going to be begging me to take over your business.”

  “I doubt that,” Joe said. Without seeming to move at all, he gave the silent order and one of his best men, Floyd Castillo opened fire, his aim true in taking out two more of Diego’s men. Chaos ensued in a flurry of bullets and shouts, men scattering across the wide dance floor. Joe never flinched, never so much as moved a muscle as bullets whizzed by him. When he finally called for a halt, there was losses on each side, but he and Diego were still left standing.

  “Put your cards on the table,” Joe demanded. “You started this shit, we’re gonna have the cops crawling all over this place.”

  “Fine,” Diego conceded and tossed a large manilla envelope to him. Joe snatched it out of the air and tore open the package, spreading several glossy 8x10 photos out on the bar.