Текст книги "Devil Smoke"

Автор книги: Max Henry

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Текущая страница: 5 (всего у книги 16 страниц)

LIFE GOES ON

Ryan

Running a last layer of red over my lips, I smack them together and give myself the onceover in the bathroom mirror. Show and shines organized by Eddie mean a lot of important people, and a lot of pretty girls. If I want to keep my place at Gunter’s side out of question, I need to look every part the Reich princess he wants me to be.

I draw the line at acting like one.

The day his old man picked me up and brought me back to the family’s small two-bedroom apartment was one hell of an eye-opener. I wouldn’t say I’d had a sheltered life, but I’d also never had to get mixed up with skinheads. Truth be told, there just weren’t many around where I grew up. So walking in to a house that had a four-foot swastika flag displayed proudly on the living room wall sure widened my eyes some. Hank was so damn chuffed with himself, saving a hungry girl from certain doom on the streets. I couldn’t work out at first if he did it out of personal gain, or if he genuinely wanted to help.

By the time he would sit me down at the table on Sundays with his boys to polish and shine his precious collection of Nazi memorabilia guns and knives, I figured it was the latter, and that I was as much a part of the family as his own flesh and blood.

These past twelve years have been some of the most unconventional, but also precious of my life. As dysfunctional and brainwashed as they are, Gunter and Tommy are the closest thing to a family I have left. And as unconventional as they are, they accept me for exactly who I am. Hank never tried to push his neo-Nazi beliefs on me, and in turn, neither do Gunter and Tommy. I don’t question why they choose to be so narrow minded, and they don’t tell me that I’m wrong not to agree. It was the perfect arrangement for us.

Until Eddie showed up.

“Looking good as always, Ryan,” Tommy says from the doorway.

He gives me a timid smile, and ducks his head to walk around me, snatching up his toothbrush from the cup on the basin.

“Thank you.” I smile in return, meeting his gaze in the mirror. “Dirty Pint when we get home tonight? You still owe me a game.” I narrow my gaze, and he hesitates, toothbrush in mouth. “What did you end up doing the other week? You never told me.” I pick up a last bobby pin and secure a loose section of hair.

“Ugh,” he moans around the brush. “I had to feed Easy’s dogs. He forgot again.”

“I’m so glad that idiot doesn’t have any kids. He’d be hopeless at looking after them.”

Tommy swishes and spits, rinsing his mouth out. “I don’t think the state would let him breed, even if he wanted to.”

“Probably a good thing, hey?” I give him a nudge in the arm.

He smiles, giving me a chuckle in return. “Been practicing your fake-as-fuck smile?”

“As always.” I show him the end product, grinning into the mirror.

“Perfect.” He chuckles. “Assholes won’t know what hit them.”

Our faces fall in unison as we stare into the mirror at one another.

I offer him a genuine, and understanding smile. “Let’s get this show on the road, huh?”

Tommy gives me a nod and heads out of the bathroom, leaving me to stare at my reflection once more. I’m the leading lady in this pantomime, giving an otherwise rough bunch a little bit of a feminine edge to sucker all the assholes Eddie deals with in. I’m the ice cream for his cherry pie, the extra dollop of cream with his cake.

Hank would never have exploited me like this, but then again, Hank never planned on going to jail and having some English bastard sweep in and take control of his kids.

Before Eddie, Hank and his boys were petty thieves. They kept to their own kind, and the rest of the outlaws in the area kept to themselves.

Eddie had other ideas. Two months after he arrived on the scene at the Red Lion, making friends with Hank, he had everybody convinced the only way to survive in this game was to expand. Everything the asshole has to say is expansion this, and expansion that. He likes to ‘think big,’ saying that what Hank had going on was merely the result of a man too afraid to risk anything for a better reward. I say Hank was a man who knew the value of family and liked to keep it that way.

I’ve spent two and a half years under Eddie’s thumb. That’s a long fucking time when it comes to the damage he’s done around here. Because of Eddie, shit went to hell. The day he took out Big Mike, the Devil’s Breed lost their main supplier, and Eddie refused to continue dealing with them after their president flat-out told him to go fuck himself when Eddie asked for help to take Big Mike down. Tensions ran high, and for a while there we all thought there’d be a war. Except there never was. Hank stole the spotlight and the local news headlines by killing the owner of the local 7/11 in what was a dubbed a ‘race war–fuelled hate crime’, and ending up with a lengthy jail term. Gee thanks, Hank.

“Sugar, you’re gonna make us late,” Gunter bellows from the front door.

I shake my head at the girl in the mirror, saddened for her at what she’s had to become just to get by: a fake and a fraud. The best fucking actress in at least the state of Nebraska. I pucker up my cherry red lips and blow that bitch a kiss, because as much as I hate her, she’s the damn reason I’m alive.

And that, at least, isn’t about to change.

***

Gunter pops the trunk of his ’69 Fairlane as I approach, leaning in and retrieving his tire iron from inside. I frown at him, letting him know I’m not impressed that he feels the need to stash it within arm’s reach. Sure, most of Eddie’s top clients are here, hiding among the masses, but we’re not expecting trouble. At least, nobody’s told me we are.

“Where’d you park?” he asks, pulling me into his hard front and wrapping his arms possessively around my waist.

I crane my neck to look up at him. “Over by the food stalls.”

Gunter’s car has no back seat, only a roll cage. It’s a little unconventional for a show car, but then the engine under the hood says it’s not just a car made to look at anymore. Consequently, I bring my own pride and joy—a ’69 Camaro. We joke with each other about the fact they’re both made in ’69, that we must have a slight obsession for the number. Still, as pristine as I keep my car, Eddie won’t let me show it. ‘No need for a little lady to make the men feel unimportant,’ he tells me. ‘No need to go showin’ off now, is there love?’

Asshole.

To the general public, these show and shines are a regular feature. Every second Sunday of the month we’re here, displaying cars and providing entertainment for the families with a singing contest, various car-related awards, and a bounce house for the kids beside the pop-up bar.

But to those of us in the know, they’re where Eddie does most of his trade. Orders are placed, money is shifted between vehicles, and the dealers check in over the course of the afternoon, showing face and keeping up appearances. It’s Eddie’s way of sticking it up the other players in the area, by trading under their noses and making it clear he’s the go-to guy for premium cocaine and green.

There’s only one rule—nobody carries. If the cops were to drop in, the last thing Eddie would want is a bunch of known dealers with a shitload of evidence in their pockets. Which means random checks. Which also means, regular fists thrown when the dealers get antsy about being felt up.

Easy swaggers over to where we stand, running his finger along the matte black paintwork of Gunter’s car. The airbags are dropped and the Ford sits flat on its ass, chrome brushing the grass below.

“Lookin’ sharp, Gunter.” Easy tips his head at him, and then gives me his customary grin.

“Leticia still under the weather?” I ask.

“Unfortunately, love.” He smirks. “Eddie’s gonna need you to keep tabs on everyone, as usual.”

“I had no doubt.” Every damn show he has me glued to his side taking notes on who showed and who needs a house call.

Gunter’s chest rises and falls against me. “Guess you better get on over.”

I tip my head back and kiss the point of his jaw. “Guess I better.”

I give Tommy a wave as he approaches with a giant frozen Coke, and follow Easy across the paddock to where Eddie sits amongst his king’s court. The bastard gets his tag-alongs to cart out a full lounge suite for him on a damn trailer, setting up a palace under a pop-up gazebo for him to relax in during the afternoon.

Eddie spots us approaching, and lifts his hand to beckon me over with two fingers. “Ryan, darlin’. Come have a seat.”

I make my way across the carpet that’s laid out under the seats, and perch on the arm of Eddie’s chair. He snaps his fingers at Taylor, gaining his attention.

“Get Ryan here the list, would you?”

Taylor rises and heads over to the trunk of a car backed in to the side of the gazebo. He pulls a board with several sheets of paper out of a box, and brings it over, passing it to me. The list contains the name of every dealer we have on the payroll, and the debts, if any, that they owe. I shake my head at the papers, and smile at Eddie.

“You need to get up to speed with technology. You could have this all on a tablet. Every week’s list right there at your fingertips.”

“I appreciate you tryin’ to help, Ryan,” he says, patting my leg, “but a good old piece of paper and a pencil ’ave never let me down over the years.”

“It’s a security risk,” I explain. “What if they went missing?”

“They wouldn’t now, would they?” He smiles devilishly at me. “You wouldn’t let that happen now, would ya, Ryan?”

Not if I valued all my fingers remaining attached. “Never.”

“So where’s the problem then, eh?”

“Just thought I’d point it out,” I say, flicking through the sheets.

“And I love ya even more for it, darlin’. You just worry about doin’ your work for me, yeah? Let me worry about the hard stuff.”

I smile sweetly at the asshole, imagining how satisfying it would be to choke the living daylights out of him. Yet again, I’m no more than the ‘little lady’ to him. His arrogance blinds him, makes him ignorant to the danger sitting right beside him.

The lessons he’s yet to learn.

OPPORTUNITY KNOCKS

Bronx

There are easily a hundred cars here. When the Pommy bastard said ‘a bit of a show and shine,’ I expected twenty of his friends. But this . . . understatement of the century. Pulling the key from my bike, I pocket it and remove my helmet, scoping out the grounds while I do. Somewhere is Eddie, which means Gunter, and that means she’s here too.

The weather’s warm, the sun beating down on the people as they mill around between the rows of classic and muscle cars, shined to perfection. Kids walk beside their parents, one hand looped in their guardian’s, the other clutching an ice cream or cool drink. It’s the picture of a perfect summer weekend.

I take my time weaving through the rows and checking out the cars. There’s no hurry to get to Eddie, no need to look like I’m keen to know what it is he wants with me, although I’m gagging to find out. Five lines in, I come across a bagged Fairlane and one very familiar pair of faces. The kid, Tommy, rises from where he’d been sitting on the grass beside the car and heads out into the walkway to greet me.

“How you liking the show?”

“Some nice fuckin’ cars here,” I say honestly. “More than I expected.”

“Started out small¸” he explains, shielding his eyes from the sun as he looks over the paddock. “But after a while, more people heard about it and the numbers just grew.”

“This yours?” I ask, gesturing to the Fairlane.

“Gunter’s. He’s been working on it for three years now.”

The big guy gets up from where he’d been reclined in the passenger seat, and shuts the door. “Seen Eddie yet?”

I shake my head. “Not yet. Thought I’d enjoy the day first.”

“He doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”

“Never realized I had a curfew.” I cross my arms over my chest, narrowing my gaze on him as he comes to a stop toe to toe with my boots. What the fuck does she see in this guy?

“Don’t like you talking to my boy here, either.” Gunter makes a show of looking me top to toe.

I turn to face Tommy, exaggerating a confused expression. “Do you know you needed to ask permission to have a conversation?”

He grins, and shakes his head. “You like trouble, don’t you?”

“Keeps the days lively,” I answer, smiling.

Gunter shifts closer, shunting my shoulder with his chest. I swing my gaze back to the tall bastard and give him a bored look.

“I also don’t like smartasses,” he grinds out between his teeth, “or the way you look at my girl.”

Huh. He noticed that, then. I lift an eyebrow.

“First warning, pretty boy. She warms my bed, and stands by my side. I own her—go get your own.”

“What did you pay for her?” I ask. “Give you a good return on investment, if you like.”

“What the fuck?”

“You said you own her,” I state. “Assumed that meant you paid to get her. Kind of makes sense,” I muse, backing up as he presses harder. “How else could a braindead idiot like you get a fuckin’ fine woman like her?”

He steps back abruptly and his fist swings out, heavy and sluggish. I duck and weave out of his reach, laughing. Red flames his face, his brow bunching as he charges me, wrapping his arms about me and taking me to the ground. The air rushes from my lungs with a ‘whoompf’, but I’m still laughing, even if my tongue is choking me and causing me to cough. The big lug straddles my stomach, his fist rearing back to take another go when two hands wrap about his wrist and urge him to stop.

“Gunter, don’t be a fucking idiot,” Tommy pleads. “Eddie won’t be happy if you draw attention.”

Gunter lurches forward, his face a mere fraction of an inch from mine. “Got eyes on you. Don’t fuckin’ trust you, you cunt. I’m watching.”

I press my head back into the grass on instinct to avoid his hot smokers breath on my face, still smiling. “That makes two of us, precious.”

He growls and slams a fist into the ground beside my head. There’s grass on his knuckles when he pulls it back. Gunter jumps to his feet, stepping back and turning away to go sit back in his car. Tommy extends a hand, one side of his mouth curled into a small grin.

“You’ve either got balls, or you’re fucking stupid. Maybe both.”

“Just don’t like people telling me what I can and can’t have.”

Tommy’s face falls, his eyes deadly serious as he looks me over. “Ryan isn’t a toy to fight over. She ain’t some notch on your belt.” His entire body language shuts me out as he turns to join Gunter, offering a final warning. “Better get over to Eddie before he has to send somebody to look for you. Don’t think this bullshit will fly with him, either. He catches you so much as breathing too much in Ryan’s direction, and he’ll have us find a nice dark hole for you to spend the rest of your days in.”

“Noted,” I say, wide-eyed, topping it off with a cocky salute. Seems she has the whole brotherhood on watch for her. Must have a fuckin’ golden cooter after all.

Turns out there are only two more rows before I come across Eddie’s portable palace. The asshole has the place kitted out like some fucking five-star resort. I run my fingers through my hair, checking for stray grass, well aware I’m being watched by several sets of eyes as I approach. Eddie eases forward in his armchair as I come to a stop beside the large square of carpet laid out for a temporary floor.

“What the fuck was all that commotion about?” He jabs a weathered hand toward Gunter’s position.

“Rattled the cage a bit too hard.” I shrug, eyeballing his motley crew of what I assume to be the skinhead equivalent to prospects.

“I don’t tolerate bullshit between my boys, and new as you are, sunshine, you’re no exception. Do that again and I’ll fuckin’ cut your tongue out.”

“Noted,” I say, a little more meekly than I did to Tommy. “Good turnout?”

“Be better if people could keep a fuckin’ schedule.” He leans back in his chair, snapping his fingers at a young shaven-headed kid to his left. The boy produces a pre-mixed gin and tonic from a cooler and hands it over.

Eddie takes a long draw, and sets the bottle down on a table beside his seat. “Where the fuck is Ryan?” he bellows to the population of the tent as a whole.

“Fuck knows. Haven’t seen her for a while,” a thickset skinner to Eddie’s right answers.

“What the fuck you been doin’ all day then, Taylor?” Eddie snaps. “Can’t keep watch on one sneaky fuckin’ skank, what can ya do?”

Taylor eyes Eddie, trouble brewing beneath the surface. From what Ty told me, these two immigrated out here together. It’s pretty fucking clear who runs the show now, though.

“Here you go,” Eddie says, pointing my way. “First job. Find where that bloody bitch has got to.”

“Wouldn’t Gunter know where she is?” I do my best to remain indifferent to the task.

“No, he wouldn’t.” Eddie’s vicious stare burrows a blazing hole right through to the back of my skull. “That bastard would lose his fuckin’ mind if he knew we’d lost track of her. And trust me, son, you do not want to see our lovely Gunter over there go off his tree. It is not a pretty sight.”

“Guess I’ll start looking then.”

Eddie nods slowly, his dark eyes fixed on me as I turn and walk away. The intensity stays with me until I’ve made it out of their row and to where I can breathe easy. It’s got to be a fucking test. Am I that obvious? Have to be, given the warning I got from Gunter.

Swallowing the huge lump of apprehension out of the way, I drop my jaw to suck in as much air as I can get. Why the hell didn’t I hit Hooch up for something before I left home last night? Could fucking use a hit right now. My anxiety is the worst I’ve ever known it to be, and there’s only one substance that can ease this feeling, take the edge off my panic—and it’s not something you buy over the counter.

What the fuck am I becoming? A month using, and I’m on honeymoon with the shit already?

You can do this. Ty believes in me for a reason.

Then again, he worries about me for a valid reason, too.

ROOM TO BREATHE

Ryan

Two hours of sitting beside that dictator, of plastering fake smiles on while broken and destitute people filed through Eddie’s tent to ‘check in’, was enough. I couldn’t breathe. My head hurt, and the names on the page had become a blur of black and white. I needed time out.

People order up corndogs and fries, so consumed in the task at hand that the majority of them don’t even spare me a glance. I’m seated on the tow hitch of one of the food trucks, tucked around a corner and out of sight enough, yet still able to see who’s coming my way.

I know Eddie won’t send Gunter to look for me, but I’d kind of expected to see Tommy or Taylor by now. I’ve only got the most important part of this whole charade sitting on my lap. A small girl squeals, sending my heart racing. With one hand to my chest, I will the organ to ease and straighten the list resting on my legs. I’m not even sure how I’m going to use this information yet, but I haven’t a doubt that the name of every one of Eddie’s dealers will be useful for something. Maybe I’ll be able to blackmail Eddie into giving me the story about Harris, or maybe I’m just as likely to sprout a fucking tail? Who the hell am I kidding? Eddie’s the kind of sneaky bastard who’d find a way to use these against me; blackmailing me once he knows I have the information.

“You’ve got everyone worried about you.”

That voice. Shit. The board clatters to the grass, and I scramble to pick it up before the pages are stained with whatever food scraps people have dropped on the ground around here. “I needed some time to think.”

“Yeah, well, they’d like you to be doin’ your thinkin’ where they can see you.”

I jam the board and pages into my tote, looping the handles over my arm as I stand from the hitch. Shielding my eyes from the sun over his shoulder, I look at his face and swallow . . . hard. If I thought I had a reaction to this guy in a dimly lit crack house, then it has nothing on the fuses blowing by taking a look at him in the daylight. The sun catches the highlights in his hair, the light summer breeze ruffling the choppy lengths while he waits on me.

I duck my chin to my chest, pretending to be studiously watching where I’m placing my feet as I step out from behind the truck to join him. But in all reality, I’m peering out at his solid frame from under my lashes, stealing a look at how damn fine he looks in dark denim and a worn out Guns N’ Roses T-shirt.

“Patience,” I say, straightening up before him.

“I thought I was bein’ patient?” he answers, cocking an eyebrow.

“No, Patience,” I say, tapping his T-shirt between his pecs. My face flames at how solid is damn chest is. Is that even legal? “It’s my favorite song of theirs.”

“Oh.” He chuckles, a deep velvet sound. “I get you now.”

“What’s yours?”

“’Sweet Child O’ Mine,’” he answers without hesitation. Lyrics telling of eyes of the bluest skies circle through my head. Could he be hitting on me? The way his eyes hood and his tongue peeks out to wets his lips tells me that yes, he most definitely is.

What do I say back? It’s too open here. What if we’re being watched? There are too many people around, too many men and women who just might find it in their interest to use a little information on me to their advantage with a drug boss they owe money to.

I damn near fall on my ass when a small child gets in the way of my hasty retreat. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry.” I place a hand on the boy’s shoulder, checking he’s okay, much to the mother’s amusement.

“You’re fine,” she assures me. “Happens all the time. He never watches where he’s going.” She gives us both a smile and chases after the kid, who’s now making a beeline for an ice cream stall.

“Hungry?” Bronson asks over my shoulder.

I turn back to look at him, certain my face is all shades of red. “Yeah, I am actually.”

“Sweet or savory?” he asks, looking over the various boards displaying what’s for sale.

I stare at him while he’s distracted, mentally dragging my fingers over the slight stubble he has on his jaw and palming the side of his thick neck. His shoulders are strong, the muscles lifting the collar of his T-shirt; his traps clearly defined at the top.

I realize he’s not distracted anymore—his gaze is fixed on me, waiting for a response. Shame, Ryan. “You decided what you’d like to have the most?”

I get the impression he’s not just talking about food. “There’s a place down there who do good kebabs. Think I’ll have one of those.”

“Lead the way.” He holds out his hand, ushering me first.

It’s the most awkward ten yards of my life as we make our way through the people lined up before the food trucks. The wait isn’t huge for a kebab, and before long I’ve ordered for both of us after he gives me cash and insists he’ll just have the same. We find a spot near a tree and tuck in, him demolishing in one bite what takes me four. I’ve never been so self-conscious eating in my life, and when he leaves me to find a bin for his wrapper, I make the most of the time to myself and hoover the damn kebab like a champion.

The smile on his face when he returns is infectious, and I find myself grinning like a fool in response while I chew. He’s still smiling when he comes to stop beside me, and I finish off the mouthful I was working on to ask, “What?”

His hand lifts, and then drops as though he’s unsure. “You’ve . . . there’s . . .”

“What?”

“Sauce on your face.”

It’s all I can do not to drop everything in defeat. “Seriously?” Way to make an impression, Ryan.

“Yeah, just . . .”—he gingerly points to the side of my mouth—“there.”

I swipe at my lips with my fingertips. “Better?”

“Nah.” He chuckles. “You missed it completely.”

“Shit.” I swipe again with the back of my hand, twice, just to be sure. “What about now?”

He sighs, a sound that echoes my own frustrations at how awkward this is.

“Just get it for me, would you?” I offer my face to him, pushing the side he’d pointed to towards him.

Gentle fingers cup my jaw, and he runs his thumb firmly in a single swipe over my cheek, just outside the corner of my lips. I watch him the entire time out of my peripheral, noting the way his nostrils flare, the intense concentration in his eyes. If I could see his heart beating, I don’t think I’d be alone in feeling as if I’d just run a race.

His hand drops away and we just stare at one another. Nothing needs to be said; I can read him loud and clear—we shouldn’t have done that. A line’s been crossed, and now that I know what the other side looks like, I don’t think I want to go back yet.

“Why him?” he asks quietly.

“Gunter?”

He nods, rubbing his thumb over the side of his index finger.

“In the beginning, it was just easier than saying no. But after a while, I noticed people left me alone when he was around.”

His chest rises and falls, his eyes fixed firmly on mine. “We better take you back to your friends.”

“What if I don’t want to go back just yet?” And they’re not my friends.

His face lifts, those beautiful eyes questioning, seeking. “What else would you want to do?”

“Walk?” I point past the last food truck toward a temporary parking lot. “We can go over to my car where it’s less busy, noisy.”

Bronson follows my directive, turning his head to look over where the paddock has been roped off for people to park. He rubs a hand over his face and sighs. “I don’t know. I don’t need to be makin’ too many enemies yet.”

“Yet?” Why would he say that?

His gaze snaps back to my face, and his eyes go wide. “Or at all. You know, I’m only new around here and all that.”

“You said yet,” I remind him, directing us away from the crowd. “What do you have planned that’s going to make a lot of enemies?”

“Nothin’.” He jams his hands in his armpits, closing his body language off. “I have a bad habit of makin’ enemies, is all.”

“Well, you don’t need to worry,” I say. “Gunter and Eddie both know how much I like to touch up during the day.” I wave a hand at my face, signaling my makeup. “They wouldn’t think anything of it if I said I made you hang around while I freshened up.”

“You look fine to me.”

I choose to ignore his last comment and keep walking, flicking my bangs out to cover my face as I stare at the ground disappearing under my feet.

“Did I say something you didn’t like?” he asks.

“Maybe the problem is I did like it,” I whisper.

We walk for a few more awkward moments before he takes hold of my arm, stopping me where we stand between two parked cars. “Why did you want to bring me over here? The truth.”

Because I had a fleeting thought about how we might fit in my back seat. “They’re suffocating,” I say. “Everything I do is watched, judged, and criticized. It’s nice sometimes to pretend it’s just me, getting by on my own.”

“But you’re not alone. I’m here.” Bronson takes a single step forward and traps me against the car behind me with one movement of his boot.

“Yeah, because having you around makes me forget about things, and I needed that right now,” I murmur. Giving my arm a jerk, I break free and resume walking towards my car. He follows silently by my side. “Do you smoke?” I ask, as we near the row I’m parked in. My anxiety is peaking, and there’s only one way I know how to control it.

“Used to,” he answers, looking over at me. “You?”

I nod, waiting for the disgust to show in his eyes. Nothing.

“Don’t hold back on my account.”

“Are you sure? I was trying not to, but I’m kind of losing my hold on the craving.”

Bronson slows as we pass the first car in my row, turning to face me. “Why would you try not to? Are you worried what I’d think?”

I nod again, biting my lip.

“Fuck off,” he exclaims, tipping his head back and to the side. “You do what you want, darlin’. I won’t judge.”

“Thank you.” I fumble in my bag, locating my pack of smokes and plucking one out.

He takes the lighter from my shaking fingers and strikes the flame, sheltering it with his free hand. I accept the offer and spark up the cigarette. Instant relief.

“Better?” He deftly slips the lighter into my bag, grazing my arm as he does.

My insides twist at the contact, and I ponder the answer. “Not as much as I’d hoped to be honest.”

“Give it time.”

I eye him hungrily. “I don’t think time’s going to make much difference.”

He reaches out to touch my face, and I pull away. I’d love nothing more than for him to lay his hands on me, to have skin on skin intimacy, but there’s so much more to think about than just us, here. I’ve never burned so badly for someone, but I’ve also seen firsthand what making Gunter angry can do. I’m not willing to inflict that on Bronson.

He jams the offending hand in the front pocket of his jeans, and sighs. “Tell me, Ryan. Every time I get near you, you panic. What is it you’re worried about?” He steps in close and wears a cloud of smoke.

“Aside from the fact you know I have a boyfriend, and yet here we are?”

“Aside from that,” he says.

I take a long drag of my cigarette and puff the next lungful of smoke to the side. It doesn’t help settle my nerves any. “I guess I’m afraid of the unknown.”

He tips his head to the side and frowns, asking me silently to explain.

“I don’t know if the risk is worth the reward. What happens after this?”

He takes the cigarette gently from my fingers, dropping it to the ground and stamping it out. “What would you like to happen?”

“Where would you like me to start?” My heart can’t take the stress, my flesh alight as he slowly brings his head back up to level with mine.

A single finger traces a line from my forehead, over my nose, and down to my chin, lingering on my lips. “This face,” he says. “These lips. Beautiful. Fucked me up from the minute I first laid eyes on you.”

I drop my chin, well aware that without my makeup I’m no ten. He hasn’t seen me first thing in the morning, for fuck’s sake. How could he mean what he says? It’s a ruse, a ploy to get me where he wants me. How do I know that this isn’t just some conquest with him? That I won’t become a show of power when he sticks it up Gunter?

Because he wouldn’t tell Gunter. That would be certain death—you know it and he knows it. “Whatever you say.”

“Don’t you believe me?” He uses the same finger to gently coax my chin up. “Don’t you think you’re beautiful, Ryan?”

“No.”

“Why the fuck not?” He’s puzzled. Bless him.

“Because . . .” Why? I don’t see what would make me so special over anyone else when I look in the mirror? The excuse sounds lame, even in my head.