by Jen Davis
At least she’s safe.
Forcing a measured breath, he returned the phone to his back pocket. Less than a minute later, Robby called everyone outside for pizza.
The guys trudged toward the food, their shoulders hunched from bending over for the last five hours. A couple of them walked on the plywood stretched between the slab and the side of the street, but most tromped through the overturned dirt where crews had laid the sewer lines a few days ago.
One by one, each man grabbed a couple of slices before fanning out for a few minutes’ R&R. As Brick chomped down on a slice of pepperoni, an unfamiliar car pulled up to the curb.
He watched intently as a petite woman climbed out of the driver’s seat, then he sucked in a breath. Pretty girls were a dime a dozen, but there was something special about this one. He tried to drink in everything about her at once, from her fair skin, to the freckles on the bridge of her nose, to the golden hair draped over her shoulders. Her light eyes sparkled, and a smile lit her face. With her pristine white sundress and strappy sandals, she looked like a goddamned angel, as out of place at the dirty work site as he would be sitting in a church.
Somebody on the crew was a lucky bastard.
The girl made her way straight to Will. She kissed his cheek before handing him the giant cookie cake she’d carried over from the car.
“Happy birthday, big brother.” She grinned.
His breath sped up when he realized this wasn’t Will’s girl. Maybe he should’ve known better, but it’s not as though he was tight enough with anyone here to recognize their families.
He moved closer to them without meaning to. Now only six feet away, he could tell her eyes were more blue than green; her teeth were straight and shiny, and he could pick up the faint scent of vanilla over the sawdust in the air.
Will shook his head as he admired the cake. “You didn’t have to do this, Liv. Aren’t you supposed to be at work? Who’s watching your class?”
She laughed, a light, tinkling sound, like the princess in a cartoon he saw when he was a kid. “My students are at lunch. Don’t worry. I’m not here to cramp your style.” She pinched his cheek. “Well, I don’t mind cramping it a little. But mostly, I wanted to invite your buddies out here to come have a drink Friday night to help celebrate your birthday.”
Her gaze passed over the guys in the crew. “Y’all hear?” As if they all hadn’t been staring at her since she’d stepped out of her car. “Friday night. Seven o’clock at Moe’s. First round is on me. If you need some extra motivation, I might be able to dig up some adorable photos of Baby Will in the bathtub.”
Kane chuckled. “Make it a picture of you in the bathtub and you’ve got yourself a deal.”
Brick elbowed the smart-ass in the stomach.
“Shut the fuck up, man.” Will growled. “You’re talking shit about my sister.”
The woman didn’t seem upset, though. She wasn’t even looking at Kane.
Her gaze locked squarely on him, and he stood frozen under the weight of those baby blues. He didn’t even breathe.
But for a second, neither did she.
At least, that’s what his overactive imagination said.
He dragged in a breath of air, and in a flash, the spell was broken.
She gave him her back as she kissed Will’s scruffy cheek again. “Oh, hush. Don’t get mad at your friend. He probably hasn’t seen a naked woman in years.” Grinning, she winked at Kane, who had the decency to take his lumps in silence. “Friday at seven. Don’t be late.”
With one last wave, Will’s sister made her way to her little Toyota. Though he had no idea why, he couldn’t resist watching her every move, until she disappeared.
Friday night.
For the first time in God knows how long, he had something to look forward to.
***
Liv
Liv slipped back into her classroom moments before the bell rang, and kids poured in behind her. Desks were packed closely together in the small room. The school had been around since the 1950s, and the evidence surrounded her, from the green linoleum floor to the metal doors and the sagging ceiling. The window unit air conditioner hummed loudly as it struggled to cool the stifling space.
Most of her students made it clear they considered her English class a necessary evil they had to endure to graduate, but a special few—like the one approaching her now—showed they appreciated the power of language and the nuances of the written word.
Devon flashed her a toothy smile as he took his seat in the second row, next to his best friend, Justin. “Nice hair, Miss T.”
She ran her palm over the new extensions, the weight unfamiliar after so long without it. Dipping her head, she acknowledged the compliment.
“Are we gonna watch the movie today or what?”
She didn’t recognize the voice from the back of the room, but she knew what he was asking about. They’d been reading The Outsiders and waiting impatiently for the day they could watch the movie as a reward for getting through the book.
“Tomorrow,” she promised, sparking an equal number of cheers and groans. “We have one more day of discussion first. We’ve all finished the reading, right?” She glanced around the room. “Who can tell me what Johnny tried to say in his last message to Ponyboy?”
After a few seconds, Devon spoke. She had to strain to make out his soft words. “He wants him to stay innocent. Something better than the guys in his hood. He wanted him to have a future.”
She nodded and was about to turn away when he added, “But the poem says it’s impossible. None of us can stay untouched by the world. It’s a fantasy.” He shrugged and stared down at the open notebook on his desk.
“Even if no one can stay innocent entirely, it doesn’t mean we don’t try to rise above.” She resisted the urge to put her hand on his shoulder and kept walking the aisles between the desks. “What do you guys think?”
A handful of kids jumped in with an answer, but the more his classmates debated each other, the deeper Devon sank in his chair. Inexplicably, his normally smiling face grew stonier with every passing minute.
His quiet words had raised the hair on her arms, but once the bell rang, he scooted out of the classroom too quickly for her to ask him about it. He couldn’t avoid her forever, though. She’d follow up the first chance she got.
The rest of the day passed in a blur, and she ended the night alone in her cozy one-bedroom apartment. Curled up on her overstuffed blue sofa, papers covering the coffee table, she sipped a glass of wine and tried to focus on the pages in front of her. For some reason, she couldn’t shake Devon’s words or his withdrawal from the class discussion.
She tried distracting herself with plans for Will’s birthday party. His first since he’d gotten out of prison, she’d been planning the celebration for weeks.
Skipping lunch to visit his work site had been totally worth it. The delight in his eyes when she presented his cake mirrored the joy she remembered from his birthdays as a kid. She missed seeing a smile on her brother’s face, and if she could, she’d put one there every day. She loved making him happy almost as much as embarrassing him with her open party invitation to his friends.
Her thoughts flitted to the big man who’d caught her eye during her announcement. Now, he was something she could focus on.
He had something about him that drew her like a magnet. Something in the eyes. Something she couldn’t put into words.
He wasn’t handsome. His face was broad, his features were wide-set, and his nose had clearly suffered a break or two in his lifetime. He was—compelling. Raw. Powerful. His brown skin had a golden undertone, indicative of an ethnicity she couldn’t quite place. She pictured it warm to the touch, like the sun’s rays had soaked its very essence into his flesh.
He’d watched every move she made so intensely, he looked as though he would’ve lifted a car out of his way if it got between the two of them.
She shivered.
He made Ryan, her ex from be
fore, seem like a boy by comparison. Yeah, he’d been in his late twenties, but he was pretty, not compelling. At the time, she’d thought she wanted a pretty man. He fit the pattern of the other guys she dated. They went to museums and plays. He talked about literature and…carbs.
He talked a lot about carbs.
Dinner always required reservations, and last year they’d summered in the Hamptons. Actually, they’d spent two weeks there last August, but Ryan said things like “summered.” He came from money, and while their financial disparity didn’t exactly cause their problems, something between them didn’t quite click.
At least not for her. She hadn’t seen it at the time, but it had been a blessing he left when she got sick. He fit all these check-boxes she’d had about what a man should be: successful, articulate, manicured—but looking back, he’d left her cold.
The guy at the work site gave off nothing but heat. She set down her glass and closed her eyes at the memory of those thick, muscled forearms, his intense stare.
A man like him might burn her alive.
And for the first time in her life, Liv Turner was ready to burn.
CHAPTER THREE
Brick
A one-two punch to the gut almost took Brick to his knees. The man facing him in the ring had to be close to three hundred pounds and within an inch of his own six foot, four inches in height. The guy hit like a battering ram, but he moved slowly, and his eyes telegraphed his plan of attack. Brick only let him score the hits to his midsection to stretch the clock on the fight.
Sucre wanted it to last twelve minutes to make maximum bank, and he called the shots.
Three minutes left.
His opponent’s short black dreads swayed as he circled the ring. The guy had a lot to learn, because one day someone would grab his hair and use it against him. Not tonight, though. Brick had other plans to put him down.
Two minutes.
He threw out a punch to the guy’s solar plexus, but at half his regular force. It paid to keep his boss happy in more ways than one. Not only would it keep him at the top of the heap, but Sucre would throw a few hundred bucks his way for the trouble, a bonus on top of the cash he made fighting in one of these bare-knuckled matches.
One minute to go.
The cheers and jeers of nearly two hundred people crammed into the small gym echoed like thunder in his ears. The weak fluorescent lights flickered, but no one gave any sign they noticed. The crowd paid well for the pleasure of watching him bleed, and they were getting what they paid for.
He could live with a couple of bruises and broken ribs if it got him closer to his goal. Plus, these kinds of fights added to the legend of his strength. The better fighter he was in the ring, the less he had to fight on the street.
Sucre tugged on his right ear, giving the signal to end the match.
He balled his left fist and plowed it into his opponent’s bare midsection. As the guy’s head and shoulders jerked forward with the impact, he punched him in the back of the skull, dropping him to the mat like a bag of concrete. The crowd roared its approval, and Sucre gave him a short nod.
Brick stayed stone-faced. No one wanted to see him smile.
Monsters don’t have emotions.
The so-called referee grabbed him by the wrist and lifted his hand into the air in victory. The signal meant eight hundred dollars in the bank. Or in the legs of his coffee table.
He climbed out of the ring, breathing through his mouth to avoid the scents of body odor and cheap beer coming from the crowd. For the hundredth time, he wished he had a decent hot shower waiting for him to wash away the blood and the stink of this place, but hot water was a luxury other people had.
“Need a ride home, Big Man?” One of the girls who worked the corner down the way pursed her blood red lips into the semblance of a kiss. He didn’t know her name, but he couldn’t mistake her invitation.
He shook his head and kept walking straight toward the door. He used to take the whores up on their offers when the loneliness got to him, until he realized he left their beds even emptier inside than before he touched them.
Those women didn’t want him. Some wanted the dubious prestige of being an enforcer’s girl. Others thought they could use him to pay off a debt to Sucre. And in a few cases—those he didn’t want to think about—someone coerced the girls into his bed to further their own agenda.
He had no problem with whores, but the transaction had to be fair, his money for their sex. It was only to give his body release. It would never be more.
His apartment was less than a block from the gym, so he had no need to get dressed. Pulling the key out of his sock, he unlocked the door and ran an eagle eye over his space. Nothing looked disturbed. He allowed his shoulders to droop as he trudged to the bathroom.
The soap and water stung cuts and scrapes he didn’t even know he had, but he didn’t mind the burn. He stood under the spray until the water went from warm to downright cold. Teeth chattering, he climbed out and fell into the bed, wrapped only in a towel.
Six hours later, the chimes on his phone had him jumping up with his gun in his hand. One day, he might find an alarm that didn’t wake him ready to put holes in someone, but not today.
His muscles protested as he dragged on his clothes for work, but he couldn’t deny a tingle of anticipation as he buckled his belt. The party at the bar would be tonight, and Will’s sister would be there.
The angel in the white dress. He’d get to see her again.
He’d keep his distance—he had to. She was light and everything soft and good. He was a stain on the darkest part of humanity.
Still. It didn’t hurt to look.
***
Moe’s was a lot closer to the worksite than the downtown scene where Brick usually spent his nights, which meant it was cleaner. The lights shined brighter, and instead of giving him a whiff of beer or decades-old nicotine, it smelled of nothing at all. Wait. He caught the distant scent of a chicken-tenders basket a waitress placed at the center of a table near the front door. It made his mouth water.
The guys from the crew bunched around the pool tables in the back. He arrived last, since he’d run home to shower after sweating it out in the sun all day. He didn’t expect to get close to her, but he didn’t want to offend Will’s sister with the stench of B.O.
As usual, Robby made a beeline straight for him. The kid damn near bounced on the balls of his feet. “You made it. The guys said you wouldn’t come, but I knew you wouldn’t ditch us.” Robby linked a lanky arm in his and dragged him toward the group. “Told you he would come.”
He barely stopped himself from shuffling his feet at Robby’s proud pronouncement. Not because the guys all looked at him, but because she did too.
Will’s sister wore jeans and a light blue T-shirt. Even in her casual clothes, she still carried the same ethereal beauty she had wearing her white dress two days before. A high ponytail made her neck look long and graceful. It also gave him a better view of her face. She wore hardly any makeup, and with her natural beauty, she didn’t need it. Everything about her fucking glowed.
She’d been playing pool one-on-one with Cyrus.
He resisted the urge to try and spook the good-looking Iranian bastard right out of the bar. Cy was an okay guy, ex-military, and he did good work. He always got it right the first time. He just didn't do well with loud noises. The guys learned their lesson when Kane used the nail gun without warning and Cyrus tried to tackle him for his trouble. It was no small thing, since even he would think twice before throwing down with that tattooed motherfucker.
So, it probably wasn’t fair to call Cy a bastard, but the man needed to find someone else to play pool with. Cy cleared his throat and pulled Will’s sister’s attention back to the game. Brick turned his body away entirely to make himself stop staring.
Kane waited two tables down. He lifted his pool cue in greeting, his smile showing he didn’t hold a grudge from the elbow thing on Wednesday. “Brick. Get over here. I
need someone else on my team. Robby can’t play for shit.”
Robby’s smile faltered for a moment. Then, he brought it back, even if it didn’t shine quite as bright as before. “Kane’s right. Pool’s not really my game.”
Brick pressed a twenty into the kid’s palm and spoke softly. “Why don’t you get us some beers? My treat.”
Nodding, the kid scampered away to the bar.
Kane rolled up the sleeves on the red and black checked flannel he wore, revealing the intricate skull tats on his left forearm and the array of female devils and angels inked on his right. “You missed the free booze, brother. Will’s sister bought us all shots.”
He would not think of—fuck, she’s bent halfway over the table trying to hit the shot. Those jeans are hugging her ass in all the right places. Stop. Looking.
Cursing under his breath, he squeezed his eyes shut briefly, then grabbed a stick from the rack on the wall. “Stripes or solids?”
“Solids,” Kane growled. “The kid didn’t sink a single shot.”
Brick shrugged as he knocked the two-ball in the side pocket. As much time as he spent in Sucre’s bar, he had plenty of practice at pool. “He only wants to belong. The kid’s got a lot of heart.” Did he sound like a fucking Boy Scout or what? He shook his head at the drivel coming out of his mouth, then banked the four into the corner pocket.
He waited for Kane to call him on it, but instead the guy nodded in agreement. “I know. Anyone else talk as much as him, I’d tell ’em to shut the fuck up, but with Robby, it’d be like kicking a puppy, you know? I don’t get why he wants to latch on to us. There’s not a soul in this crew who’s not fucked up in one way or another. We’re going to corrupt him, brother.”
The one-ball sank, and he chuckled, the sound of his own laughter foreign to his ears. “I can’t believe it hasn’t happened already.”
Will grumbled from the other side of the table. “You ladies going to keep giggling over there, or are we going to move this game along?”