Obsession (A Bad Boy's Secret Baby)(54)

I eyed him skeptically. “You don't strike me as the benevolent type, Roach. What do you want from me?”

“I want this arrangement to end. I want my debt with you cleared. No more favors. Every time you come into town, you drag trouble to my fucking doorstep, and when you leave I'm stuck cleaning up after you. I'm a legitimate business owner now, I can't be dealing with—”

“Legitimate?” My abrupt snort cut short his self-righteous rambling. Yeah, and I have a bridge in Brooklyn to sell you, you fucking con man. “Tell me again who caused that fire at your old motel?”

Silence.

His mouth closed into a scowl. Suddenly, defending his own honor didn't seem as important to him. The only thing that mattered to Roach was that he was insured for arson. Ethics were disposable to men like him.

He swallowed, cleared his throat, and tried to salvage his dignity by changing the subject back to the situation at hand. “Do we have a deal?”

I'd heard that question asked countless times by dozens of people in my run with the Steel Veins, and every time it felt like a victory, like an agreement reached where I, or the club, came out on top.

This time was different. I couldn't place it, but everything felt wrong. Why? This was the easiest way to smooth things over with the Knights. Once they had what they wanted, the tension on the Veins would lesson and they could vote me back in without fear of retaliation. By the end of the week I could be back under their protection and living life on my terms again.

This was everything I wanted, wrapped up in a nice bow.

I opened my mouth to agree, but a flash of doubt skittered across my heart. I gritted my teeth instead, exhaling forcefully through my nose. Not only did it feel like I was behind the eight ball, but also that I was betting with somebody else's chips. It was very unsettling and not how I usually did business.

Flora.

I thought of the girl locked in the room upstairs and felt guilty. Tash, the little Irish number I'd met a few days earlier, slipped into my head as easily as she'd slipped out of those denim shorts. Yeah, I'd felt guilty then, too...

Right before taking a brick to the back of the skull and getting robbed.

I wasn't a hero. I had to stop pretending, or it'd get me killed.

Finally coming to terms with what I knew I had to do, I glared at the weaselly man.

“Set it up.”





Chapter Five


Flora

I didn't know how long I spent under that cleansing torrent of hot water. I just knew that, when I finally turned everything off, my limbs were swollen. Wrinkles crawled over my fingertips, the skin around my nails white and loose.

I looked like I'd been lost at sea for days and I...

I didn't care.

Shoving the curtain aside, I snatched a towel and rubbed myself raw. If I could have erased all the evidence of my kidnapping, I'd have done it. The red needle marks itched, no matter how hard I scrubbed at them.

The wounds represented both my mistake, and my success. Yes, succumbing to Fiddle's drugged drink had gotten me onto Claudine's path, but the scars were terrifying. I'd resisted every offer to try heroin as a teen. In my shitty, bored town, the kids sucked that stuff up.

The pressure had been constant at every turn. From everybody except my sister.

Claudine.

Grimacing, I squeezed my shoulders, eyeing myself in the mirror. My sister was an addict, but she'd always insisted I stay away from such things. Without her, I can't say I would have been strong enough to resist. Especially when things were extra depressing at home.

My bare toes touched something rough. At my feet, my clothes lay in a pile. Now that I was clean, I could really see how filthy I'd been. The stale, sour scent of sweat came off of everything like a summer heat.

I nudged the clothes again, sighing. It's like I shed my skin. I liked that idea. Didn't snakes only leave their skin behind because they'd grown larger? I didn't feel larger, not exactly, but I did feel different.

Maybe some kinds of growth can't be measured so simply, I mused. Kneeling, I checked the pockets of my jacket. My phone and wallet were long gone, someone had taken those early on—probably Fiddle. Swallowing nervously, I dug deeper, my anxiety growing. Come on, come on. Finally, I felt the hard corner of something flat. Breathing through my nose, I lifted the photo into the flickering bathroom light.

Yellowed on the edges, bent and crinkled, it was a wonder the picture had held up. There weren't many photos of Claudine and I together, we weren't that kind of family. Having this one had been a solid comfort over the years.

Now, it was my lifeline.

Hugging it to my chest, I brushed my thumb over the surface and held it in front of me. In it, the two of us were smiling, Claudine wearing the most ridiculously bright purple lipstick ever. She was always the one to glow, to stand out. I'd never been jealous, though part of me did envy her lack of fear.