Page 41 of A Little Naughty

It’s late when I leave El Rio, headed back to where I left my bike at Martha’s when I got off work.

My deal with Bull has been on my mind all day, especially after bumping into Jemima this morning. I’m having second thoughts about saying yes, but I don’t have any other way to make that much money that fast.

So I’ve been trying to rationalize it.

Whatever my brother is doing, I’m not doing it. I’m just watching. He told me the address and dock number, so I can ride over and case the area. I’ll check it out and find a location far enough away that if anything goes wrong, I can dip without being noticed.

No harm, no foul.

Thinking of Jemima’s pretty face makes me smile. Her blue eyes are so bright, and her teeth are straight and white behind her red lips. I was sure she’d busted me planting those bulbs, but now I don’t think she did.

They should sprout pretty quickly in this temperature, and I try to picture her expression when she sees the bright pink flowers filling the boxes. Most people like tulips. They’re one of the first flowers to bloom after the cold winter. Tulips and daffodils—two plants that donotgrow naturally in our tropical zone.

Her house is dark when I pass it, and I wonder where she is tonight. Considering it’s Eureka, there are only a few places she could be, and both prick at the leftover anger in my chest. She’s either at her sister’s, which means she’s with Alex Stone, or she’s with Piper, which means she’s with Adam.

I don’t know how close she is with Britt, which would put her at Aiden’s house. My jaw clenches. The Stone family has never been our friends. Aiden is fair enough when the rubber hits the road, but he’s never missed a chance to come after us for the slightest thing.

Something bad happens in Eureka, round up the usual suspects—the “no-account” Jones boys.

I keep walking past Martha’s place in the direction of the bigger, nicer houses on First Street. These old mansions loom like hulking reminders there’s a difference between them and me. I’m a guy who lives in a trailer outside the county lines, while they founded this fine town.

Gwen is the closest to my type of people. Her big house is the last one before Martha’s, and the scent of roses meets my nose mixed with the sharper bite of cigar smoke.

Looking up, I see the orange glow of a cherry, and I know who it is. With my hands in my pockets, I walk up the driveway, pausing when I reach the edge of the yard.

“What are you doing out here?” I call up to Bender, who’s leaned back in a wooden chair on the front porch.

“Who’s that?” he growls, rising slowly to his feet. “Raif? Is that you?”

Exhaling ayeah, I walk closer, and he jogs down the steps, crossing the yard to meet me with his hand extended.

We shake, and he steps back, placing his hands on his hips. “What are you doing walking around here after dark?”

“Picking up my bike from Martha’s.” I nod in the direction from where I came. “I walked over to El Rio after work for a beer. What are you doing?”

“Gwen doesn’t care for cigar smoke in the house.” He takes another puff, letting out a stream of blue smoke. “I don’t antagonize her. Her mother talks about turning people into donkeys.”

“You’re already a jackass,” I tease, and he barks a laugh.

“No shit.” He leans back, looking over his shoulder. “There’s nothing like a powerful woman.”

Jemima crosses my mind, and I think there’s nothing like a pretty woman with full red lips and long, silky legs.

“What’s on your mind?” Bender’s watching me, and I’m not about to tell him that.

“Just thinking about things.”

“The future?”

“Maybe.” This old coot is sharp as a tack. “I was thinking about the people here, and how the way they look at me will never change.”

He nods, his eyes traveling over my shoulder to the road. “Maybe you’re right, but then again, I wouldn’t have thought they’d ever change the way they looked at me.” His gaze lands on mine. “I was wrong.”

We’re quiet, and I turn this over in my mind. “How’d you do it?”

“Time.” He walks over to the wooden rail-tie fence and stubs out his cigar. “Consistency. Showing up and doing the right thing again and again—more times than I did the wrong thing.”

“How much time?”

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