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I let myself in and my grandma shuffles to the door to greet us, shouting excitedly when she sees Lochlan. She holds out her arms wide, and I have to bend down to hug her. She embraces him next, with a kiss and pat on the cheek.
“Mrs. Wright.” He hands her the bouquet, and she beams like a girl getting asked to prom. Her eyes squint as she brings the roses to her nose, inhaling heartily.
“Chickie!” she shouts over her shoulder at her sister. “Get another seating set for our boy.”
“Unfortunately, I can’t stay, but I couldn’t miss a chance to see the most beautiful woman in June Harbor,” he sweet-talks.
She winks. “You know, you’ve always been my favorite Foxy boy.” He huffs a proud laugh and says goodbye, heading back down the brick path.
Following my grandma inside, I close the door and she gives me a knowing look. “I don’t believe a word of what people say about those boys.”
Cash hired me shortly after his father’s turbulent and highly publicized trial for murdering the governor. My parents cautioned me against getting involved with a family like that, but I was sixteen and desperate for independence. I never would have imagined a hostess job would lead to a career and a second family of psychopathic cinnamon rolls.
“I know, Nana.” Cash has been giving me flowers for her for years and she says the same thing every week. I follow her into the kitchen to get a vase. I’m not sure how I ended up here exactly, delivering roses to my grandma from the most notorious gangster on the East Coast.
I guess I just never left. I didn’t care about the rumors of their criminal activities—most of them are true—because I was there to do a job and make money. Cash didn’t scare me, and I wasn’t intimidated by his other dealings because I knew I would never get involved in them. Fourteen years later, I still haven’t.
“Look what my boyfriends got me, Ronnie,” she teases my papa, holding up the bouquet.
“Have all the boyfriends you want, but you only got one husband,” he tosses back. “Now give ’em here, don’t want you pricking those pretty hands.”
I fill a vase with water while he trims the leaves and stems. I place it in front of her and she takes each rose from him and arranges them thoughtfully. Watching them work together, even over something so simple, tugs on my heart. They’ve always been equals, pulling from each other’s strengths and pushing each other past their weaknesses.
When he finishes the last one, he passes her with a soft swat on her behind. She spins and wields the flower like a sword, bopping him on the head. Laughing, she hollers, “Ronald, you old dog!”
Chapter 3
Ew, David
Lochlan
I watch Randy arrive, the big front doors of the Den swinging open. He walks in like he fucking owns the place. His arrogance alone makes me want to break his kneecaps. Instead, I just tighten my grip on the cold glass of whiskey. As enforcer for the family, I don’t mind getting my hands dirty, but blood is a bitch to get out and I happen to like this shirt.
What’s left of his dark, greasy hair is slicked back, his hairline hanging on for dear life. He thumbs the lapel of his tacky, faux leather jacket as he slides into the booth opposite me.
“Well, I’m here,” he says, as if this is all a big hassle for him and he’s doing me a favor. Really, I’m doing him one by not taking him out back and putting a bullet between his eyes.
I recline into the leather booth, swirling the whiskey. “This doesn’t have to get unpleasant, Randy. Stick to your fight clubs—hell, you can even keep your OTB. But—” I shift forward and lean onto the table on my forearms and crack my knuckles. “If you don’t stay away from my horse tracks, things will get remarkably less pleasant. You understand?”
He narrows his eyes, and I can see him weighing the risk versus reward. He clears his throat and straightens his spine. “And if I don’t?”
“Don’t understand?” I chuckle. “Listen, there’s only so many ways I can phrase it before I start to lose my patience. I’m sure you don’t want that to happen.” I slowly bring my drink to my lips to let him simmer and think about how much he values his own life.
“It’s about time someone stood up to you Foxes—”
I don’t let him finish. My hand flies across the table to snatch his wrist. In a matter of seconds, I have the fragile bones on the verge of snapping. I can feel the tendons straining, and his eyes bug out of his head.
“And you think that person is you?” I laugh, applying more pressure, his teeth gnashing in pain.
“No—I-I didn’t mean anything by it, swear!” He backpedals real quick, his face growing red. I take another bored sip while I keep his hand locked, and he pathetically spews apologies. Ridiculous. I didn’t even break it.
Setting my drink down, I spy a familiar face walk in. He looks around and my chest burns with a protective flare. I turn back to Randy, who is breathing heavily through his nose, trying to manage the pain.
I loosen my grip but don’t completely release him. “Well, now that we’re clear . . .” I trail off scanning the floor for the man I saw enter.
“Yes, absolutely. Crystal clear,” he sputters.
“Good.” I offer him a quick smile as I stand up. Right then, a goal is scored on the televised game and the packed pub erupts into cheers. I don’t give it much thought before tightening my grip and forcing his wrist until it snaps, letting the noise of the patrons cover the sound of his howl of agony.
