by Evelyn Glass
“No.” His voice has a finality to it as he reaches across the table and grabs my hands. It’s not romantic -- far from it. He forces me to place them on the center of the table while he holds them down against the cold, manufactured wood tabletop. I steal a look at them plastered there under his grip before making myself look up into his emerald colored eyes. “You need me because I have the money. And with your help, I’ll have even more of it to share.”
I cut him off as firmly as possible, “I don’t want anything to do with those diamonds or your boys. Whatever offer you’re about to make me, the answer is no.”
“I’m not giving you a cut of the diamonds, Alana. I’m offering to do for you what I did with Sean. I’ll give you one hundred percent of what I bring in from the sale.” He takes out his phone and types in a few numbers. When he turns the screen around, he shows me the five-figure number: 20,000. My face freezes in place as I try to sit further back. His quick hands catch me in place. “I’m sure this won’t cover all your dad’s medical bills or whatever you’ll need to live for the next month or so, so I’ll add this to sweeten the pot. You work for me, and I’ll throw in twenty percent of the restaurant sales and twenty percent of whatever I bring in from my boxing matches this month.”
My mouth goes dry as I ask as coolly, “And how much are we talking from that?”
“From the restaurant, that’s another five thousand. And for boxing, I’ve got a couple of big fights coming up, including the Tri-State Pro-Am fights. They’ve got a prize purse of ten thousand each for the win and five thousand for participating in title matches. That’s about two to three if I win one. I’m the odds-on favorite to win at least three of them and go to the finals in another two.” He pauses as he adds, “You look as if you need this calculator app more than I do. You want me to do some math for you?”
“No,” I answer breathlessly. “No, I got it. But what about my truck? I’ve got supplies to sell. I can’t just give that up for you to do what you want.”
“That’s the thing. I’ll come with you. I’ve got to sell the supplies, and I’ll do it from your truck. But given my followers, I’m guessing that I’ll probably have repeats of what tonight was like. You did like the huge stacks of cash I made in under an hour of selling, right?”
Of course, I remember that. I’ve never sold that much in one day, let alone an hour. I doubt my dad has either. His star power could generate so much buzz for my dad’s business that could be invaluable in the future, especially if my dad’s recovery was going to take a longer time. But a month with some hard-ass criminal riding along with me in my truck? And not just any criminal, but a jackass like Liam whom I’m already having strange cravings for? That just didn’t seem to work for me. I needed an excuse to get out of him being with me in such close quarters.
“I don’t want to be afraid for my life because you’re riding along with me. This is my life and my dad’s business, and I’m not ready to give it all away if you get caught by cops or have some weird mafia or motorcycle club or… uh… whatever… come after you. I’m not like you. I don’t break laws.”
“That’s my other point, Alana. By the way you look today, I’m guessing you don’t really get out that much. What kind of life are you actually living if you don’t add a bit danger into it? Trust me when I say that life is way more interesting when you don’t follow the rules, and you let your instincts take over.”
A more interesting life -- that’s something I won’t deny I need. Spending my nights locked in my dorm room writing historical fiction isn’t what most people would describe as actually living. I can’t remember the last time I went out to eat like this or had a night where I was alone with a really good looking guy. My life was a blur of working as a TA, driving the ice cream truck, writing my homework, and thinking of blog posts.
My readers would agree with Liam as well. One night, I was venting to Jana that I didn’t have many readers for my blog, even after pouring my heart out about my last breakup. Jana pointed out that my breakup was just “normal stuff.” There was nothing exciting about Adrian leaving me because I was just some bland girl who couldn’t even stop her man from cheating on him. I was just another throwaway girl with nothing to show for it, not even an interesting tale to walk away with.
All my life, I’ve been writing these stories about beautiful women locked up in towers and evil queens jilted by lovers. By all accounts, they’re good, real good or otherwise I wouldn’t be in grad school right now. But I was living behind the page and my keyboard. I was making up these lives that I realistically would never live and female characters that I just would never get to be. Here Liam was offering me a chance at being something more than a grad student driving around her dad’s ice cream truck.
It’s selfish, of course, but this could be big for me as a writer. I could make a name for myself, drive readers to the site, even charge a bit for advertising too to bring in some cash. Who knows… maybe I could turn this into a novel. Already, the story was starting off great: girl gets kidnapped by some handsome criminal offering her money she can’t afford to turn down. There was violence, redemption, blood, and maybe even some lusty romance to share.
“Alana? Hello… Earth to Alana?” Liam washes a hand over my view trying to grab back my attention. “What the hell are you thinking about? You’re taking way too long to make your mind up.”
I shake my head and pull my hands out from under him. “I’m sorry. I’m just thinking about some other ideas. Say I agree, I want to be able to write about this.”
“You want to write about this?” he repeats, his dark, bushy eyebrow raising.
“Yeah. See, I’m a writer. That’s what I’m going to grad school for, and my writing has been…” I take a deep breath of air as I admit, almost ashamed, “Boring. It’s been boring. This could totally change the game if I get some inspiration.”
“So you want to write some book about me and the club?”
“Maybe. I’m not sure yet. But maybe it will give me some inspiration and some ideas for some more unique characters. I just want your permission to write about what happens to us. I won’t use names or anything. That would be incredibly stupid --”
“Why would I care then? Just give me a badass name like Maverick or something and I’m okay with whatever you want to type out.”
“Well, that’s the other thing. I have this blog.”
“A blog? Isn’t that like an online diary for nerds.”
“Come on now. It’s not that bad. I’ve got readers and followers. I write about my life with the ice cream truck, and it can be pretty exciting.”
“I’m sure chocolate sundaes get your readers all riled up,” Liam jokes.
“Shut up. I’m being serious here,” I reply almost offended. “I want to write about what is going on in real time. I think I could sell some advertising on my site if I can drive up enough readers. And your story could do it for me.”
“I’m not big on journalists, Alana. I’ve got cops around here, but if they find out about the diamonds, I’m not going to be able to keep them on my payroll.”
“No names. I promise. I don’t even give my name, location, or ice cream truck name on my blog. It’s all anon. Police can’t track it. I’ll make sure my roommate Jana beefs up the security so it can’t be hacked in. She already, sort of, knows about what’s going on so we wouldn’t even be adding another person to this mix.”
Liam reaches over with his fork and takes a bit of my piece of untouched chocolate cake. After chewing silently for a few seconds, he finally commits. “Fine. I’m good with that. I give you my paycheck and some proceeds for the next month. In exchange, you let me use your truck and ice cream sales routes as a hideout, you attend some of my matches and provide a look out for me, and you become a temporary member of Steel Saints.”
The hair on the back of my neck spikes at a few of his demands. “Wait. I have to go with you to the matches? Why do you need me to go? Can’t I just read about you winning i
n the paper or online?”
“It’s because of my ex. She’s fucking crazy, and not in the good way that gets me going. With you there, I’ll have another eye looking out for me. Call it your extra job in exchange for the payouts from the fights.”
Ugh. So we’re even adding more to my plate including me playing babysitter and watchdog from a crazy ex? I guess I could handle that, and if she showed, it would certainly make a good story for the blog. I nod my head slowly in agreement, but I’m still stuck on one other part of what he wanted.
“But do I have to be a member? I’m not some biker’s ‘old lady’ or whatever you call them. I’m not going to be forced into becoming a prostitute or something, right? You’ve got to promise me that. After the month’s up and your diamonds are gone, we’re done. We part ways, and we never talk again. I don’t want nightmares about motorcycles following me everywhere for the rest of my life.”
“Got it. No turning you into some streetwalker. I’ll put away the fishnets and eye shadow. But you will have to meet my guys if we’re going to make this work. They have to approve of you first, and we’re going to need to get some security while we do the sales. I don’t go out there alone.”
My stomach turns at the thought of having to be in a room full of men just like the ones outside my ice cream truck. Walking into a den of rabid animals isn’t exactly something I can handle right now. But there’s about $30,000 on the line here, and I’m ready to walk off the side of a building if it keeps my dad out of debt and him in the hospital he needs to be in.
I reach out my hand towards Liam to offer it to him. “Fine,” I say slowly. “It’s a deal. One month of riding along in the ice cream truck, you pay me, and we’re done.”
Even as he smiles brightly, there’s something inside of me that just knows that a deal with a man like this is never as straightforward or as easy as it may seem. If I’m going to make this work and get out alive and with my money, I’m going to have to break just about every rule that comes my way.
Chapter 8
“Okay. Here’s your first order as a member of Steel Saints,” I say, trying hard to contain that smug self-satisfaction welling up inside of me. “I need you to drive me back to the gym. I need to get a workout in.” Even a guy like me gets a little guilty when he downs a piece of chocolate cake and a half a bottle of champagne. I’ve got the tournament to think about this month. There was no distraction big enough, including those round tits and blue eyes to keep me from that.
Alana cocks her head slightly to the side as she questions me, “I didn’t think my role was to play chauffeur to you. I thought I was just supposed to be helping you sell those diamonds.”
I’m not sure how to respond. So instead, I do what comes naturally.
I lie through my teeth.
“I’ve got contacts at that gym,” I insist. “This is work related, if you must know.” I really have no need to make that up, but the truth is that I want to keep Alana close to me. Part of it is because of that text to her friend. Sending her back so soon after she got heated will set alarm bells off. I doubt this girl can control her emotions, and when it comes to girls and emotions, things slip out in regular conversation.
The other part of my plan was purely selfish. I want more of her. The way she leans slightly when she speaks, the little pieces of hair caressing her neck, her eyes flickering in the hanging lamps above her head… she had this strangely normal and beautiful way about her that made her absolutely ordinary and sensationally sexy all at the same time. She was a puzzle that I wanted to put together piece by piece, even if it meant making some risky business moves for Steel Saints.
“Okay. Okay. But I do need to get some sleep tonight. I have class tomorrow morning at ten, and I’m not exactly the best person to ride around in a noisy, steaming hot ice cream truck if I don’t get a certain amount of sleep.” She presses her small hands to the table and pushes her way out of the booth to stand before me. Her tiny figure impatiently presses her weight down on one leg while the other taps urgently. “Plus, I need to pack up all that crap your boys threw out of the back of my truck. It’s going to have to be sanitized before the night is done.”
Even fidgeting and nagging, she’s attractive. Damn, this is getting hard to control. I put my hand up in her direction and shrug. “Go back to the truck and do what you need to do. I gotta tell the guys where I am going and check on that burner in the kitchen. I’ll be five minutes.” I hand her back her key ring and walk past her through the swinging doors. She goes in the opposite direction back outside. I can practically hear her grumbling about something as she goes.
“Jason!” I call towards my head chef. Unlike the rest of the guys in this kitchen, he isn’t a pledging member of Steel Saints. I make almost every man who wants to join the club do a few month’s worth of shifts in the back just so I can feel them out. Plus, it gives them some skills in case they get real jobs. My whole kitchen was stocked with felony arsonists, misdemeanor batteries, and fugitive busboys -- all except for Jason who runs the show for me on areas I have little to no care for.
“Yeah! Boss! What is it? We’re slammed back here. We’ve been in the weeds since that burner went out an hour ago.” Jason uses an old dish rag to wipe the visible sweat from his cherry red forehead. This was certainly not a job I could stand for.
I talk while I’m heading back towards my office to lock the door. “I’m taking off in a few minutes. I won’t be back tonight. You call me if there’s something wrong. Got it?”
“Well, that’s the thing, Liam. I was going to talk to you after the dinner service was over, but I don’t think it can wait until tomorrow. It’s about security here -- Mateo and Tyler.” My stomach sinks all over again. Whatever the hell they’re up to, it’s not good. Jason leans in as he whispers in my direction. “It’s just that I heard what happened in the parking lot….”
I’m about to cut him off. There’s a rule here in Steel Saints that orders stay secret and what happens between another member and me stays between us. I don’t tolerate gossip or the passing around information. That was for junior highs and bullshit cliques of girls, not club business.
Still Jason senses my anger and places a quick hand to my chest to calm me down. “No, Liam. They weren’t talking to other guys, just between the two of them. They were doing it in the back store room, and they didn’t see me there. I was going to go past them to let them know I could hear them, but they said something that caught my ear. It was something about Amy. I don’t know if it’s the same one that started that fire a few months ago, but I thought you should know about it.”
Dammit! My night was ending almost perfectly with Alana waiting for me in that ice cream truck and a workout on schedule. Now I have my ex-psychopath Amy to worry about. “What the hell did they say about her?” I ask, dreading knowing about the information.
“It wasn’t much. Tyler said that he had heard from her and that she was running with some guy in the Mafia.” I can tell Jason is trying to downplay this information, trying to keep his nose out of club business, but the more elusive he his, the angrier I am about to be. “There wasn’t a name, but it seemed liked to me that Mateo knew too. He kept saying back to him, ‘It’s business. It’s business.’ I don’t know what it means, but I thought you would so I’m telling you.”
I spy around the room towards the few men staring at us. A few months ago, I made sure that the boys hired to work in the kitchen passed through me. I wanted to make sure they were going to be loyal to only me and not join up in any little fraction that was forming out from under my nose. While I was so busy trying to earn their trust and assessing their value, I completely forgot that both Mateo and Tyler had access to them here at work.
I get out my phone and start texting my second-in-command, Tony, and my enforcer crew. We needed an immediate meeting minus the detractors. Whatever was happening had to be cut off now. I couldn’t stand this build up to a Caesar-like showdown any longer. Plus, they needed to know abou
t my alternate plan to move the diamonds and meet Alana so we could get a guard up.
My text was quick. No details needed. My men come like good dogs when I call them forward: Tonight. 11 o’clock. Headquarters. My office. Top boys and enforcers only. No others. Don’t post in group.
When I hit send, I return my attention back to Jason who is looking around in almost near panic at the amount of tickets getting unanswered. “Thanks, Jason. You always seem to have my back. If you hear anything else from Mateo or Tyler… or any of these guys, send me a text message. I know you don’t want to get anyone in trouble, but if it helps, I’ll throw some cash and some protection your way. I don’t award snitches, but I’m willing to make some exceptions for you in this case.”
He thanks me and heads back to his own club of men as he shouts orders about recipes and plating while I slip into my office unseen. I roll the chair up and pull out a drawer from the wooden desk. My hand glides around the top until I feel the hidden compartment. I slide the drawer forward and pull out the plastic zip bag full of papers. Slowly undoing the wrapping, I find the picture of Amy and me at a beach in Florida two years ago. We looked so much younger then. It was before I killed the guy. It was before she decided that she wanted part of Steel Saints’s action. Only months after we took this picture, we would be done, with her practically dismantling everything I worked so hard to build as she left.