Текст книги "Blow"

Автор книги: Kim Karr

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Logan stepped back and lifted my chin. “Hey, that doesn’t mean I don’t want you. You know I do.” He let his words trail off. “You know it.”

Obviously my disappointment had shown in my body language. Yes, he’d said that, but I couldn’t help but feel unwanted. The night had started out with expectation in his words. And now this. What had happened? Had I shown him too much of the real me?

When I didn’t respond, because frankly I didn’t know what to say, he stepped into me, close again, so close that there was only a breath between us. He stared at me, really stared at me, for the longest time. When I blinked, his hands shifted and he grabbed my face. Crashing his mouth to mine, he forced me to part my lips.

Electricity sparked. I felt dizzy. Even though his mouth was moving in a harsh manner, his lips felt soft, tender even. His tongue met mine and the minute it happened, I felt a tingling travel down my body all the way to my toes.

I couldn’t help the low moan that escaped my throat. Desire was taking me over, but I tried to stop it. He’d just told me he wasn’t coming in.

This was just a kiss.

A good-night kiss.

But oh, what a good-night kiss.

Whether it was on purpose or simply reflex, his hand traveled down my body, sending me all kinds of mixed signals. One signal that was quite clear was that this feeling, whatever it was, had consumed him as well.

Whatever his intention, it felt good, even if it was just the slightest of touches. Unexpectedly, he found my hand and laced his fingers between mine. His lips still moved against mine with a fervor I savored. Somehow, he managed to drag our hands inside my coat and under my blouse. We were skin to skin—his knuckles against my bare stomach.

Yes, I wanted him. I wanted him like I hadn’t wanted anyone before. Enough to let him take me in the doorway of my home, but then I remembered he had already said no. No, just that he wouldn’t come in.

As his kisses grew harder and his grip tighter, I knew if I didn’t pull away he might just try to put his cock inside me right here.

The worst part? I might have just let him. “You have to stop,” I whispered against his lips.

A deep sigh escaped his throat and then he tugged at my lip one last time. My lips felt swollen, but I missed his mouth on them.

“I know, but I don’t want to,” he whispered back.

Masking my disappointment, I gave him a slight smile. “And we already determined I have to get to bed.”

With a drop of his forehead to mine, he breathed heavily. I was doing the same. His hands, though, stayed where they were, still under my blouse. He hadn’t forgotten they were there, either. Purposefully, he swiped his thumb across my abdomen and played with the waistband of my leggings.

With an ache between my legs that was anything but sweet, I gave him one last brush of my lips.

This was the hardest good night.

I craved his touch.

I wanted to feel him skin to skin.

All of him.

But I did have a big day ahead of me and needed to get some rest.

Besides, I was confused. And after that kiss, I knew if he came in, there wouldn’t be any sleep. So I did what I didn’t want to do. I took the one step up and broke his hold of me. “Logan McPherson, I had a really nice time with you tonight.” It was all I could say.

He stepped back and shoved his hands in his pockets. “Elle Sterling, the feeling is mutual.”

I smiled at him sweetly.

Logan didn’t return my smile but instead turned and walked toward his Rover, getting in and driving away without ever turning back.

We didn’t exchange numbers or make plans to see each other again. It was when I realized this that I figured it out—we had both known all along that it could never be.

And what I’d thought was a good-night kiss was really a goodbye kiss.

LOGAN

F uck, fuck, fuck.

I slammed the wheel.

I wanted her. Wanted her more than I had wanted anyone in a very long time. I had tried to turn it off. My emotions were like a chick’s.

Hot.

Cold.

Up.

Down.

Where was my fucking head? I had to stay focused. I knew I needed to get to my father and find out what Patrick had planned for O’Shea, but then after that kiss, I wasn’t able to pull away.

She was doing something to me that I didn’t understand.

Twisting me in a way that I shouldn’t have wanted to be twisted.

Thank God she had come to her senses.

It was late when I opened the door to the house that had once belonged to my grandfather. Killian McPherson had lived here for almost fifty years, and half of those years were with his wife. Sadly, my grandmother died of cancer when I was five. All I remember about her is that she took me to church and taught me how to pray. And that when we went, her white hair was always pulled tightly back and she wore the same blue dress. That woman was the love of his life and he never remarried. In fact, he never brought another woman to this house, and he lived here alone until my father moved in once he and my mother divorced.

All the lights were off. “Pop, you here?”

There wasn’t any answer. I looked in his office. It was empty. I ran up the stairs to his room. He wasn’t there. I came back down and opened the door to the family room. Nothing. He wasn’t back yet.

I flicked on the television and sat on the couch.

I’d wait for him.

A hand on my shoulder woke me. “Logan, what are you doing here?”

I blinked and looked at my watch. It was almost one in the morning. “I came by to talk to you. Why are you home so late?”

He rubbed his hands on his pants and sat on the chair beside me. “Patrick wasn’t at Lucy’s when I arrived, but he told Tommy I was to wait.”

Lucy’s was not only the largest but also the best-known strip club in Boston. It was also the Blue Hill Gang’s headquarters.

It was only one of twenty other strip joints that fronted Patrick’s illegal operations run under the corporation eerily named All My Women. Sick fuck. The strip clubs, or gentlemen’s clubs as my pop preferred to call them, were named after women all right, but the women were cartoon characters. There was Betty’s, Veronica’s, Wilma’s, and a slew more I couldn’t recall.

Tommy, the prick, was Patrick’s son and just as big of a douche as his father. He and I never did see eye to eye, and while he had reason to hate me, I had reason to hate him more.

Worried, I clicked on the lamp sitting on the table and studied my father. “Have you been drinking?”

He shook his head. “No, but I wanted to.”

I narrowed my eyes at him. “Did the prick pour you one?”

He nodded. “Left the bottle on the bar in case I changed my mind.”

It wasn’t the first time.

Scowling, I let my anger out. “Son of a fucking bitch. That’s it. You’re not going there without me anymore.”

My father slammed his palm on the table beside him and the lamp shook. “Logan, I can take care of myself. I told you I want you to stay out of this. And besides, you know you can’t set foot inside there or anywhere near that little prick.”

Knowing he was right, and feeling empathetic after my outburst, I said, “Don’t you get it? Now that Gramps is gone he’s trying to break you.”

My father’s jaw clenched. “Let him try. I’m not as weak as he thinks.”

“Pop, you have to get out before you can’t. Things are different now. The stakes are so much higher with Gramps gone. He’s got you doing things you’ve never done and you know you shouldn’t be doing them.”

He sat back in the chair. “You don’t think I know that?”

I grunted, “I’m not so sure.”

His voice rose. “Well, I do. And you also know I can’t get out.”

Frustrated, I stood and went to glance out the window. “It’s been twelve years. I think that’s long enough to be Patrick’s personal counsel, liaison, or whatever the fuck he calls you.”

My father leaned his head back and shut his eyes. “Son, you know it doesn’t work that way.”

Practically growling now, I spat, “Fuck him and fuck the way he thinks things should work.”

My plan had better be successful because if it isn’t, I just might kill the motherfucker. Then where would I be?

“A life for a life,” my father muttered.

Feeling like I might explode, I punched the wall. My hand started to throb instantly. “Fuck.”

Shaking his head, my father went into the kitchen and came back with a bag of frozen peas. “You need to calm down. Put this on your hand and have a seat.”

I took it and sat on the couch. In a much calmer voice, I said, “Tell me exactly why you went to O’Shea’s like a madman today and what he told you when you were there.”

My old man let out a heavy sigh. “I don’t know, Logan. There were a few factors that played into my demeanor today, but mostly I’m just tired of people getting hurt. And if this son of a bitch thinks he’s going to get a pass from Patrick because he’s blaming his wife or because his old man Mickey O’Shea, Patrick, and me grew up together, he needed to know neither means shit to Patrick. I wanted to make that crystal clear right off the bat.”

“Did you get his attention?”

“I don’t know. I hope I made him weigh his options because if he doesn’t stop thinking out of his ass, he might not even get enough time to try to right the wrong he claims his wife caused.”

Sympathy?

I got it.

He didn’t want any undue harm to come to anyone else.

And finally, I was learning something that mattered. “What makes you speculate O’Shea thinks he might get a pass?”

My old man steepled his hands. “It’s just a feeling I got on the phone.”

I treaded lightly. “Tell me more.”

“It’s the way he’s handling this whole situation. He’s not stupid. Either he thinks he can get out of this or he has an ace up his sleeve.”

“What do you think the ace might be?”

“Who knows? His wife, maybe, or the source.”

I gave him a questioning look.

“Some time ago, I was in a meeting with Patrick when Tommy burst in and announced he’d discovered an underground drug operation taking place on Blue Hill turf with a woman as the front man. Patrick didn’t ask questions. Just told Tommy to take care of it, find the source, and squash it.”

“Patrick leaves something like that for Tommy to take care of? Are you kidding me?”

“There’s been so much underground drug activity going on over the last few years, Patrick is tired of dealing with it.”

“But he chose to lead the gang.”

“I know. But Patrick only wants to deal with the girls, the goods, the numbers, and protection. The rest is up to Tommy.”

“So what happened after Patrick told Tommy to take care of it?”

“Months later, Tommy shows up out of the blue and tells Patrick he tried to find the source by playing the chick, but it didn’t work out the way he thought. Patrick flipped out and told Tommy he didn’t want to hear it, he just wants him to take care of it. Later I asked around. It turned out the girl not only somehow lost the drugs, but she lost the cash Tommy had paid her for them as well, and the worst part is, shortly after that, she went missing.”

“Who was the chick?” I already knew the answer.

My old man closed his eyes. “O’Shea’s wife.”

Interesting. Maybe she wasn’t in rehab like Elle had said. “Do you believe she somehow lost the drugs and money?”

He opened his eyes. “Do you?”

“It sounds like she was working with someone who double-crossed her or she stashed them both for later and then disappeared.”

My old man nodded in agreement.

“Where does O’Shea think she is?”

“He says he knows as much as we do. She just up and disappeared. He claims to have known nothing about the operation she was running, and says he doesn’t know where the drugs or the money are that she told Tommy she lost.”

I scrubbed my jaw. “Do you believe him?”

He flung me a look. “No reason not to. He hasn’t been involved in Blue Hill affairs at all—ever.”

“But?”

“But, no reason to believe him, either. The whole thing is weird.”

“What exactly does Patrick want from him?”

“He hasn’t told me, but my guess is he wants both the money and the drugs as compensation. I overheard Tommy say he wants the girl.”

“All three? That’s insane.”

“O’Shea’s wife disappeared with Blue Hill money and what were also, technically, their drugs. Patrick wants retribution.”

“And O’Shea. What was his answer when you told him his payday would be coming?”

“He didn’t have one. He kept quiet.”

“But he knows he needs to deliver something soon?”

“He does. I told him twice. He also knows that if he doesn’t, something bad is going to happen. All I can say is, he’s been warned.”

“And even after you delivered the message, he was still acting calm and cool, like it was no big deal?”

My father nodded.

“Do you believe he has a huge trump card to present if he doesn’t deliver all three things? Because, come on, he can’t be that stupid.”

His shoulders lifted. “He could be just buying time, hoping his wife turns back up before the deadline.”

“Or maybe he does have something in his back pocket as you mentioned earlier, like the missing drugs and money that his wife stashed away.”

He pursed his lips. “Yeah, could be either. Not sure.”

“Does he have money to front if all else fails?”

My father shrugged. “I can’t imagine he has the kind of money he’s going to need.”

I didn’t know O’Shea, but I could see his arrogance a mile away and I knew if he didn’t lose it, he was going to get someone killed. “What do you think Patrick will settle for?”

“It’s possible O’Shea knows who the big supplier is and plans to spill it to Patrick when the time comes.”

My eyes widened. “Would that be enough to satisfy Patrick?”

“In the short term, maybe. It depends on who it is and what O’Shea knows about him.”

My head was spinning.

When Patrick declared O’Shea’s payday, all the cards would be on the table, but until then, we could only speculate.

Putting all the unknowns aside for now, I focused on the known. “Someone slashed her tire.” I didn’t have to clarify who the her was. After what happened earlier, I was certain he knew.

“You sure?”

“Yeah, I’m sure it was slashed. I saw it.”

“Logan, you don’t know it was Patrick or Tommy who did it.”

With a shake of my head, I admitted, “It would be a huge coincidence if it wasn’t.”

“Listen, son, I have to say, I don’t think Patrick knows about her.”

I looked up. “What did Patrick say to you when he finally showed tonight?”

“Not that much.”

“Then what was the summons for?”

My father sat beside me. “Just flexing his control. Nothing out of the ordinary. He wanted to know how my visit with O’Shea went so he could plan his next move. Nothing we couldn’t have taken care of over the phone.”

“Did he ask about the girl?”

My old man shook his head. “Like I said, O’Shea’s wife has been missing for three months. Whoever that woman is that was in his office tonight, she couldn’t have been her. O’Shea wouldn’t be that stupid to have her walking around in the open when he knows she’s wanted by the Blue Hill Gang. That girl must have been a nanny or girlfriend.”

I recoiled at the word girlfriend and couldn’t stop the jealousy that spiked in my veins. “She’s not his wife,” I said flatly, trying to pull my shit together.

My father scrubbed his jaw. “That’s what I thought. Like I said, he’s not that stupid.”

“She’s not the nanny or girlfriend, either.”

His eyes narrowed on me. “Logan.”

“Look, she has nothing to do with this. I want her left alone.”

“You don’t know she’s not involved.”

He was right, I didn’t—but my gut told me she was an innocent. I ran a frustrated hand through my hair. “If you thought she was his wife, what’s to prevent Patrick from thinking the same thing?”

“Nothing.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought too.”

“Who is she, Logan?”

“His wife’s sister. She’s new in town.”

“And you know this information how?”

Confessing, I answered, “I ran into her.”

He narrowed his eyes once again. “You ran into her?”

“Yeah, I did.”

“And you don’t think she’s involved?” he snapped.

For once, I stayed calm. “No, I don’t think she is. What makes you think Patrick doesn’t know about her?”

My father shrugged. “I stayed clear of mentioning her and Patrick didn’t say jack about her. Just mentioned the missing wife. Asked if she’d been found and if O’Shea said anything about her.”

Clearly, my interest had been evident. “What did you tell him?”

He drew himself up. “I told him the wife hadn’t been located as far as I knew and that O’Shea was still claiming to know nothing about her disappearance. But Logan, Patrick already knew about the baby girl.”

“Do you think he has someone besides you on O’Shea?”

He looked out the window. “It’s possible, but baby news is easy to find out.”

“If he does have someone on O’Shea, maybe he’s following anyone close to him and that’s who slashed her tire?”

He pulled the curtains closed. “Like I said, it’s possible, or maybe some punk on the street did it and you’re overreacting.”

I was done with that conversation. I knew I wasn’t overreacting. “Maybe. Did Patrick say anything else tonight that mattered?”

With a deep sigh, he told me, “He declared the payday.”

“What? When?”

“He’s giving O’Shea until next Friday. Seven days. If he doesn’t have the money, the drugs, and his wife by then, I’m to deliver a message.”

Troubled, I squeezed the frozen bag with my fingers. “What’s the message?”

A weighted silence fell between us.

“Pop, tell me,” I said softly.

Shifting his eyes toward the closed curtains seemed to make it easier for him to speak. “He’ll let me know.”

“Cocksucker,” I muttered.

The television was still on and my father stared at it. “I want you to go back to New York and stay there. I’m fine. I can handle the client load and I can handle Patrick.”

I leaned forward and put my elbows on my knees. “I can’t do that.”

Cautious now, he spoke softly. “Why?”

I looked up. “Because of her. I can’t explain it, but I don’t want her or that little girl hurt.”

He drew in a breath. “They aren’t your concern.”

“I can’t leave.”

“Just say it, Logan. The woman looks like Emily.”

Unable to stand the pain of the memories, I pushed up and headed for the doorway. I knew that was coming, but still, I wasn’t going there.

My father’s reaction was to follow me. He just wasn’t going to let it go that easy. He also knew I’d never stand in the kitchen willingly and talk about it, so he had limited time to make his point.

But feeling like I owed him an explanation, I stopped just before I opened the door. “Yes, she does. But my reasons for being concerned about her aren’t what you’re thinking.”

I could tell he didn’t believe me.

“Pop, I’m not attracted to her because she looks like Emily, but I am attracted to her. And I’m afraid for her because she does look like Emily. I’m afraid of what will happen if Patrick—or worse, Tommy—notices the similarity.”

“Yeah, I am too,” he sighed.

That wasn’t reassuring at all.

ELLE

Cries in the night.

That’s what I remembered most from my childhood. The root of my self-pronounced aversion to desire. With the memories ripped open so unexpectedly, I had a hard time sleeping.

Nightmares.

My nightmares.

They kept waking me up, forcing me to remember what I’ve tried so hard to forget. My fists gripped the sheets and I fought the panic they evoked, but it was too late—they’d already surfaced.

“I asked you to take your clothes off,” he barked.

“The doctor said we should wait at least two weeks.”

“It’s close enough.”

“But Henry, the doctor said—”

“Do you think I give a shit what advice some doctor is giving you? You’re my wife and I’ll fuck you whenever I want to.”

“Have you been drinking, Henry?”

“This isn’t about my drinking.”

“But it is. I’m not sure you’re thinking clearly. It hasn’t been that long since I lost the baby.”

He huffed in frustration. “Susan. Not this again. It’s the same thing every night. Now I’ve waited long enough. Take your clothes off or I’ll rip them off.”

My mother protested. “Henry, I’m not ready.”

Under his breath he muttered, “You never are.”

“That’s not true. I’m just not sure I’m up to it.”

“Fine, then lift your nightgown and turn around.”

My mother sighed.

My father’s voice was soft when he spoke again. “Come on, baby, I need to be inside you. It’s been weeks. You know how crazy I get when I can’t have you.”

I was confused by the silence, but then a few minutes later, I heard the mattress shift.

I was six and in my bed, clutching my teddy bear. The walls were so thin. When the creaking started, my big sister crawled in beside me and hugged me. “Don’t listen, Gabby. Don’t listen,” she whispered. She always blocked out the noises at night. I never could. I didn’t like to hear my daddy angry and my mommy upset.

There was a thumping against the wall and my mother started to cry. I couldn’t help but listen. I wanted to help her.

“What’s he doing to her, Lizzy? Why is she crying?” I whispered.

“Shhh . . . close your eyes. Think happy thoughts. Don’t listen.”

I tried, but nothing could block out my father’s words. “I provide for you. Why can’t you just take care of my needs without all this horseshit all the time?”

“I try, Henry, I do. I can’t help how I feel, though,” she whimpered.

Skin slapped against skin. “You like it this way. Tell me you do.”

“Henry, please,” my mother cried.

Sweat covered my body. I wanted to climb through the walls and tell him to leave her alone. “We should go help her,” I told my sister.

“No, never do that,” my sister warned. “Do you hear me?”

I nodded.

I heard my father laugh. “That’s it, beg for it.”

I wondered if everything was okay now, but then I heard the thumping against the wall, and it was getting louder and coming quicker.

“Please stop,” my mother cried.

He let out a huge sigh. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. Could you please just stop complaining? Every time, Susan. Every time it’s something.”

“It hurts.”

“You know, Susan, if you can’t give me what I want, then you can damn well spread your legs when I tell you to or take it this way.”

“Henry, please. It’s not like that.”

“Fuck, can’t you give me anything I ask for?”

Her sobs grew. “Please don’t blame me for losing the baby.”

The thumping stopped.

“Who else should I blame? You lost my son. And now that it’s time to try for another, you’re not ready. How will the Sterling name carry on? This is on you, Susan.”

“The doctor said we should consult with her before we decide on another pregnancy. She says my diabetes is continuing to weaken my kidney function and the miscarriages are a result of that.”

“Fuck that. You’re a strong woman. She’s just being overcautious. They’re all like that.”

The thumping started up again and this time my mother was crying even louder. I could tell she was in pain.

“What’s he doing to her?” I asked Lizzy again.

She was still squeezing her eyes shut. “Just something a husband and wife do together when they love each other.”

“But it doesn’t sound like Mommy likes it.”

“Sometimes you do what you have to for love, Gabby. You’ll see.”

The pounding ceased. “Stop your fucking crying. Just turn around and put me in your mouth,” he barked.

The mattress shifted again. Then my father started moaning. “That’s it. That’s it baby. See, you do know how to make me happy.”

My father, the well-respected General. He demanded of his family what he expected from his men—order, discipline, and obedience.

He was vile.

Evil.

Sick.

A sex addict and a control freak.

And my mother was no match for him.

Sweat covered me as I fought to block the memories, but they wouldn’t stop assaulting me.

Lizzy and I were asleep in our room.

We were in England and I was almost eight.

That day we’d run through the meadow near our house and picked hundreds of dandelions. My mother wasn’t feeling well and we’d brought them to her. We’d also put some in vases in our room and in the kitchen, too.

My mother had a small baby bump; she always seemed to have one, but it never got much bigger than it was at that time. Her diabetes seemed to hinder each pregnancy that came after my birth.

I heard the front door open and the sound of my father’s boots. “Susan!” he bellowed. He was used to my mother waiting up for him. She never went to bed without him.

My mother called to him. “I’m in our bedroom, Henry.”

His footfalls echoed down the hall. “You went to bed?” he sneered.

The bed squeaked. My mother sitting up, I assumed. “I’m sorry. I was really tired. I left your dinner on the stove.”

“I’m not hungry,” he said.

Everything was quiet for a bit and then I heard our door lock. I knew what that meant and anger welled deep within me. I ran to it and turned the knob. “Daddy?” I called.

A minute later I heard my father. “You went to bed without me,” he said again, but this time it wasn’t a question.

My mother answered, “Henry, I’m sorry.”

My father was eerily silent.

“Daddy?” I called again.

Lizzy grabbed me and covered my mouth. “Gabby, you have to be quiet or he’ll use the belt again. You know the rules. Go to bed and don’t bother him and Mommy.”

I glared at her, but her eyes were squeezed shut. She was doing what she always did—blocking it out. I didn’t care how many times he told me I was misbehaving for screaming out in the middle of the night or for pounding on the door, feigning I had to use the bathroom. There were times I just couldn’t take it.

“Henry, please, not tonight,” my mother begged.

It sounded so familiar.

My father said nothing, but soon we heard the familiar thump. It seemed to go on for hours that night. I couldn’t stop crying. I cried a tear for every one that my mother shed.

I hated him.

After a long while, Lizzy opened her eyes. She grabbed one of the vases and opened a window. “Come on, Gabby. Make a wish.”

I walked over to her. “We have to help Mommy.”

“We can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because it will make things worse. All we can do is wish we could.” She handed me the vase she had in her hand. “Here, take one.”

I plucked one of the dandelions from the water.

“Blow. Just blow. It will make everything better,” she whispered.

I knew it wouldn’t.

And it never did make anything better but after that night, every time we were locked in our room, Lizzy would open the window and pretend she was blowing on a dandelion. She was able to escape into another world that way.

I never could.

One after the other, the nightmares of my childhood kept coming. I couldn’t block them out. He was a monster who demanded more of my mother than she could give. I might have been the one who killed her, but he drained the life right out of her.

Finally, I sat up in my bed and turned the light on. My body was covered in a cold sweat and I stripped my damp clothes off.

I hated that feeling of helplessness. How I’d wanted so badly for my mother to stop crying. For my father to stop what he was doing to her. So many nights. So many times my father had locked my sister and me in our room and taken my mother in ways that let him have full control. His driving need sickened me.

Sometimes he was loud, sometimes not. My mother would beg him to be quiet, but it was his house and he’d do as he pleased. And that’s just what he always did. Sometimes it was fast; sometimes it went on for hours. It was always worse after a miscarriage. To this day, I still have no idea how many miscarriages my mother had.

When I was younger, I was terrified of the cries in the night; unlike my sister, I wasn’t able to block them out by pretending to make wishes on dandelions.

As I grew, though, that changed. Anger ate away at me and I found myself spending my time praying I wouldn’t turn out like him. After all, my sister had. And addictive behaviors were hereditary. Funny how I’d worried I’d be a sex addict. Nothing could be farther from the truth.

In fact, it wasn’t until Charlie and I broke apart that I really understood that I could repress desire. That was not healthy either, though. It bred loneliness in a way I hadn’t really noticed until tonight, when Logan had lit me up from the inside and I realized just how alone I was.

Tossing and turning, I knew sleep was impossible, so I got up. Moving around, I felt uneasy and found myself crossing the room. For some reason, I peered out the window.

It was dark, but I swore I saw someone out there.

I squinted.

It wasn’t just someone that I saw.

My mind had to be playing tricks on me.