by Sonya Jesus
I crack a smile. “I can still knock him out for you.”
“I don’t doubt that.” He places the palm of his hand to my cheek and tenderly asks, “What’s wrong?”
I exhale softly, suddenly feeling like a dick for doubting him. “I met Rebecca Stanton today.”
He lowers his hand and nods his head. “Is that the yelping I heard outside? Did you bring home a mutt?” He begins laughing, and chokes when he runs out of breath. He quickly regains his composure and asks, “Rebecca. It’s been a long time since I saw her.”
“Did you know her?”
“She was your mother’s friend, back in the day.”
I hesitate to ask, so I prolong the conversation. “She’s from Arizona.”
“You want to know why she’s on the list?” He can see right through me. This is why he’s good at what he does. He’s a people reader, he can pick up on non-verbal cues and read them like a book. Breaker’s developed a way to evade his tactics, and Stone evades him all together, but me? I don’t have that skill.
I chew on the inside of my cheek. “She’s not like the others.”
“This is why women aren’t mobsters. They’re emotions always get in the way.” The disappointment in his tone hurts me. He’s the only father I have left, and though I find love to be an inadequate word to express my feelings, I do have a tenderness toward him… an obligation.
He strains against his anger and tries to be patient with me. “Do you think I made a mistake?” His pitch is slightly elevated.
“No,” I lie, not wanting to doubt him. “I just want to know how she played a part in my father’s death.”
“If I tell you, will it make killing her easier?”
“Yes,” I answer, unsure of the verity of my statement.
“What if I told you that you’re killing her for her husband’s mistake?”
“It wouldn’t change anything.” Another lie.
“Her husband worked for us and he shared secrets with Rebecca—secrets that when he died, she shared with Robert West.”
“The man who murdered my father.”
I didn’t need any other details. She wasn’t an innocent, not entirely.
The light is on in the little pet shop, illuminating the whole front area at a distance. I don’t see her through the window, which means she’s probably in the back doing inventory. Foxy yelps as she tugs on the leash and sniffs the pavement. I gently tug her away from the feces near the fire hydrant, and wait for the crosswalk light to turn. I pull on the plastic bag inside my jacket pocket, to make it obvious, and bend down to pet Foxy.
When the light turns, we head down the alley, toward the side entrance. I check for an audience as I walk. It’s late and most of the lights are out in the second and third floors of the buildings. All four of the bikes are parked in front of the Chinese restaurant.
Looks clear, I give myself the go ahead. Yet, my knuckles aren’t on the door. Come on, Kelsie. Just another name.
I tuck my fingers into my sleeve and knock softly.
The door opens. “Oh, hi!” she says and after plasters a big smile on her face. “How’s Foxy doing?”
“Good, I think.” I suck in my inner lip and point toward her. “She kind of scared me this afternoon.”
Legitimate concern invades Rebecca’s eyes as she squats down to pick up the puppy. “What’s wrong with her?”
“She moped around all day, and she’s not eating the food I bought her. I called the vet, and he said to try feeding her what she’s used to and then wean her off it slowly.”
“Oh, yes.” She breathes out a sigh of relief. “I should have sent you with some kibble and a feeding schedule. I was so excited, I didn’t even think about it.” She steps back, letting us in—welcoming her killer inside. “Come in. I’ll get you the name and whatever I have left.” She places Foxy down, since she’s on the leash, and disappears to the front room where all the boxes are.
I glance at the door to ensure it’s closed. I’m going to kill her quick, I think to myself as I hook the leash on the doorknob, careful not to touch anything with my hands. No suffering. That’s what my father would’ve done. I wait in the back room while she rummages through the front.
“Oh, dang it. I think I sold the last bag of it with the couple who got her sister.”
I dart to the front room. Cardboard boxes are open and stacked on each other. I lean against the counter, noting the bank deposit bag right on top of the counter. “You’re all packed up?”
“Yes, just looking for a pen so I can jot down the name.” She pops up, found pen in hand. “Here it is.”
“Oh good. She must be starving. I can’t wait to get her some food.” Foxy doesn’t have a problem with eating. She even thinks my toes are food.
“Let’s get her some then. I have whatever is left over in the kibble jar, and the exact brand is on there.” Rebecca heads to the back room again while I slide the money into my purse. I hadn’t planned on this, but Stone needs the money, and I won’t be able to able to watch girls on Hayden’s lap…or think of them there. Impromptu change of plans. Dog Lady Slain in Random Burglary.
“Can you grab me one of those plastic bags in the box on top of the carriers?”
“Sure,” I pick one and hand it to her, then whirl around to face Foxy so that I am standing behind her. The food is right in front of me, and she’s jotting down the brand. I step near the door, drop my hand into my purse, prepare the gun, and hold it steady. She’ll have her back to me while she scoops the rest of the food from the bin into the bag.
“How is she liking the new home? Does she have plenty of space?”
“She passed out with me on the couch. I think she hasn’t adjusted yet.”
She glances back at me. “That’s normal. Shiba Inus are very energetic though, soon she’ll be jumping around and tearing at your carpets if you don’t train her well.” Turning her back to me again, she looks at the shelf.
I pull my gun out of my purse.
“I’m going to give you the rest because I don’t need it.” She squats down to the nearly empty large kibble bin and scoops some into the bag. “They’re also extremely lovable and they don’t require constant attention.”
“That’s good to know because I work a lot.” I aim the gun.
“I figured.” She scoops again.
Finger on the trigger.
“I feed her the puppy chow every couple hours, but—”
Bang. Center skull.
I take a deep breath as she ricochets forward before falling back. The gun made no noise, but the stand falling on top of her did and Foxy wouldn’t stop barking. I use a glove to open the door, quickly shove it in my pocket, and head outside with Foxy.
The night is undisturbed. Nothing on the street stirred.
Only my heart… and that scares me.
7
Who’s Your Santa?
Hayden
We’re pulling up to the bar with the last of the ornaments that took us forever to make. We couldn’t find blue ones, so we purchased the clear ones and decorated and numbered them with paint. The pledges spent two days drying them with the borrowed blow-dryers and painting little white dots to look like snow. On some, they even did a snowman with our frat’s Greek letters.
I pluck one of those Santa blue balls out of the large Santa bag in the back seat and hang it up on the rearview mirror.
Stone flicks his fingers on the ball, making it sway. “They do know how to kiss ass, don’t they?”
“You know which ones did it?”
“Legacy, I think.”
My phone rings. Kelsie’s name lights up the screen.
Stone doesn’t hide his disdain, but he gets out of the car and heads into the bar with one of the large bags on his back.
I roll down the window. “You’re not supposed to be carrying things!”
He flashes me his middle finger and continues walking. I answer Kelsie on the third ring.
“Hey,” I say, h
appy she called. I’ve spent most of my week trying to avoid thinking about her.
“It’s good to hear your voice,” she says softly.
“Yeah, it’s really good to hear your voice too. I was going to call, but I didn’t want to interrupt when you were busy.”
The wind blows into her receiver, almost disguising the long sigh on her end. “I’m not busy right now.”
I run my fingers through my hair. The need in her voice is speaking directly to my dick. “Want to come to a Santa party?”
She chuckles. “Do I get to choose my Santa?”
Stone must have told her about it. “Well, most of the Alpha’s are dressed up as Santas already… if you can consider what they’re wearing dressing up.”
“I don’t want the other Alphas.”
“No?” I say, still tiptoeing around my heart. She sounds exactly the same on the phone as she does in person, but in person there’s a body to touch, lips to kiss—
“I got a dog.” She’s skilled at evading. “Her name is Foxy.”
“That’s a cute name.”
“Well, she’s a cute dog.”
I’m tired of the sidestepping around our feelings and alluding to possibilities that we’re too afraid to talk about. “She has a cute owner.”
Another sigh. Another long pause where her mind carries out a conversation between the two of us that only she is privy to. “You should meet her soon.”
I smile, taking what I can get. I think that’s the closest she’s going to get to telling me she wants to see me. I take a gamble on presumption. “I will.”
“Hayden?” she mumbles. In the slight whimper of her exhales I hear her fear talking to me, insisting I stay away. When she inhales, she holds me—us—captive. She grasps at the longing that fills the moments where we exist together, as if the space she imposes suffocates her.
I close my eyes, taking a little extra time to blink. In the momentary darkness, I focus on her breath. The temptation to give into our hearts spurs me forward. “Yeah, Kels?”
She takes another moment to answer, prolonging my agony. “You still care today?” The vulnerability in her voice reaches into my heart and tugs on the strings until it beats in my throat and vibrates against my vocal words.
“Yes.” I clear my throat.
“And tomorrow?”
She’s not waiting for me to string pretty words together that promise nothing. For people like us, who understand loss, the assurance of tomorrow almost trumps everything. So I reply honestly, “I’ll care tomorrow, too.” I pause to hear the sigh of relief.
“You shouldn’t,” she murmurs without meaning.
“You keep saying that.” It hurts to hear those words come from her mouth. They say everything when she thinks they say nothing at all. She deserves to be cared for, no matter what kind of hurt lives inside her.
“Because you don’t listen.”
“I’m listening, Kelsie,” I say, as I watch the people line up outside the bar. I hear all the broken bits telling me to stay away, but I don’t mind the sharp edges. With Kelsie, you have to listen with everything but your ears. “I’ll always care. Every day. Every hour. Just like I have every moment up until now.”
“God,” she murmurs to herself. “You make my life so much more complicated.”
“Is that so bad?”
“I have no idea, but I don’t know how to be who I am now without you.”
What does that mean? “I kind of like who you are now.”
“You shouldn’t.”
This time those words come out stronger, and I don’t like the distance they add. “But I do.”
“I’ll see you in a bit.”
“Wait,” I ask, not wanting to let her go. I had a feeling I wouldn’t be seeing her later. “What’s your last name?” If she tells me then it’s a sign.
She turns every second into an agonizing hour. Finally, she puts me out of my misery. “Salvatore. See you later, Santa.” She hangs up.
I hang up the phone and drop it on Stone’s seat, while I convince myself tonight is the night I tell Kelsie Salvatore how I feel. Right after I get rid of this déjà vu feeling, take these blue balls into the bar, and get my sexy Santa on. Twenty-seven thousand dollars worth of sexy Santa.
I look down at my attire. Underneath this hoodie, I have on a pair of red suspenders— holding up my red velvet pants—a black belt, and black boots. Here we go, Santa A, I think to myself as I place the Santa hat on my head. Money first. Then we can work on the whole loving Kelsie thing.
Glancing at the long line of women waiting at the front door, I step out of the car, and grab the bags of ornaments. I don’t know how Stone got these people here, but I’m not surprised. He pulls stunts like this out of his ass all the time.
“Hey, ladies,” I say, flashing them a smile when I get close to the door. The bouncer opens it and lets me in. I take the large bags over to the stage and place one down near each of the chairs. Stone is relaxing on a barstool near the stage, cradling a bottle of water and painkillers in his hand.
I march over to him. “You sure your up for this? You’re supposed to be staying off your feet and relaxing.”
“I’ll relax when we make back some money.” He pops three pills in his mouth and chases them down with half a bottle of water. “Being the only sober Santa here is going to suck ass.”
He won’t be, but I don’t tell him that. “I somehow doubt you’ll be bored with all the girls lined up outside.”
He grunts. “I’m going to be taking pictures. Not much action going on for the picture man.”
Um. “What kind of action are you expecting?”
“So….” he drags out and then brings the bottle of water to his lips, sloshing it around to buy time.
“Stone!” I growl. His or something comment pops into my head.
He lowers the bottle and caps it. “You know how we said the girls sit on your lap?”
“Yeah?”
“That’s still the same.”
I clench my jaw and cross my arms in front of my chest. “And?”
“The ornaments… Remember how they’re going to buy them and then they win something?”
Oh God. “What’s the prize?”
He smiles wide and uses the bottom of his water bottle to point toward me. “That didn’t change either.”
“Motherfucker, what did you change?”
The timbre in my voice did the trick. He confesses, “They have to earn the blue balls.”
I tug on my ear. “Um… okay?” I glance back at the stage with the huge chairs. “How are they doing that?”
“I already told you.” Told me what? His eyes brighten and he presses a hand to his abdomen, reminding me that he’s already injured and a punch to the stomach will make it worse. “They’re going to be telling Santa their naughty wish list.”
I stare at him blankly. He’s throwing words out that if I follow, I’ll piece together. I just don’t want to do that.
“Blue Balls,” he says, as he motions toward his dick. “Well, yours actually.” He moves from indicating his crotch to pointing at mine. “And four other guys.”
Sneaky bastard. He was planning this all along. “So they earn the ornaments by whispering in our ear?”
“What do you think those ladies are going to be whispering about in your ear? The robot vacuum cleaner their husbands bought them for Christmas?”
“That’s why there are so many women outside already?”
He smirks knowingly and plucks his phone out of his pocket. He shoves the screen in my face.
I should’ve known. I shake my head has I read the advertisement with over two thousand comments. “Calling all the naughty girls tonight. These Santas are rewarding the dirtiest fantasies." A picture of us after we got dressed at the house is underneath with a photoshopped Christmas scene behind it. On the bottom, it has “Who’s your Santa?” in huge letters. I hand him back the phone. I don’t know if I am more worried about the fact that t
his picture is all over the Internet, or Kelsie’s reaction to this. I guess I’ll know if I’m the only jealous person in this unlabeled relationship.
I narrow my eyes at him and check my phone, in case Kade reached out or Kelsie. These guys are horn dogs. The thought hits me and I quickly do the math. “We’re going to run out of balls.”
“That sounds dirty already.”
I slide the phone into my Santa pants pocket and shrug off my hoodie. “Be serious.”
“Trust me. We aren’t going to run out of balls because the Santas,” he says, shoving me in the shoulder and grinning, “are going to rig it.”
“Are you fucking serious?” Not something you can rig. “Your either hard or you’re not.”
He chuckles as if my last comment was a joke. “Instead of sweet nothings in your ear, you get verbal Vi—”
“Specifics would be nice next time, so I don’t get ambushed.”
“I only give you the details I think you can handle. If I told you, you wouldn’t have done it.”
Dick. “This isn’t a strip club, getting arrested would require money—lots of bail money we don’t have. Not to mention about half the guys from the frat are underage.”
“They have IDs.”
“That the staff didn’t check. If things go wrong tonight, we are all screwed.”
“Well, if things go right tonight we’ll all get screwed.”
“What is wrong with you? Where down twenty-seven grand. I don’t want to make it fifty.”
“Relax, Hayden. Nothing’s going to go wrong.” Stone gets up and locks his jaw. He’s getting annoyed with my pessimism, but I’m not a pessimist, I’m a realist—one who can actually see beyond the right now. A lifetime of being on the run has taught me to analyze situations and look into the future. A sweet time can turn sour in a blink of an eye. He searches the room, checking to make sure everything’s in place before opening the doors. “You worry too much.”
“You don’t worry enough.”
He turns his head sharply to me.
“What about the pissed off husbands or boyfriends. You think they’re going to be happy about this? Would you?”