Owned: A Mafia Menage Romance(177)

“We worked it out last time. Remember, Carl? And Dave says you’re out of two-percent.”

Snatching my keys from the hall table, I rolled my cases out the door and slammed it behind me. I looked at the keys in my hand. Inhaling deeply, I dug the keys for the Jeep off the ring, then turned around and dropped the rest through the mail slot back into the apartment. I wouldn’t need them again.





CHAPTER 5


Getting the suitcases to the parking garage was slightly more challenging. I stared at the “Out of Order” sign on the elevator in disgust, then decided to just walk the bags up the ramps to the third level.

The garage was deserted. Most commuters had gone for the day and wouldn’t be back until after dinnertime. I listened to the sound of the suitcase wheels on the dirty concrete and tried not to think maudlin thoughts about my life crashing down around my ears.

Perspective, I demanded as I walked toward my car. You need perspective.

The rear gate on my 1995 Jeep Grand Cherokee slammed shut with a satisfying sound and I took my one-thousandth cleansing breath. Turning toward my driver’s side door, I realized I was parked next to Carl’s 2015 convertible Mini Cooper. Some part of me wanted to stab through the rag top with my keys. Drag a rock down his custom orange racing stripes? Slash his tires?

I shook my head and hopped into the Jeep’s driver’s seat, then fumbled around in the passenger’s side until I found a discarded envelope. Dragging a black Sharpie marker from my purse, I wrote: “YOU SUCK” and slipped it, facing in, under his wiper blades.

The big Jeep roared to life and blew musty, hot air and dust out of the vents immediately. I made a face and fiddled with the knobs, then cranked the window down hard and breathed the comparatively fresh air of the parking garage.

I drove slowly around the ramps, trying to keep the big truck from scraping against the low concrete overhangs and the shiny late-model cars. As I left, I gazed at the electric car charging station with envy. A tiny, electric car sounded fantastic, especially compared to the behemoth my father had left me. I would be able to find parking spaces on the street occasionally… Gas it up about three times a year instead of every other time I wanted to drive it… And they had all those space-shuttle-quality digital readouts on the dash. So shiny.

In all fairness to Carl, he had suggested I upgrade to a newer model car, but I couldn’t get over my sentimental attachment to the Jeep. I remembered taking it straight up the river banks in Michigan one summer, screeching with delight as my dad executed what seemed like death-defying, gravel-spitting turns up and down steep embankments.

I remembered sleeping across the big bench seat, wrapped in an old woolen army blanket as we drove endless miles to wherever: Wisconsin Dells, Chattanooga, Mammoth Caves… Anywhere we could pitch a tent and make a fire without someone calling the cops.

“Aw, Dad,” I sighed wistfully and drove the car south on Ashland Avenue, then turned left on Roscoe and left into the alley behind Melita’s house. I hopped out to punch the garage’s security code into the keypad, then hopped back in and drove the Jeep into her garage.

I’m sure she won’t mind, I thought as the garage door rumbled shut again. Pretty sure. Reasonably sure.

I left the alley and walked back to Ashland to hail a cab, my dress swishing around my thighs, my crotch weirdly alive and semi-aware in my panties, purring like a cat with every step. Somehow it seemed like it improved my posture, making me taller, longer, stronger. I felt like an animal, supremely connected to my body instead of just driving it around like it was a borrowed car.

The first cab I saw slowed immediately for my upraised arm and I got into the back seat, thumbing my phone’s face as I gave the driver the address.

I’m not coming back, I texted Melita.

Hold up what?? was her immediate reply.

Tell u everything later, I replied and stuffed the phone back in my purse even though I heard it start ringing. I knew she would call back and be pissed I didn’t pick up, but I was on a mission that I had to complete. Now. And if I thought about it too hard, I would just chicken out.





CHAPTER 6


I fluffed up my still-damp hair and stepped into the revolving glass doors. A blast of cool air shot up my dress and tickled my thighs as I walked into the cavernous marble atrium.

I could hear the sound of water trickling far off in a corner, shielded by a bamboo screen. Music and blue light filtered down from the skylights and somewhere I heard people walking, but couldn’t see them.

Looking around, I found the curved desk of the security guard and walked across an expanse of echoing tile to the uniformed guard. Holding myself as straight and confident as possible I simply asked for Mr. Jack. The security guard cocked his head at me slightly and consulted the clipboard on the desk.