Page 5 of Diamond In The Rough

I bring my gaze up and find my older brother leaning against the bar, his eyes on my hands, and a single brow perched high on his forehead.

“Good deal?” he prods.

“Yeah.” I drop my arms and step around a toppled table. “I think Delamont is heading toward bankruptcy and was never gonna pay us back anyway. May as well take his club before he loses it to someone else.”

“You think it’s worth the ten million he owes us?”

I slip my hands into my pockets and grin. “I think it’s worth twelve, easy. He had other buyers ready to hand over the cash, but a little pressure applied in all the right places has left this open for us to benefit from. Let’s consider the two-million surplus his fee for late payment.”

I stop ten feet from where my brother stands and meet his eyes. “Get your paperwork in order today. Things may become complicated by tomorrow.”

“Sounds like a good investment to me.” He nods over my shoulder, beckoning a soldier forward so I feel the guy’s warmth to my left. “Report?”

“There’s no power to the building right now, boss. But Michaels is already on the phone, dealing with that. We’ll have a cleaning crew through here by the morning, and I’ll get permits within twenty-four hours so the city doesn’t make a fuss. After that, you’re all set to open the place up to the public.”

“Good.” He brings his cigarette closer and sucks on the end so the tip glows orange in the muted darkness. “We’ll call this place CeCe’s.” He exhales again and smirks behind the cloud of white smoke. “Christabelle will hate it.”

“Sounds like your relationship is built upon mutual respect and healthy boundaries.” Shaking my head, I chuckle and turn away. “Let’s go home. I have things I wanna do tonight. Ya know,” I glance over my shoulder and grin, “normal, legitimate, legal things.”

“Pleasant change of pace.” He takes one last long drag of his cigarette, then he drops it to the dirty floor and steps on it to kill the bud of fire. “Nerd.” He blows smoke in my direction and walks straight through. “How does it feel to be a fucking square in a family of badasses? You’re second only to Archer in the loser-lane.”

Archer is a cop. And I… well, I long ago learned to not take Felix’s immature barbs personally.

“I’m comfortable with who I am. And I’m making us money lawfully. Decent people would appreciate that fact.”

“Yeah, well…” He comes to stop by my side and claps my shoulder. “I think we can all agree I’m not a decent person.” He looks down at my hands once more as we start toward the doors. “You hurting?”

I pull my thumb away from the opposite palm, killing the massage I wasn’t conscious I was giving again, and dig both hands into my pockets. “Hurts when the weather is being weird. We just had that storm roll through last night, so I guess it’s adjusting to that or whatever.”

“Or whatever.” He squeezes my shoulder as we stroll onto the sidewalk outside. “Let’s get our names on these deeds and call it a day well spent.”

He peeks along the street and flashes a smile for the Feds who are, frankly, not very good at their jobs. “You should go inform them we didn’t even do anything illegal today.” He releases my shoulder and presents one middle finger for the van. “I’m proud of us.”

2

TIIA

ONE MONTH LATER

Summer in New York means sweltering humidity and reeking back alleys. It means the homeless roam in search of air-conditioning, and those who have homes to take shelter in rarely have enough money to cool them. So they, too, search for comfort elsewhere.

Summer evenings in New York mean overflowing subways and the stench of hotdog carts turning a little rancid. Because, really, is anyone eating a hotdog in this heat?

I carry my purse crossbody-style and move through the dark that isn’t really all that dark—the only thing I love about New York. The strap nestled between my breasts, and the perspiration of another hot friggin’ day mark my tank and leave me feeling on the unfresh side.

The sun has gone down, which would imply the temperature should move with it… But no, not in Manhattan. The concrete swallows heat all day long and breathes it back out again during the night, and buildings that stand at a hundred floors tall, boxing us in like caged rats, make it impossible for a breeze to waft through and cool things down.

Summer in Manhattan is as much fun as winter in Manhattan. Frankly, Manhattan just fucking sucks unless you’re one of the lucky few who work in the hundred-floor buildings, or who drove a car manufactured after the year 2000 AD.

I… am neither of those.

Music thuds from a nearby club. The lights and life pumping from the five-level building, looking like a baby amongst giants, is like an oasis beckoning me in the desert. There will be bodies in there. Heat, purely from the number of people who chose to converge on the same five thousand square feet. But there will be water, too. Soda. Probably air-conditioning, and maybe, if I’m lucky, a meal.

I haven’t eaten in too many hours to count, so I duck my head low and trudge past the mouths of alleyways where people slink, doing things they really shouldn’t. Drugs and money exchange hands. Couples bang, though I’m not so naïve to assume all of it is consensual. Some men argue; over drugs or women, I’m not sure. But the closer I come to the club, the safer I feel.

Which is entirely ass-backwards, when I consider exactly who I’m walking toward.

The rigid leather of my boots rubs against my legs and leaves me wary of the blisters I might sport tomorrow if I don’t sit down soon, and the frayed bottoms of my shorts tickle my thighs. My tank is thin and loose, and maybe just a tad short, so my navel is exposed and the streetlights lining the road glisten off the fake diamond I wear against my belly button.

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