Page 8 of Up in Flames

Tilting my head, I glance at Rodberg, who tenses slightly. “Look, I can’t promise anything. I’ll talk to Boss when I can. Perhaps you can take on some of my load—”

“There’s got to be a joke in there aboutyour load, right, Cain?” Rodberg teases.

Trap and I both turn to look at him while gritting our teeth. Trap brings his hand up and pushes Rodberg hard in the chest, to which Rodberg loses his balance and falls backward off the stool straight onto the tiled floor with a thud. The room erupts into cheering and leering while Trap finally grins.

Rodberg stays on the floor, flat on his back, smoking his cigar like he’s happy where he is and not bothered at all about being there.

Turning back to Trap, I give him a pointed look. “That’s all I can give you right now. If you don’t like it, you can either put up with it or take it up with Boss yourself. It’s your call, Trap.”

“No, I hear you, Cain.” He sniffs and wipes his nose. “Just want to be more active.”

With a nod, I exhale. “I know. But the higher in rank, the less active you get and the more delegating you do. Trap, you have to realize that.”

He rubs his chin. “Maybe I should be the one to break that rule. Show them that bossescando grunt work too.”

“Bosses are bosses for a reason, Trap. Their hands are clean so they canstaybosses.” I slap his shoulder and stand. Trap nods, furrowing his brow like maybe he’s finally getting what I’m saying.

Looking down at Rodberg on the floor, I nudge his side with my foot. “You… up. Come with me,” I demand.

“Oooh… is it playtime?” Rodberg jumps up as I start to walk off.

“Yes. Time to see how our Thanksgiving present is going,” I reply.

He nods. “It’s all wrapped up and ready to go,” Trap states.

“Excellent.” I start the walk with Rodberg in tow as I hear Trap slap the bar to gain the bartender’s attention. I grunt, knowing not much gets through Trap’s head as I tread through the parlor to the black door. Rodberg pulls it open, and we step inside the warehouse. In contrast to the red parlor, this giant room is gray and in sections.

The first room is the collection zone. This is where most of our business is done. We walk past, noting that the Thanksgiving present is wrapped in parcels ready for shipment as Trap promised. The clean chemical smell in the air is thick as we walk past the next room—the black room. Inside, Benny is wearing his black latex coveralls and a mask concealing his face, and he’s standing over a guy strapped to a chair.

I shake my head. “Guess that’s where your turkey stuffing is happening tonight, Rodberg,” I jab, and he flinches ever so slightly as an ear-piercing scream echoes through the warehouse.

You have got to love a Bachelor Thanksgiving.

CHAPTER THREE

MAKAYLIE

Once I reach my apartment, I push the key into the lock and open the door. As I walk in, soft sounds of ocean waves crashing against the shore echo through the room from the television. Joey is dressed in her yoga outfit in a downward dog pose in the middle of our living room.

Josephine Hinkley has been my best friend since we were three years old, and we started preschool together twenty-three years ago.

“Yoga at eleven at night?” I ask with a slight giggle.

“It’s a good stress reliever,” she calls back as I walk past the curvy brunette bombshell and into my bedroom, still soaking wet from the rain.

“So, I take it Thanksgiving with the parents went well then?” I ask with a small chuckle as I peel off my drenched clothing firmly attached to my skin.

“My stupid brother got into another argument with Mom about his lifestyle choices. You know how heated those arguments can get. Mom basically told Deacon he’s a bum doing nothing with his life. Then he yelled some crap back at her. Then, with her fiery temper, she picked up the jar of cranberry sauce and threw it at the wall. Then Dad goes off yelling at Mom, who’s yelling at Deacon, who’s yelling at me, who’s yelling at no one in particular just for the sake of it. And on and on and on it goes, and where it stops no one knows,” she says with a slight giggle. “It was entertaining, I guess,” she calls out.

I make my way to my en suite and nod matter-of-factly, knowing her familyalltoo well. “Well, sounds like Deacon hasn’t changed,” I reply as I shut the en suite door.

Deacon and I used to have athinga few years ago. I don’t know if you could call it a relationship as such, as it was very one-sided. Being I was the one in love, and he only kind of maybe liked me—just a little bit. I was a convenience for him as I always visited Joey, which made me available. After I’d had enough of his blasé attitude toward our relationship, I decided to move to Baton Rouge to be close to New Orleans—the best city in the world, well, as far as I’m concerned—to start my writing career. The part I am so grateful for is that Joey came with me. I don’t think I could stand living on my own. Actually, the thought scares me.

Hopping into the shower, I need to warm up after spending the last half an hour in a torrential downpour with some stranger I badly wanted to kiss.

Cain keeps running through my mind.

His hand on my face caressing.

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