Page 4 of Straightened Out

“No,” I retort. “But we have all night.”

Deciding she can tell me her reasons for stripping when she’s in my car, I call my driver and tell him to bring the town car around to the back of Delilah’s Den.

“I’m not going anywhere with you.”

I forgot how difficult she can be.

“Wrong.”

“Rocco,” she starts, spinning around to meet my gaze. “Look, can we just forget tonight—”

Her words get cut off as the door to the dressing room swings open.

“What the fuck was that?” Mitch barks, but as soon as I turn around, his face pales. “Rocco.” He swallows and looks from me to Violet. I follow his gaze and one look at Violet’s face tells me something isn’t right. Like she doesn’t cry, Violet also doesn’t do fear and right now she’s fucking petrified.

I don’t like it.

I don’t like it one fucking bit.

“Go out to the car,” I order quietly.

“But—”

“Now, Bug,” I reply gravely. Shrugging my jacket off, I hand it to her. “Tie this around your waist and go out the back door. My driver will be waiting outside with the car.”

She hesitates, her eyes flitting from me to Mitch for a second before she reluctantly takes my jacket. Stepping closer to me, her breath tickles my ear as she whispers, “You don’t understand…my mom…” Her voice trails as I wrap my fingers around her wrist. Turning her head slightly, her worried gaze meets mine.

“I’ll handle it,” I assure her.

Her eyes search mine for a moment before she ties the jacket around her waist. Hitching her bag over her shoulder, she glances at Mitch before exiting out the back door as I instructed. Once the door shuts, I turn back to Mitch.

“Rocco…I…I….”

Ignoring the stuttering prick, I undo the buttons on my sleeves. I take my time rolling them up to my elbows as I contemplate my options. Coming here I knew the odds of me collecting his debt were slim to none, but I’d take whatever the cocksucker offered, drain every dollar from the register behind the bar and then rough him up before telling him he had twenty-four hours to come up with the rest. Then, because Uncle Vic was smart enough to insist Mitch put him as a beneficiary of his insurance policy as collateral, I’d set the motherfucking place ablaze.

But Violet is the wildcard.

I stare at the balding bastard, taking in his wrinkled polyester suit and the three gold chains around his neck.

Looks like I’m taking those too.

I lift my head and meet his gaze. Already knowing the answer to my question, I ask, “You got my uncle’s money?”

He swallows, raising his hand to swipe the sweat from his forehead.

“Not yet, but....” his eyes drift to the door Violet exited. “…she was supposed to help me get it.”

Wrong answer, motherfucker.

“Explain,” I demand, reaching behind me for the beretta I have tucked into the waistband of my slacks. Aiming it at him, I watch as he starts to inch backward. The fear in his eyes gets my adrenaline pumping and for a moment I let myself imagine the satisfaction I’ll feel once I end this miserable fuck’s life.

“I don’t hear you talking, Mitch.”

“Uh…before things got bad and I took the loan from Vic, I was doing all right. Her mother, Flora, owns the Puerto Rican restaurant on Carol Street, Los something or other—”

“I’m aware,” I grunt. This guy can’t be this fucking clueless, but I suppose that’s what years of drug use will do to you. “Get to the fucking point.”

“The restaurant was going under; she was three months behind on the rent and up to her ass in debt. I offered to help her. Gave her twenty grand to get her on her feet. Then a couple of months later things went south here when that Russian cocksucker opened up a strip club on Union Street.”

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