“We have too much going on to mix in unknowns.”
“She’s not dangerous.”
“No?” Hawthorne cut a hand out in front of him so sharply and suddenly it made the dancers lean away nervously. “We don’t know who the hell the mole was. Someone at that wedding told the cops where to look for our goods, and it’s a fucking miracle that Dad was in the middle of shipping things out so we didn’t get caught.”
It did feel like we lucked out, but . . . “Someone stirred stuff up, but come on. Sammy makes dresses.”
Shaking his head, my brother straightened out the tight, dark red shirt he had on. It showed off his muscles the same way mine did, though his tattoos were less obvious. He was a fan of the yakuza, and his tats remained just beyond of the edges of his cuffs and collar. Beneath, he was a sprawling mass of ink.
I wanted to explain myself further—who was he to judge me—but the DJ’s voice boomed over the music. “All right, gentlemen! Top of the hour, time for our new set! Here’s Gina, Rosey, and Melina!”
The new girls took their spots on the stage. I looked on as the glimmering bodies gyrated, asses bouncing and tits swinging. If I’d had any doubt, I knew it now. Sammy Sage was more interesting to me than any other woman. Nothing was better than a strip club to prove it, though I was sure no one else would think that was romantic.
But Sammy wanted nothing to do with me. She’d decided I was bad news, and honestly, she wasn’t wrong.
I didn’t blame her . . . I was just determined to change her mind.
A waitress swung our way. She was a cute thing, her blonde hair long and smooth down her back. The corner of her nose had one of those tiny piercings. “Drinks?” she asked, peering between me and my brother. “Anything for you, Thorne?”
“Nah,” he said, smiling so his teeth showed. “I’m good, Scotch.”
I had to look twice to make sure I’d heard right. But there, stitched into the right side of her figure-hugging top, was the name Scotch. It had to be a fake name, which, among the array of strippers called Swanky and Sensual, wasn’t so strange. She gave me a quick smile before she strolled off to manage the crowd.
“Listen,” Hawthorne said, motioning for everyone else to go. Once we were alone, I sat beside him on the couch. “Felt and Robert are digging around to find out who ratted on us. They knew where our guns were stored, that means they spent time at our home. Dad thinks it was one of the Deep Shots.”
“Deep Shots.” I snorted. “More like the Deep Shits. How could they even slip inside?” The Deep Shots were an old gang, but they hadn’t been on our radar until they’d changed leadership about a year ago. After that, they’d been starting trouble all over our city. It had always been small stuff before; having the guts to call a cop raid on us was new.
Thorne lifted one of his eyebrows. It was as dark as the rest of his thick hair. When I was younger, I used to think Hawthorne was full of shadows, that they peeked out of him wherever they could. “Frannie invited so many people. We were too cocky, Brother. Anyone could have gotten inside and dug around, told the cops where to look.”
“But why?” That was bothering me the most. We didn’t have a great history with the Deep Shots, but why try and fuck us over, was it just for kicks?
Hawthorne sank deeper into the couch, his knees spreading. He looked for all the world like a king on a throne. It was a heavy reminder of who we were . . . what ran in our blood. “Dad has some ideas.”
“He told you but not me?” I bristled, fingers digging into the couch.
“If you had been here an hour ago,” he said bluntly, “he would have told you himself. Talk to him tonight. I’m not going to cross him by spilling his thoughts.”
My mood was already sour, this just tipped me over. Pushing myself to my feet, I hooked my thumbs into my belt loops. “Anything else, Brother?”
Those inky eyes fixed on me. He had a deadly stare, and even after years of seeing it, I still felt a twinge of unease. “Watch that girl.”
“I—what?”
“You’re into her anyway. If you really think she’s not the mole, not connected to the Deep Shots or anyone after us, then keep an eye on her. Find out for sure.”
My tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth. I wished I’d asked for a drink from Scotch. “All right. If you think it’s best.”
He gave me a knowing smirk. “As if you wouldn’t have done it anyway. You act like you aren’t incredibly obvious, Kain.”
“Isn’t that what makes me so likable?” Reaching down, I gripped his hand and gave a firm shake. “Be safe, Thorne.”
“Look around,” he said, grinning. “I’m surrounded by soft things. What’s safer?”
Weaving back through the growing crowd—it always got busier as night came on—I nodded at the bouncers as I exited. The cool air ate away the stripper-ass smell, but it would take a few minutes for the music to leave my ears.
She told me to leave her alone. I couldn’t. I didn’t want to anyway, but . . .
Now I had no choice.
Will she understand? There was a good chance this would push a bigger wall between Sammy and me. I’d have to take that chance, because the other option meant I’d never talk to her again. Never hold her . . . and never kiss her.
My bike was waiting for me.
On one side of the handlebars, her shoes sparkled.
- CHAPTER SEVEN -
SAMMY
Though I knocked first, my key was already clicking in the lock. “Mom?” Pushing into the tiny apartment, I looked around. “It’s me!”
I would have lived with her if she’d allowed me. Her place was too small for the both of us, but I’d have done it. As weak as my mom was, though, she was eternally proud.
“Samantha!” she said, leaning her head around the corner of the bathroom. “You’re finally here!” Her attention went to my bare feet and my frazzled hair and dress. “What happened? Are you okay?”
“Me? Are you okay?” Dropping my purse, I hurried toward her. I’d come as fast as I could, not even bothering to change clothes. Opening the door, I saw that she was sitting naked in the tub. “Did you fall?”
“Oh, it’s nothing.” Chuckling in her throat, she covered herself. “Just a little slip during my shower. I turned the water off.”
“How long have you been stuck in here?” Her eyes met mine, then moved away. “Oh, Mom. I’m so sorry.” Yanking down a towel, I wrapped her in it, then helped her stand, guiding her over the lip of the tub.
She put her weight on me just as long as she had to. Then she let go, hugging the towel tight. “Did you go to a wedding or something?”
“I . . . did, actually. It’s a long story. Did you eat?” I didn’t let her answer, I just headed into the kitchen while she walked into her room to get clothed. Shouting, I said, “You must have missed your medicine this afternoon, too. I’ll get it all set for you.”