Losing Control(38)
“He’s got us by the short and curlies, then?” I rest my forehead against the door feeling drained and not a little frustrated. “You need the money to pay for some bad gambling debt that your mom racked up, and I need it to move to an apartment with an elevator.”
“Yeah, tell me the rest of it.” Malcolm leans against the door, and it’s clear that I’m not getting out until I give more detail. So I tell him everything. The zoo. Lunch at the Boathouse. The private room at NYPH. Everything except where Ian finger-fucked me twice. I leave that part out.
“I don’t know much about him,” Malcolm admits. “I’ve never done any work for him in the past. His kind only comes to me for one or two things and whatever his vices, currently I don’t have the goods to meet his demands.”
“Until now.”
“Right.” His face shows something darker than greed this time. I don’t really want to know either. Ian’s game with me is confusing because he can’t just want me. He must need something from me, but I’ve offered to do his job. Maybe he doesn’t trust me. Tonight I’ll try to convince him that no matter what it is that he wants done, I’ll never tell.
As we walk out, the three in the living room are engaged in some heavy petting. Malcolm’s eyes grow hooded. Time to go.
He helps me buckle my helmet and then chucks me under the chin. “Be as safe as you can.”
I head across the river toward Midtown, each revolution of the pedals getting heavier and heavier as I get closer to the Central Towers. Guilt bears down and so does insidious want. Would it be so terrible to stay in that posh apartment, I wonder. Until my mom gets better? It’s not like I’m so full of morality. After all, I’m nothing more than a drug mule for my second job. Can’t I suppress my pride to allow my mom to sleep on a bed with a view of Central Park and ride an elevator every day?
But at what cost? What does Ian want from me? The vague details provided by Malcolm don’t give me much peace of mind. And the man himself? He’s been infuriatingly closemouthed.
Chapter 15
WHEN I GET UP TO THE apartment complex, it’s late. I’m wondering if he’s gone by now, but the door at the end of the hall swings inward as soon as the elevator doors slide open. Ian stands framed in the doorway, fists at his side and a muscle jumping at the left side of his clenched jaw. His anger confuses me.
“Why are you upset?” I push past him.
He follows closely and kicks the door shut. “Your mom said you’d get home at ten and it’s half past midnight.”
He grabs my bike and we struggle a bit before I decide I’ll likely end up on my ass if I don’t let go. Giving in, I release the metal frame and watch as he lifts the bike onto the wall mount.
“What business is it of yours? You kidnapped my mother, but you aren’t the boss—” I pause because he is kind of my boss now. Trying for a more restrained tone, I ask, “How is she anyway?”
“She’s asleep. She was worried, by the way. She doesn’t like that you work for Malcolm.” His voice sounds labored, as if speaking in a normal tone is a chore for him. Even that gives me a petty sense of satisfaction. “We called.”
“I ran out of battery around ten. Sounds like you had a real cozy chat.” In the kitchen, I hunt around for food inside the refrigerator, which is packed with fruits and vegetables but none of the awesome Thai we had last night. “Where’s the leftovers?”
“Leftovers?” He clearly has no idea what those are.
My stomach growls and I realize I haven’t eaten in hours. “You know, from the Thai food you had delivered?”
He looks befuddled. “Why do you want old Thai food? This is a full service building. There’s a chef on call twenty-four-seven. What do you want?” He holds out his phone. I finally notice he is out of his rumpled suit and is now attired in jeans, no shoes, and a blue T-shirt that’s so worn that it’s nearly white.
Food, Tiny. My stomach rumbles again. “Um, a grilled cheese sandwich and tomato soup.”
Eyebrows raised, he calls in the order. What a place. I walk over to look out into the dark park. Without the sun, the dense foliage looks eerie.
“How did you explain all of this?” I signal toward the living room. Mom had to have questions about the private room, the volunteer, and now this amazing apartment overlooking Central Park.
“I told her you were doing me a favor,” he says, joining me at the windows. “That this place has been unoccupied for several months, and I’ve been holding it off sale as a favor until the building is over half occupied.”