Page 8 of Straightened Out

“What the hell happened to you?” I hiss.

He unscrews a third bottle of vodka but doesn’t bring it to his lips as he seems to contemplate my question. Setting it on top of the bar, he slowly turns to face me. A muscle quivers in his jaw and the expression in his dark eyes seems to soften ever so slightly as he closes the distance between us. Lifting his hand, he touches a strand of my hair, staring at it like he’s mesmerized by the blonde locks. The intensity rolls off him in waves and my breath hitches when he tucks the strand of hair behind my ear. Our eyes lock and defeat washes over his features.

“The same thing that happened to you happened to me, Bug,” he rasps. “We fell off course.”

My mind whirls at his response. He has no fucking idea what he’s talking about. I didn’t fall off course, I did what I had to do. I stepped up to help my family, just like my brother has always done. Just likeRoccostepped up when his mom died, and his sister needed him.

“I didn’t fall off course,” I argue.

“So, baring your ass for a room full of desperate men is a requirement for the Academy? Hmm…I must’ve missed that. Tell me, Bug, will you put your stint at Delilah’s Den on your resume as an internship?”

“As soon as you add gopher to yours,” I hiss. “That’s still what you are, right? Your uncle’s lackey.”

A muscle flicks angrily at his jaw as he ignores my slur and pads back to the mini bar. Expecting him to pop open another bottle of booze, I roll my eyes, but instead of drinking himself silly, he reaches for his discarded jacket. Draping it over his arm, he reaches into the inside pocket and pulls out a thick wad of money.

Holy shit.

His eyes come back to me and he holds out his hand, offering me the stack of hundreds. I have no idea what kind of game he’s playing, but before I can question his antics, he says, “It’s too late for me, but it doesn’t have to be too late for you, Bug. There’s ten thousand dollars here—every dollar you should’ve earned in the last two weeks. Take it.”

If you come from a neighborhood like Rocco and I come from, where wise guys rule the streets, you are schooled from an early age not to ask questions. I already broke that rule by asking about the gun, there’s no way I’m asking where he got the ten grand from.

But it’s ten thousand dollars!

And he’s offering it to me like it’s no big deal.

Like the stack of hundreds fell from the sky.

I smack my lips together and stare at the wad of cash in his hand. He’s right, I earned every dollar but, that doesn’t matter. Earlier he mentioned Mitch won’t go after the restaurant, but he didn’t elaborate. As far as I’m concerned that money is Mitch’s. It needs to be or else my mom will suffer.

I meet his gaze.

“I can’t take that money,” I say, bringing my eyes back to his.

“I know all about your deal with Mitch,” he says as he reaches for my hand. Turning it over, he shoves the wad of bills into my palm. “You’re not a fucking stripper, Violet. Now, your mother doesn’t owe Mitch a dollar as of tonight, but should she ever find herself with her back up against a wall and too proud to call your brother, you call me.”

He closes my hand around the money.

“Do you understand?”

Trying to force my confused emotions into order, I glance down at the money.

I could definitely use the extra cash. Maybe even help my mom with some of the restaurant’s bills—who knows, maybe she’ll start seeing a profit then. I lift my chin.

“What about my brother?”

“What about him?”

“Are you going to tell him?”

“Not if you listen to me and take the fucking money.”

He may have traded his Nike’s for a pair of Italian loafers and his attitude definitely needs an adjustment but buried somewhere deep inside of him there are traces of the guy he used to be. The guy I once thought I’d marry, and he confirms it with the words he says next.

“You looked beautiful up there…” he murmurs, pulling in a sharp breath as his eyes leisurely travel the length of me. “So fucking beautiful,” he hisses roughly, before bringing his eyes back to mine. He lifts his hand and gently brushes his knuckles over my cheek. “Too beautiful for those motherfucker’s eyes.”

Yeah, crude and all he’s still the guy who makes my heart race.

The one who steals my breath and confuses me all with a single sentence.

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