I move my leg away from his greasy clothes as Easy re-enters the room. He takes a seat to our left, opposite Taylor, who Gunter’s now talking with. My eyes meet Easy’s, and we stare at one another for what feels like an age before his lips part ever so slightly to give me a sardonic smile. I twist out of Gunter’s hold, intent on getting as far away from Easy and Taylor as I can, when Easy’s thick cockney accent stops me dead.
“Runnin’ away so soon, teacup?”
“I’m thirsty,” I say weakly, thumbing toward the kitchen.
“It can wait, can’t it?”
I flash my gaze to Gunter, silently asking for help. He glances between the two of us before Taylor pulls him back into conversation. Screaming on the inside, I close my eyes and draw a deep breath, setting my sights back on Easy when I open them again. “Are you here alone tonight?” I ask. “I’d hoped to see Leticia with you.”
He smirks at the mention of his very on-again, off-again girlfriend. “She was feeling a tad under the weather.”
Too bruised to show her face in public, more like. “Shame. It’s been a while since we’ve caught up.” The girl’s nice enough, just naïve as fuck. I mean, she’s still with Easy, convinced he has it in him to change.
“Maybe next weekend, yeah?”
“Maybe.” I thumb toward the kitchen again. “Gonna get that drink now.”
Easy’s lips part in a sick smile that comes off as more of a grimace on his scarred face. I take a step backward and turn smack-bang into a solid chest. Damn it.
“I’ve just arrived and me favorite gal is runnin’ away?” Eddie takes hold of my upper arms, steadying me on my feet.
I’d been so focused on getting distance between Easy and myself without any confrontation that I never noticed the boss enter the room.
“I’m off to get a drink, Eddie.” I ply him with my best smile. “Would you like me to get you one, too?”
His hands slip from my arms and rough fingers caress the line of my jaw. “Sure, love. You’re a good girl, ain’t ya?”
“Always.” I push up on my toes to give the serpent a kiss on the cheek, Easy’s gaze boring into me as I do. “Got to look after my favorite boys.” The lie burns the tip of my tongue, the deception so natural it sickens me. “Anybody else for a cold one while I’m in there?”
Easy and Taylor shake their heads. Gunter just stares, well aware I would have grabbed him one without having to be asked.
“Off you go then,” Eddie says, tipping his head toward the kitchen. “I’m feelin’ rather parched.”
I sneak another look at Gunter, and feel a little cheated when I find him already back in the conversation he’s having with Taylor. I’m not sure what I was after, though. A smile perhaps? A little wink? Something that tells me he appreciates me? Instead, he’s too engrossed talking about giving some Asian run supermarket a scare to even care about the fact I’m stuck in the pits of hell between these men. Not that it would matter. Eddie’s the man in charge, and Easy’s his damn pit bull, snarling at his side. Nobody questions them—not when they hold the lion’s share of power in these parts.
Not even a man as physically overbearing as Gunter.
I head toward the kitchen, unsettled by the unwarranted disappointment I have towards Gunter’s lack of real affection. He’s always touching me, holding me close, but I know without a shadow of a doubt that’s more about him looking good than how he feels about me. I’m the prize, the pretty girl, but mostly the possession. I want more. I want to be flattered by the simplest smile, hold a secret conversation with the man I love. I want to be appreciated, not owned. Treasured, not kept.
Just preferably not by him.
“Ryan,” Eddie calls, stopping me right before the door to the kitchen. “Smile, love. A scowl ain’t a pretty look on ya.”
I give him a broad tight-lipped smile, figting to keep the sarcasm out of it before turning and carrying on my way. I hate taking orders from him, but what am I to do? He’s the boss, and the man everybody looks to for direction. He’s old enough to be my father, battle hardened from a life of violence, fighting for his beliefs. Beliefs that are so intrinsically different to what I hold true in my heart that I often wonder how the hell I manage to lie straight at night.
Still, a girl’s got to do what a girl’s got to do if she wants to find out why she’s an orphan. And for me, that means hanging around these assholes long enough to find Eddie’s weakness and unlock the answers. At least, that’s what I tell myself every damn time I find myself wallowing in the deep end with these sharks—it’s the only thing that keeps me afloat when I feel as though I can no longer keep treading water; the hope that all this will be worth it. The hope that knowing why Harris shot my parents will fill that aching void inside of me.
The hope that one day, I can figure out how the hell to stop grieving things that cannot be undone and learn to move past the crippling pain of betrayal.
EYE ON THE PRIZE
Bronx
Melting into the shadows, I find myself a quiet spot out the front of the house to watch what’s going down, partially obscured by a truck parked on the lawn. Easy paces the fence line, furiously typing on his phone with both thumbs. He wears the same shit as he has every night I’ve seen him at the Red Lion: white wife-beater, fucking hideous Union Jack suspenders, and a pair of acid wash jeans leading down to his boots. His arms are small—at least in comparison to mine—but strong. Swastikas and the SS logo are clearly tattooed on his flesh, crude and rough from what was probably an amateur job.
Tommy exits the modest brick house and strides across to where Easy pauses and leans into the low fence. He hangs about thumbs in pockets while the older skinner finishes with his message and pockets the phone. They talk between themselves for a moment before Easy flicks his head and they move toward the driveway, past me. Pulling my phone from my back pocket, I feign interest in the damn thing as they approach. I couldn’t even tell you what passes by on the screen. The more I try to focus, the more my thoughts wander. All I know, is that I’m not paying attention to the conversation these two men are having, which is what I should be doing.
Instead my train of thought is somewhere inside the house, circling around a woman with the sharpest fucking blue eyes I’ve seen on a dark-haired bitch. I recognize her from the Lion, but until now I hadn’t realized she belonged to one of those skinhead fucks. Guess I’d always been too busy just watching her to care.
“Same shit as always, in the same spot, yeah?” Easy smacks Tommy on the arm, stopping him dead in his tracks a few feet before me. “And don’t give them too much this time,” he instructs. “They’re greedy fuckers when ya don’t watch them.”
Tommy nods, taking a set of keys from Easy. “Yeah, I got it.”
“Top work, Tommy-boy. Be back here soon. No fuckin’ around in my car.”
Tommy shakes his head, walking away. I drop my gaze back to my phone as Easy spins on the spot, facing the house. A beat passes before a set of scuffed cherry-red Doc Marten boots come into view in my peripheral. I pocket the device in my hand with a sigh, lifting my head to catch Easy’s frown.
“What you doin’ out here, boy?”
I stifle a laugh—the guy has to be no more than a year my senior, and yet he’s calling me boy. Too many gangster movies for this east-end hooligan.
“I was mindin’ my own business,” I answer, shoving my hands in my jean pockets. “That’s what I was doin’.”