I felt a chill run down my spine. “How do you know… about my mom?”
“Jason told me.” He squeezed my shoulder. “He’s very stupid.” He released me and walked to the door. “Think about it tonight. I’m making a good offer here. I’m sorry for all the theatrics up to this point but I had to test you. I wanted to see what you were made of.”
“Test me? And what do you think I’m made of?”
“Something tough, but brittle.” He opened the door and when he looked at me, I could’ve sworn he stared deep down inside of my mind. “We’ll harden you up though. Make you less likely to shatter.”
He left the room and locked the door behind him.
I sank back down onto the bed and finished the other half of the sandwich. When I was done, I stared at the floor and tried to understand what was happening to me.
If I didn’t work with him and sell his drugs, he’d kill me. Or he’d kill my mother.
I couldn’t run, not if I wanted her to live. And I knew I couldn’t tell her about any of this. It would break her heart and probably kill her if she knew that Jason got me into this situation.
Assuming she’d even believe me.
Which meant I had no choice.
Unless I wanted to whore for him for the rest of my life, I was going to sell his drugs.
And I didn’t know if that was any better.
3
Owain
I got up early the next day and made breakfast.
I cooked Leigh a feast: eggs, bacon, pancakes. I made fancy pour-over coffees and hand-ground the beans. I even put a littler vase with a tiny daisy inside of it on the tray as I piled everyone and carried it up to her room.
I smiled to myself. I was a killer and a bastard. And here I was, bringing breakfast to a woman. It was almost comical.
But I still planned on bleeding her dry.
I unlocked the bolt on her door from the outside and knocked.
“Leigh, little diamond, are you awake?”
No answer inside.
I knocked again. “I’m coming in, little diamond. Whether you’re decent or not.”
Again, silence.
I pushed open the door.
She came at me like an animal, all claws and screaming. She knocked the tray from my hands and her burning hot coffee spilled down my legs. I growled in pain as she raked her fingernails down my cheek.
I caught her wrist and shoved her back. She stumbled but didn’t stop. She came at me again, throwing her weight into the attack this time.
That pissed me off. I caught her and threw her down onto the floor. I heard her breath blow out from her chest in a whoosh. I pinned her down and stared into her face, a snarl on my lips.
“I thought we were past this.”
She glared back at me. “You’re trying to turn me into a drug mule.”
“What do you think would happen if you got away? You think your mother would be safe?”
“I wasn’t trying to escape.” Her lips curled into a sneer. “I just wanted to hurt you.”
I stared at her for a long moment. My thigh felt like hell from where the coffee spilled and soaked my slacks and a trickle of blood dripped down my cheek where her nails caught me.
And then I burst out laughing.
My god, what a delight. What an absolute perfect delight.
She wasn’t trying to escape. She wasn’t trying to run away. She just wanted to hurt me because she’s angry with me, and she was willing to risk her own safety to score some meaningless hits.
What a lovely, beautiful, gorgeous creature.
Stupid, but incredible.
“It’s not funny,” she said, practically spitting the words at me.
“Oh, no, it’s very funny.” I released her and stood, brushing at my leg. “Maybe I underestimated you yesterday. I said you were brittle, but perhaps that wasn’t quite right.”
She sat up. Her hair was in a messy bun. She wore a pair of gray sweats and a black sweatshirt. She looked like she hadn’t slept at all the night before. Her eyes were rimmed red with big black bags beneath them.
“How about you just go to hell?”
“Don’t worry, my little diamond. I’ll be there soon enough.” I turned away and gestured at the fallen tray. “That’s your breakfast. The coffee was good. Sorry you won’t get any.”
“Fuck your coffee.”
I shook my head. “I understand why you’re reacting this way. You’re angry at your situation and you’re taking it out on me. But don’t forget that it was your brother who got you here.”
“And it’s you that’s keeping me.”
I raised an eyebrow and nodded, a smile on my lips. “That’s right. I’m keeping you. That’s a good way of putting it.”
She looked away. “I’m not going to make this easy on you.”
“Good.” I took a step closer. “Don’t misunderstand me though. I like a challenge, and I like to play rough. But if you try and fuck me over and ruin what I’m building, I will kill your mother in front of you before I tear you to pieces.”
“Fuck you.”
“I’m glad you understand.” I turned away. “We’re visiting your shop in an hour. So get yourself cleaned up, shower, and eat something.”
She said nothing as I left and locked her door again.
I touched my cheek. My fingers came back bloody. I pit my fingers in my mouth and sucked the blood away.
What an incredible specimen. I leaned against the door and smiled to myself. She was going to be a lot of work, and I had a feeling she’d kick my ass soon enough. But god damn I wanted it.
I wanted to see how much she could make it hurt.
Leigh was willing in the car on the drive over. I couldn’t blame her though. From her perspective, I was ruining her life.
From mine though, I was giving her a second chance.
Shirtadelphia was a small store front on South Street crammed between an Irish bar and a tattoo parlor. I found a spot a block over and got out. I walked around to her side and opened the door.
She climbed down without a word.
“Lead the way.”
I watched her ass in her tight dark jeans walk ahead of me back toward the store. Her gray t-shirt was a little baggy for my taste, but even if she was trying to hide her figure, she wasn’t doing a good job. Nothing could keep those curves from me, and the memory of her attacking me this morning only made my blood boil even more.
Sometimes I surprised myself. I should’ve been pissed she ruined a favorite pair of suit pants. Instead, I was overjoyed that she’d shown some backbone.
The sidewalk was damp from the night before and foot traffic was slow. Most shops were closed for the morning. A drycleaner’s neon lights flickered as we walked past. A young couple held hands and carried cardboard coffee cups. I wondered if Leigh secretly wanted to be like them.
I walked behind her and enjoyed the view until we reached her store.
She stared at it then looked back at me. “I don’t have my—”
I took her key from my pocket and held it out.
She took it without comment and unlocked the front.
Shirtadelphia had a hip, bright interior. She flipped the lights on. The floors were polished, bright white tile. Each wall was covered in shirts, their fronts folded to show the graphic. Two long couches with gray, faded cushions sat in the center of the space facing an old mid-century coffee table with magazines on top. A flat screen TV hung in the back-left corner and a door led to the back. The counter looked like a trio of vintage washing machines in green, blue, and pale pink.