Authors: Stephanie Bond
by the cast on her arm.
Even though his own dexterity would be curbed somewhat
by his bandage, he could outcook Carlotta using only his
thumbs and elbows. It was a good thing she was so damn
pretty—no man was going to marry her for her culinary
skil s.
He walked into the now-familiar office and nodded to the
now-familiar surly woman behind the check-in desk.
“Wesley Wren to see E. Jones.” He scanned the waiting
room as nonchalantly as possible. The Carver had once
sent a man here to remind Wesley that he was behind on
his payments, and the thug had punctuated the message
by snubbing out his cigar on Wesley’s hand. That wound
was stil pink and puckering. If he didn’t find a way to get
out of debt soon, his entire body would look like a strip of
badly cut meat. Thankful y, though, no one in the room
seemed to care he was there.
The old bat at the window sniffed. “You can go on back.”
He walked to E.’s office door, adjusted the sleeve of his
shirt so that it didn’t emphasize the bandage underneath,
and rapped.
“Come in.”
He swung open the door and miserably pondered the
tightening of his chest when Eldora Jones lifted her green-
eyed gaze to his.
“Hel o, Wesley.”
“Hi.”
“Have a seat.”
He did, across from her desk. She wore a white buttoned-
up blouse that might have been prim if not for the curves
it clung to.
“How are you?” she asked. Her voice sounded friendly, but
he’d been meeting with her long enough to know that
even an innocuous question was usually leading
somewhere.
“Good.”
“Why did you miss our appointment yesterday?”
He shifted in his chair. “I…was with some guys, lost track of
time. Sorry.”
“You couldn’t cal ?”
“Battery on my phone died.”
“Your sister was really worried. She was afraid you were
hurt.”
“I’m fine.” He smiled and lifted his hands, but the motion
pul ed the tightened skin under the bandage. The sudden
pain took his breath away and made his arm jerk
involuntarily.
“Did something happen to your arm?” she asked.
“Bicycle accident,” he said, continuing with his lie. “I
scraped it.”
She studied his face with a half smile, her green eyes
saying she didn’t believe him. “Sounds as if you were
lucky. You could’ve been hurt much worse.”
He nodded. “Yeah.”
“You do realize that missing your scheduled meetings is a
violation of your probation?”
Wesley wet his lips. “Thanks for letting me reschedule.”
“Next time you won’t get off so easily.”
He nodded.
“But I’m glad you’re okay,” she added softly.
He glanced up sharply at her tone. She sounded as if
she…cared. But E. averted her gaze, cleared her throat and
opened his file folder, back to business.
“I heard from Richard McCormick. He said he was very
impressed with your computer knowledge when the two
of you spoke. He said if your community service work goes
wel , he might even consider hiring you.”
Wesley knew it was meant to be a compliment, but he had
no intention of toiling away in a cubicle for city wages until
he keeled over. “He seemed like a nice enough guy.”
“When do you start?”
“Monday.”
“Is that going to be a problem with your body-moving
job?”
“Nah, Coop’s cool with my community service. He said
he’d work around it.”
She made a couple of notes, then closed his folder. “Is
there anything else you’d like to talk about?”
“Thanks for the concert tickets. I heard Elton was great.”
“Yeah, the show went on after they took your sister to the
hospital. I’m glad she’s okay.”
“Thanks.” He fidgeted. “Did your boyfriend enjoy it?”
A little wrinkle appeared in her forehead. “Leonard? Yes,
he enjoyed the concert.”
Wes’s mouth watered. He wanted so badly to tel her that
the concert wasn’t the first place he’d met Leonard. E. sat
back in her chair. “Are you gambling?”
“No.” Not at this very moment, anyway.
“Stil hanging out with that drug-dealer friend of yours?” E.
had intercepted him on an errand Chance had asked him
to run in exchange for money Wesley owed him. Wesley
hadn’t known for certain what was in the gym bag, but
he’d had a pretty good idea. E. had allowed him to take
the bag back to “where it came from,” without any
repercussions.
“He’s not a bad guy,” he said of his friend Chance.
“He’s going to land you behind bars…or worse.”
Wesley wiped his hand over his mouth to keep from tel ing
her that her boyfriend, Leonard, was also keeping
company with his drug-dealing friend. “I’l take that under
advisement,” he responded, standing. “Are we through?”
E. pressed her lips together, then gave a curt nod. “I’l see
you next week. Take care of that arm.”
Wesley left the building in a foul mood. By the time he
rode to Chance’s condo, his arm was throbbing.
His chuffy friend grinned widely when he opened the door.
“Dude—you’re alive!”
Wesley howled in pain when Chance pul ed him into a
choke hold hug. “Watch my arm, man.”
“What happened to it?”
Wesley set his jaw against the pain, leaning over and
holding his arm. When he could talk again he said, “My
loan officer decided to take a pound of flesh.”
“Is it broken?”
“No. I don’t think that would hurt as bad.” Although
Carlotta might argue the point.
Chance dug into his pocket. “Here, dude, take a couple of
these.”
Wesley stared at the white pil s suspiciously. “What are
they?”
“OxyContin. It’s great stuff, man. Wil make you feel good
fast.”
“Thanks.” He took one and swallowed it dry.
Chance dumped the rest into Wesley’s hand. “For later,
dude. If you want to feel like you’ve just been laid by the
woman of your dreams, chew it. Want something to
drink?”
“Soda, if you have it.”
“Coming up. What the hel happened to you?”
“I went to try to patch things up with The Carver.”
Chance’s eyes bulged. “Dude! Are you suicidal?”
“I thought it was the best thing to do, under the
circumstances. He was going to come after me
eventually.”
Chance cracked open a can of Mountain Dew and handed
it to Wesley. “So what did he do to you?”
“Cut me up a little.”
“Really? I always wondered if the rumors were true. Did he
use a bowie knife?”
“Switchblade.”
“Cool.” Then his friend blanched. “I mean—fuck. That had
to hurt like a son of a bitch.”
“Yeah.”
“And he wanted twenty-five grand?”
“Yeah. A fee for pain and suffering, he called it.”
“Sorry I couldn’t help you out, man.”
“That’s okay. I got it.”
“Where?”
“Friend of the family.”
“Sweet. So does that clear your debt with The Carver?”
“Hel , no. Like I said, that was just a fee to let me keep
breathing. I stil owe the guy, like, twelve grand. But I’m
making payments.”
“I’m glad you’re back. I have an economics exam next
week. Think you could take it for me?”
Chance’s sense of self-preservation was more keen than
anyone’s he’d ever met. “Sure. Meanwhile, I need a game.
Can you keep your ears open?”
Chance grinned. “Sure.”
“I’l need a bankrol . Same deal as before—you pay the sit
fee, we split the winnings?”
“Deal. I’l make some phone calls right now. Have a seat,
man, and let the drug kick in.”
Wesley walked into the living room—a bachelor’s dream
of black leather furniture and oversize electronics.
Predictably, the large flat screen was showing porn, this
one of a homemade variety. What the film lacked in
quality it made up for in candid angles. Wesley switched
the input to the latest Xbox gaming system and pul ed up
Poker Smash. He settled into a chair and played a few
hands. The adrenaline and the caffeine helped to speed
the painkil er through his system. He glanced around at
Chance’s toys, conceding that his friend lived a charmed
life.
His life would’ve been like this if his father hadn’t been
forced to abandon his family. Wesley remembered the
piles of toys he’d had when he was little, the expansive
bedroom painted with blue sailboats, the platform that
had held a running train with a real switching station, the
navy-and-gray uniform of the private school he’d
attended. When his father had been indicted, the train
had been sold along with the house. And although Wesley
had been allowed to finish the year at his school, by the
next fall, his parents had been gone for several months.
Carlotta had sat him down and explained that they didn’t
have the money for private school, and soothed him with
the promise that he’d have much more fun in public
school, anyway.
He hadn’t. He’d been a shy, smart little kid with big
glasses, a prime target for bul ies. And he’d missed his
parents terribly. He’d saved his acting out for home. In
hindsight, he’d been a real pain in the ass to his sister…and
it seemed that things hadn’t changed much. Ten years
later, he was stil getting shoved around, and was stil
being a pain in the ass to his sister.
A knock sounded on the door.
“Get that, wil you, man?” Chance shouted.
Wesley looked up to see his friend talking on his cel phone
in the kitchen and scribbling on a piece of paper. He
pushed himself to his feet and got a head rush from the
painkil er. Chance was right—the OxyContin was damn
good stuff. Wes walked careful y to the door and opened
it, then balked.
E.’s boyfriend, Leonard, stood there, tall, dark and beefy.
“Is Hol ander around?”
“Uh, yeah, he’s on the phone. Come on in.”
When Wesley stepped aside to al ow him to pass, he
noticed the man was carrying a black gym bag similar to
the one that Chance had asked him to deliver to some
shady character in a shadier part of town—the errand that
E. had thwarted. It was ironic that her boyfriend appeared
to have picked up where Wesley’d left off.
He closed the door. “I’m Wes.”
Leonard flicked his gaze over him as he paced. “Yeah,
we’ve met before.”
“Right. I didn’t know if you—”
“Hol ander!” Leonard yel ed, obviously impatient.
From the kitchen, Chance held up a finger—his middle
one—but wrapped up his conversation and snapped his
phone closed. “Wes,” he said, striding toward them,
“there’s a big game next Wednesday and you’re in it. Five
grand a seat, twenty seats, and the pot is forty large,
twenty to the winner.”
Wesley nodded, but glanced sideways at Leonard. He
didn’t trust the man with his business, and it didn’t help
that he pretty much hated him for being with E. in the first
place, and deceiving her to boot. He looked at Chance.
“I’m outta here. Call you later.”
He grabbed his backpack and banged the door shut behind
him. He opted for the stairs instead of the elevator, but
the OxyContin slowed him down a bit. Once he got
outside, though, the fresh air helped to clear his head. He
was unlocking his bike when he heard the sound of heavy
footsteps behind him. He recognized Leonard’s hefty
shadow before he could even look up. When he
straightened, he half expected the guy to kick sand in his
face.
“Does E. know what you do on the side?” Wesley asked,
trying to look taller.
“No,” the guy said through big, gritted teeth. “And if she
finds out, I know where to land with both feet, capiche?”
Wesley bit down on the inside of his cheek. “Is that all?”
“No. Got a message for you from The Carver.”
Wesley swallowed. Shit, he didn’t see that coming. “You
work for The Carver?”
“Listen up, dickhead, because this is the deal of a lifetime.
A way to clear everything you stil owe.”
Wesley broke out in an instant sweat, exacerbated by the
drug pumping through his bloodstream. Deal of a lifetime?
Something told him this was going to be anything but.
8
Carlotta checked her watch and tried to ignore the fierce
itching under her cast. She’d been ready for more than an
hour. Her suitcase sat next to the door and her heart
pounded with nervous excitement. She was eager to get
out of this house for a few days, and she was looking
forward to spending time with Coop. Even though she
knew he had a crush on her, she also knew he wouldn’t
pressure her, like Peter, or mess with her mind, like Jack.
And when the time came, it would be easy to slip away
from Coop for a few hours. She nursed the tiniest bit of
guilt over using the trip as a cover to get to Daytona
Beach, but no one had to know. She would locate the
Holiday Inn where her father’s fingerprints had been
found, and ask a few questions of her own. Maybe he was
working there. If he was in disguise, Jack could easily
overlook him. He could talk to him and not know it was
him…her father would love that. She wasn’t even sure that