Page 13 of Breaking Storm

I shoot out of my seat, press my fingertips into the desk, and lean forward. “You won’t do anything.”

He throws his hands in the air. “She can’t get away with it. Don’t ignore it. Put that little bitch in her place.”

“Hey! Back off. She’s my wife, and I’ll handle it whatever way I want.”

“If you don’t, you won’t—”

“Don’t threaten me again, James. You’ve led me by the balls for years and I’ve done everything you’ve asked to keep her safe. You’re not also going to use my wife for more leverage.” I come around the desk, the back of my legs supported against it, and fold my arms. “This is my house and Teagan’s my wife.” I nudge my head toward him. “Why are you here?”

His face is as red as a sunburn after falling asleep on the beach. He looks from Sean to me. “You have a fight tonight. Bring that bitch of a wife of yours.”

I drop my arms, digging my fingers into the desk. “I’m not bringing her.”

“Hell, you aren’t. This arranged marriage is to show an alliance between the two families. There will be other families in attendance, so she needs to be there.”

My nostrils flare and I blow out air through them. “Fine.” I move toward him, he backs up, and I shove his coat into his arms. “I’ll see you then.”

With a last sweep of the room, he stomps his way out and I follow him just outside my office. I hear a noise behind me, and find Tea, pressed against the wall. My little spy.

“I’m fighting tonight and you’re going. We’ll eat dinner earlier.”

For the first time, she doesn’t protest, and offers a quick nod. She turns and heads upstairs as I return to my office and receive the fight address from James. Figures the fight will take place on North Columbus and East Lower Wacker. Not so many eyes since it is a through street more than for regular traffic. Like we always do, Sean and I discuss escape plans in case something goes down. We want to be prepared, especially since Teagan is going. If there’s trouble, Sean will get the car and meet me on Michigan and Lake. Far enough from the fight scene, yet close enough for us to walk.

Standing by the closet, I notice Teagan’s hand trembling while she puts on her makeup. What bothers me the most are her skinny jeans and form-fitting shirt. It’s too suggestive. I don’t want guys checking her out. She’s my wife.

From her side of the closet, I pull out a long, button-down, bulky sweater from a drawer, and toss it on the bed, saying, “Wear this sweater.”

She turns sideways in the chair in front of her vanity dresser. “It’s warm out. I’m not going to wear a sweater.” Tea turns back and continues painting her face.

“Then find something else. What you have on is too tight.”

“This is the way it’s supposed to fit.”

I sigh, running a hand down my face. “Well, it’s too revealing. Find another shirt.”

My nerves are vibrating. I’m on edge, which is what happens before a fight. Today, it’s magnified because of Teagan. The bowels of the city cough up seedy crowds and out-of-towners, who saw the street fight announcement on the dark web. The majority in attendance are fighters from different Chicago families, with a couple of private tagalongs. Anything can occur tonight, from a police raid to retaliation if a losing fighter is from a rival gang. Even though the fights are agreed upon, some families don’t like to lose. They’ll start shooting before the last punch. The big families of Chicago have more than half the police force on their payroll, but there are some cops who like to flex their muscle every once in a while.

Again, Teagan ignores me. I take her arm, lead her into the closet while she shoots off insulting remarks, and I let her go. “Find something else.”

She plops down on the chair inside the closet and says, “I’m sick and tired of you bossing me around.”

“And I’m sick and tired of your attitude. Instead of doing what I ask, it’s always a God damn argument with you.”

Teagan bolts out of her chair. “You don’t ask!” She shuffles through the clothes and finds a shirt that covers and hides her curves. “Is this better, Graffiti?”

I scowl. “Graffiti?”

“Yeah.” She gestures to my bare chest. “You’re tatted up. It’s body graffiti.”

“Smart ass.”

I finish dressing and make my way to my bedside table. The picture I look at before every fight is missing from my notebook. It grounds me. I place the drawer’s contents on the table but it’s nowhere in sight. Then I remember Teagan’s angry tirade the first day and how she messed up my closet, tossing things on the balcony.

“Where’s the picture, Tea?”

About to exit the room, she says, “What picture?”

I catch up and press her against the wall. “Don’t fuck with me on this one. I had a picture in my notebook, and after your little tantrum, it’s gone.”

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