Death Blow (7 page)

When Lila came out the next day, her dad’s room was empty
and he was gone. True, it wasn’t early. Lila’d slept in, dead to the world
clear until 12:30. That sense of something being slightly off reared up in her
gut, but she had too many things to do to worry about feelings right now. She’d
made up her mind last night, as she lay in bed, that she was just going to quit
the Dirty Pint. She felt a little reckless, as if nothing could ever go wrong
at Club Malevolence and, even if it did, she could just find another job
somewhere else. She needed to get ready for the day, go there to quit outright
and get her last paycheck. Then, she needed to try to find a nice bottle of
wine or something—that’s what people did when they went to someone’s house for
dinner, right?

She hopped into the shower, tossing her ratty shorts and
t-shirt on the floor in a heap. Under the warm water, she’d meant to be speedy
and efficient, but once the drops hit her, she was immediately distracted by
thoughts of Barrett. She got hot instantly, wet and naked and so aware of her
body for the first time in a long time. Her hands slipped from her hair to her
neck to her breasts, which she cupped gently on her way down to her pussy, warm
and waiting for her touch. She rubbed herself in slow circles, imagining
Barrett’s hard, manly hands on her, grabbing her where her hands were. She
could imagine the cocksure look on his face as he fucked her, enjoying the act
as much as the power he had in the moment.

She pictured him—sweaty, naked, rock hard—entering her as
she slid a finger, then two, into herself. A moan escaped her lips, and she let
her head fall back into the stream of the showerhead. His name sat right on the
tip of her tongue as her hips started to buck against her own hand, and every
time she licked her lips, the
B
pushed against them. Lila could feel her
muscles contracting, her abs tightening up, and her mental picture of Barrett
became white, hot, flooded with light. She was coming, and she wanted to say
his name so badly, but she just couldn’t. She couldn’t say it.

Spent, she let herself stand idly in the water a moment
more. She’d been the only one to touch her body for such a long time.
Maybe
,
she thought to herself,
maybe Barrett will…
But then she remembered what
a dick he’d been, how he’d been so sure he was going to have her, and she felt
herself harden against the prospect.

That was the realization Lila needed. She jumped back into
gear, finishing her shower quickly and moving on to the next, more difficult,
task of getting dressed. Now that she knew what kind of family the Morans were,
she also knew there was nothing in her closet that was going to be exactly
appropriate for dinner at their house—mansion, probably. She surveyed her
options. She didn’t think they’d make her feel bad about anything, but she also
knew she’d feel awkward if she wore the wrong thing. The only thing she could
think to wear without looking like a try-hard was a dark pair of skinny jeans
and a loose-fitting, scoop neck, black t-shirt. For shoes, she couldn’t help
it—she felt like a kid with a new Christmas toy, but she only wanted to wear
her Louboutins. The bronzed, snakeskin pair she had didn’t quite go with black,
but she thought it looked okay, and it was better than the nasty sneakers or
boots she had.

She threw her hair up into a messy bun, trying to make the
whole thing casual. It was still missing something. She went to her dresser
and, for the first time in a long time, pulled out her jewelry box. She didn’t
wear jewelry often—it never seemed to go with her style—but she had a necklace
of her mother’s that she thought was just the thing she needed to almost fit in
at the Morans’. Sifting through the small collection, she found it: a thin,
delicate, gold chain, with a single, beautiful golden arrow charm.

She’d never remembered seeing her mother wear this necklace,
although her memories of her mother were faded and fading. She did have very
clear memories of her mother touching this one a lot, when her dad wasn’t home,
draping it on her hands, running it through her fingers. When Deborah had died,
the very night that her dad had told her, in fact, Lila remembered sneaking
into their bedroom to find the necklace. Her dad had never been in a state of
mind to realize after that night anyway, but Lila never put it on around him,
just in case he recognized it. He’d pawned all her mother’s jewelry a few
months after the death, and Lila was sure he’d try to take it back from her if
he knew she had it.

She slipped the necklace around her neck, fastened the
clasp, and took a look at herself in the mirror. It wasn’t perfect, but it was
the closest she’d get, so it would have to do. What time was it now? Good lord,
it was 3PM already. She needed to get going. She could catch her boss doing the
daily office work at the Dirty Pint, have that conversation, and get out in
time to get a bottle of something and get to the house by 5. She headed out of
the house, jumped in her car, and sped off.

The conversation with her boss had gone badly. No surprise—Carter
was always an asshole, who employed a bunch of young, attractive women, paid
them poorly, and came onto them all the time, whenever he wasn’t yelling at
them. Lila hadn’t expected it to go well, obviously, but she also hadn’t
expected to stand up for herself as much as she did. She sort of let the boss
have it, gave him a piece of her mind, even if it was a small piece. He wasn’t
a man of reason, and she was quitting without notice and with a lot of shit to
say to him, so he’d just gotten angrier and angrier. They’d fought back and
forth for almost an hour, him trying to get her to stay at first, then refusing
to give her her last paycheck. Finally, he’d stomped over to the register,
pulled out her biweekly salary in cash, literally thrown it at her, and stormed
into the kitchen.  She collected the measly sum—it was a couple bucks shy of
what she’d made at Club Malevolence in a single night, and a training night at
that. She didn’t need to take another look around before she left. She’d hated
that place, and it had only just gotten her by. She had no fondness for it
whatsoever, and knew she’d miss absolutely nothing about its dark, dank insides.

Outside, though, the Sheriff was headed to the doors of the
Dirty Pint. He caught her completely off-guard.

“Hey there, girlie,” he greeted her.

“Sheriff! Hi!” She was feeling a little raw, emotionally,
and she stepped right to him and threw her arms around his neck, giving him a
big hug. They’d hugged before, but it’d always been a bit more formal, a bit
more earned, a little less immediate. The Sheriff had seemed visibly shocked,
but he hugged her back tightly regardless.

“Well someone’s positively glowing. And look at you, all
fancy in your heels and your—“ the Sheriff caught sight of her necklace and
froze, staring at it for a second. “What a lovely thing,” he said quietly.

“Oh, yeah,” Lila’s hand flew up to touch it, blushing a
little.

“Very pretty. Very pretty indeed.” The Sheriff’s voice took
on a strange tone for a beat, as if he’d gone somewhere far away. He sounded so
quiet and lost. Lila’d never seen him dip out like that. But in a split second,
he came right back, tearing his eyes away from the necklace and back up to her
eyes. “You get a raise? Ol’ Carter in there make you a partner or something?”
He took a step back to look at her, take in her new appearance, her new mood.
Something enormous had shifted around Lila, he could tell.

Lila’s face sank as she realized that she now had to tell
the Sheriff she didn’t work at the Dirty Pint anymore. At the same moment, she
realized she couldn’t tell him about Club Malevolence either. She wanted to,
but she sensed that it wasn’t allowed, that she shouldn’t tell the Sheriff
about the club, or at the very least about her new job there. She was going to
have to lie to him.

“Well, actually, no,” she admitted, stalling. “I just quit.”

The Sheriff grabbed his heart in a mock attack. “Quit?! My
god, you quit the Dirty Pint?! Say it ain’t so, Lila!” He was definitely
surprised, but he didn’t want to show it. It was important to him that Lila
trust him, and he knew he had to treat things the right way for that to happen.

“Afraid it’s true, Sheriff,” Lila lamented. “I’ve got a new
job as Sheriff of Belle Chasse.” She flashed a big grin as she joked with him.

He gave her a why-I-oughta shake of his hand. “Carter must
not be too happy about that,” he said, peering tentatively at the doors. “What
you quittin’ for?” he asked, staring at Lila curiously.

“Oh, you know, been a long time,” she deflected.

“And we both know what a shithole that place is,” the
Sheriff winked at her from behind his aviators.

Lila laughed. “True.” She couldn’t even bring herself to
move the conversation forward, like a normal conversation would go. She was
sure the Sheriff could sense her hesitancy, could pick up on her unwillingness
to share. But she was also sure he’d press her.

“What’re you gonna do for money, then?” he asked finally,
after a long silence.

“Well, I’ll find something. I’ve got a kind of temporary
job, doing a couple things for a woman in town.” She made up the lie as she
went along. She didn’t want to entirely make it up, but she needed to come up
with something passable.

“Doin’ a couple things for a woman? What does that mean?” he
pressed.

“You know, running errands, stuff like that. She’s pretty
wealthy,” Lila joked, “so there’s not much she
can
do by herself.” She
wanted out of there so badly, hated lying to the Sheriff.

“Oh, I see, I see.” He shifted back on his heels a bit, and
she could tell he was trying to make sense of all this, gauging whether he
should continue to ask questions or leave it alone. “What woman is this?” he
asked neutrally.

“Um, her name’s Cassandra,” Lila admitted.

The Sheriff’s face froze in a smile. “Cassandra what?”

“Cassandra Moran. You know her?” Lila tried to play it cool.
The smile didn’t leave the Sheriff’s face, but Lila felt a coldness sweep
between the two of them.

“Oh, yep, yep, I know Mrs. Moran,” he said, resting both
hands on his belt. He was the one avoiding Lila’s gaze now, staring at his
shoes, the sidewalk, anything.  “She’s a nice lady, for sure. And tons of
money, I know that.” He was saying what Lila wanted him to say, but the way he
was saying it brought up those feelings of unease again.

“My only problem is,” Lila tried to regain the upper hand
here, “how am I going to see my Sheriff?” She tried to sound as warm and
natural as possible. And she meant it. The Sheriff had been the only thing
worth being at the Dirty Pint for, as long as Lila had worked there. “Am I
going to have to get arrested every time I want to see you and catch up?”

The Sheriff laughed, wonderful and deep. “You got my number,
girlie. You know you can call me whenever you want, even if that’s just to get
a beer and shoot the shit.” He took a step forward and put a hand on her
shoulder, taking off his sunglasses with the other hand. He looked intently
into Lila’s eyes, as if trying to communicate an unspoken message more than the
words he was saying. “And Lila,” he stared into her. “I want you to call me if
you ever need anything. If you
ever
need
anything
,” he
reiterated. He gave her shoulder a squeeze, sent that silent something to her
eyes again, and dropped his hand from her shoulder. “Well,” he said, putting
his aviators back on. “I was dropping by to have a chat with Carter, so I’ll
head on in and do that.”

“Oh great,” Lila rolled her eyes. “Don’t tell him you saw me,
yeah?”

“I’ll tell him I tossed you into the back of my wagon and
will deal with you myself.” The Sheriff stepped past her, and Lila’s heart
broke a little bit as he did. “Always good to see you, Lila. Hope your new job
won’t change things.”

“It won’t, Sheriff. Promise it won’t.”

“All right now. Get on.” The Sheriff shooed her away as he
opened the front door of the bar and disappeared inside.

It was already 4:20pm—Lila rushed back to her car, shoved
the keys in the ignition, and took off.

Lila was scared to even knock on the door, that’s how white
it was. She realized how ridiculous she must look, dressed in jeans, standing
at the threshold of this enormous mansion. It was a mansion, an honest to god
mansion. Lila had never seen one up close like this. White, white, brilliant
white, protected by regal columns that spanned from roof to ground. Lila’d driven
up through a huge, gravel circle where a man who could’ve easily worked the
door at Club Malevolence came out and asked for her keys. Now she stood here,
severely underdressed, wondering if this expensive—to her—bottle of wine could
even come close to making the impression she wanted to, thinking maybe she
should just turn around and go home.

“Deep breaths,” she said out loud to herself. “Deep breaths,
you can do this. They like you. They invited you over. Cassandra knows what
you’re coming from here.” She followed her advice, inhaled, exhaled. She
couldn’t turn back now. She raised a hand and held it, hesitantly, inches away
from the door. This was it.

One, two, three knocks. Wait.

Lila heard the footsteps as they approached—the light click
of a pair of heels. She shifted her weight, took a last deep breath, and slung
a smile on just as the door opened.

“There she is, right on time again.” It was Cassandra,
dressed in a pair of white linen capris and a loose-flowing white top. Lila’d
gotten pretty close with her mental image. On her feet were adorable white
kitten heels, and Lila made note that Cassandra was the type of woman who had a
pair of heels for every outfit, and probably nothing else. “Hey there, doll
face.” Cassandra pulled her inside, into a hug, grabbing the bottle of wine
seamlessly as they broke apart. “And you brought wine! Someone raised you
right,” she grinned, glancing at the label.

“Hah, no, pretty much raised myself this way,” Lila shot
off, not realizing what she said before she said.

Cassandra frowned. “I didn’t want to say anything, but I
know your daddy’s reputation,” she admitted, looking Lila straight in the face.
Lila hadn’t realized that Cassandra knew who she was, knew who her family was,
before they’d met. She must have. “Ooh, a Cali cab sauv, my favorite,” she
giggled, shutting the door behind Lila.

Lila took in the foyer. The ceiling must have been 50 feet
high, with a giant crystal chandelier that hung intricately close to a big,
dark, wooden staircase. The floors were also a rich, deep mahogany, and
everything else was white. White, everywhere, white, even on Cassandra. The
furniture had a nice rustic aesthetic to it, and the pieces looked quite old, although
Lila wasn’t sure if they were genuine antiques or very expensive replicas.

“Come on in, have a seat. If you don’t mind bein’ a bit
casual with us, we’ll sit in the kitchen for right now, yeah?” Cassandra
clicked off down the hallway, and Lila followed. Family photos of Cassandra,
Lyle and Jackson hung on much of the wallspace, framed beautifully in silver
and black. There wasn’t any color anywhere—the house had been meticulously
designed and decorated.

They made it to the kitchen, a big, open concept with lots
of windows and modern chrome appliances. An older woman was cutting things at
the counter, her back to them as Lila and Cassandra walked in. “That’s Shelley,
our cook,” Cassandra said. Shelley, a frail-looking woman with wispy blonde
hair, looked over her shoulder and nodded at Lila. “Let me get two glasses
here,” Cassandra groaned as she reached for two wine stems in an upper cabinet,
“and let’s sit us down and talk!” She set the two glasses on the kitchen
island, a nice black slate with black stools to sit in.

“The boys around?” Lila asked, nudging a stool out and
sitting on it.

“Oh, somewhere, you know menfolk. Think Jackson’s upstairs
with his girlfriend, who’ll be joinin’ us for dinner as well, and Lyle’s up in
his office, finishin’ up some stuff for the day. Just us girls for right now,
but that’s the way I like it.” Cassandra winked at Lila as she took a stool
beside her. “So, how’d the rest of the night go last night?”

Lila laughed, forgetting that Cassandra knew nothing about
her encounter with Barrett. She wasn’t sure she should say anything.

“Oh, fine. Just cleaned up and went home.”

Cassandra corked Lila’s bottle of wine and poured them both
substantial glasses of it. “That’s it?” she eyed Lila, playfully suspicious.
“’Cause Raechelle told me you met Barrett Warde after we left.”

“Did she?” Lila deflected, grinning as she took a sip of the
wine. “Can’t imagine why she’d think that was important enough to mention.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Cassandra clinked her glass to Lila’s.
“Not everyday that a brand new employee gives one of our top selling, most
hated fighters a good, strong wack across the face.” They both broke out into
quiet laughter. Lila felt herself blushing a bit, but she hoped it wouldn’t
give her away.

“Well, Barrett said some impolite things to me,” Lila
demurred, winking back at Cassandra this time.

“I’ll be damned, girl,” Cassandra took a big gulp of her
wine. “You somethin’ else. I’m so happy you’re takin’ up with us.” The remark
struck Lila as a bit odd,
taking up with us
. Lila felt like she’d heard
that phrase used in stories about gangs and outlaws. She also couldn’t stop
thinking about what Cassandra’d said before, about knowing her father, and she
couldn’t help but ask.

“You said you knew my daddy’s reputation?” she asked quietly.
Cassandra got somber. She twirled her wine glass by the stem, looking somewhat
sadly at Lila.

“Yeah, Lila. I know your family. I—well,” she shifted
uncomfortably on her stool, switching her crossed legs and kicking her kitten
heel rhythmically against her foot. “Well, I knew your mother and father pretty
well,” she said finally.

Lila had not expected that. “My mother?” she practically
whispered.

“Yeah. Well, I knew your folks before all the troubles.”

“Well?”

“Fairly well, yep. Your daddy and my Lyle have done some
business together, at different times.” Lila couldn’t believe what she was
hearing. Had her dad helped build Club Malevolence? Lila couldn’t tie together
why Lyle might have done business with a construction worker like her father.
“And, well, I don’t know if you remember this—but Lyle’s the one your mother
worked for, right before she died.”

Lila choked on the wine she’d just sipped. “My mother was
Lyle’s secretary?” Cassandra looked into her eyes, cool as a cucumber.

“Yep. She sure was.”

“So you—you both knew my mother pretty well, then.” Lila
felt slightly dizzy. This wasn’t anything she’d ever expected. The room spun
slightly, and Lila could only chug a bit more wine to combat it. “You—oh man,”
she gawked.

“Easy, girl, easy,” Cassandra eyed her sips. “I know it’s a
lot to take in right now.” She put a hand over Lila’s, both of them resting on
the cool slate island. “I wanted you to know because—well, I want you to know
that we care about you here. I came to find you specifically, and I want you to
know that you have a second family here. We knew yours, and we want you to know
ours real well.”

Lila’s eyes welled up. No one had ever said anything so nice
to her in the many years since her mother’s death. At that moment, Lila felt
happy and sad and overwhelmed. It was surreal, that this beautiful, rich woman,
this woman who’d known her real mother, this princess in shining armor, had
sought Lila out, had brought Lila here, and wanted to take care of her. Lila
had forgotten what that was like—to be taken care of.

“Aw, sugar, don’t cry,” Cassandra smiled. She brought her
other hand forward and wiped Lila’s eyes. “Just know that you can depend on us
Morans, okay? For whatever you need, whenever you need it.” Lila broke down and
started to cry a little, but it was through a big smile.

“Cassandra, this—“ She wanted to say how thankful she was.

Cassandra waved her hand at Lila. “Shh, girl, you ain’t got
to thank me. We owe it to you, in a way, all right?”

At that moment, Lila heard light, padding footsteps coming
down the staircase in the hall. “Oh god,” she muttered, wiping her eyes and
fanning them to hopefully do away with some of the redness.

“That’ll be Jackson and Tiffany,” Cassandra said, sighing
slightly on the last name and heaving herself up off the stool. “Better get
some more glasses.”

Around the corner came Jackson followed by a cute, young,
blonde girl with shiny blue eyes. They had their hands clasped tightly around
each other’s, and Jackson seemed to pull her around with a gentle force that
she more than willingly succumbed to. She flashed a big smile—showing perfect,
white teeth—when she saw Lila, and let out a little squeal.

“You must be Lila!” She broke out of Jackson’s grip and
rushed over to Lila, hugging her tight before Lila could even jump down off the
stool.

“Babe, come on,” Jackson teased. “You didn’t even let her
stand up to hug you back.” He grinned at Lila, her head resting on Tiffany’s
shoulder, and rolled his eyes a little bit.

“I’m just too excited!” Tiffany squealed again. She finally
pulled back and let Lila go. “I’ve heard so much about you, and it’s only been
a couple hours!” She excitedly pushed her hair behind her ears—it seemed like
she wanted to be able to see as much of Lila as possible. Her eyes scanned
Lila’s face in friendly, if intense, scrutiny, and she seemed perched on a
ledge awaiting Lila’s first words.

“Well,” Lila finally said, “I hope it’s all good stuff?”

Tiffany guffawed, a surprisingly unladylike laugh for such a
petite thing. She clapped her hands and turned back to Jackson. “And she’s
funny, too!”

“Wait until you hear how funny,” Cassandra added from over
by the cabinets. “Jackson, you’ll love this—she smacked the Devil out of
Barrett Warde last night.”

“What?” Jackson looked impressed beyond words.

Tiffany’s hands flew up to her mouth. “You
didn’t
,”
she whispered through her fingers.

They both stared at Lila for a response as Cassandra poured
them wine. Lila took a big swig and finished her glass.

“He’s kind of an asshole,” she grinned.

Jackson and Tiffany laughed, Tiffany clapping her hands
loudly.

“That, he definitely is,” Jackson said, picking up the wine
glass Cassandra passed him. “Let’s go sit in the living room to discuss how
much of an asshole he is.”

“I can’t believe you did that!” Tiffany said in awe as she
picked hers up with one hand and grabbed Jackson’s hand with her other. “I
mean, I’ve always thought someone should give it to Barrett, but I’m, like, so
proud that it’s you! And that you did it right off the bat!”

Lila laughed as she slipped off the stool and followed
Jackson and Tiffany into another room. Cassandra clicked in behind them,
carrying the bottle with her as well.

The living room was as impressive as the kitchen—big, bright
windows looking out onto an exquisitely designed back patio, huge leather sofas
softer than anything Lila’d ever felt in her life, glass coffee and side tables
so fine Lila could hardly tell they were there.

“I haven’t said it yet, I can’t believe it—“ Lila turned to
Cassandra, “but this house is amazing.”

“Oh, p’shaw,” Cassandra waved a hand at her, taking a seat
on one of the couches.

“Seriously. It’s the most amazing house I’ve ever seen in my
life.” Lila took a seat on the bigger couch, next to Jackson and Tiffany.

“Yeah, not too shabby,” Jackson said, watching Lila. “But
enough about that. More about you smacking Barrett.”

Lila shrugged. “Wasn’t much to it. He’s kind of an asshole,
so I smacked him. I didn’t really mean to.”

Jackson laughed, sliding an arm around Tiffany’s shoulder.
“Don’t say it that way. Say that you totally meant to and he’s lucky you only
smacked him, because if you could’ve done what you really wanted to, he’d be
dead.”

Lila thought about the things she really wanted to do to
Barrett.

“I’ve always said he needs a woman to slap him around a
bit,” Cassandra giggled from her couch. “Too damn cocky, needs to be brought
down a notch or eight.” Everyone laughed. “One of these days, he’s gonna be up
against my Jackson, and then we’ll see who’s the tough guy.”

Jackson noticeably darkened, his brow furrowing, and he
pulled Tiffany tighter to him. “Come on, Mom, let’s not talk about it right
now.” Tiffany, too, looked like a rain cloud had drifted in front of her sunny
face.

“What?” Cassandra said, somewhat pointedly. “It’s what you
do for a living, son.”

“Yeah, but you know that Tiffany doesn’t like talking about
it.”

Tiffany looked at Lila confidentially. “It makes me so sad
and worried to think about Jackson fighting,” she admitted, pouting a bit.

“Oh, so that’s why you weren’t at the fight the other night?”
Lila remembered.

“Yep. Can’t stand it.” Tiffany shuddered and took a sip of
her wine.

“Gonna have to get over that eventually, Tiff, since that’s
a big part of Jackson’s life.” Lila sensed a bit of annoyance in Cassandra’s
voice when she said this, like it was a conversation these three had had over
and over again.

“Leave her alone, Mom,” Jackson cut in, interrupting Lila’s
thoughts and confirming them simultaneously. “It’s not going to be what I do
for the rest of my life, okay?” He threw back his wine a bit recklessly and set
the empty glass down on the coffee table with a definitive
thunk
.

“Let’s not have this conversation now, all right, kids?”
Cassandra said, half gently and half condescendingly. “Our guest here don’t
want to listen to us bicker. Ain’t that right, Lila?”

Lila smiled lightly and shrugged. “Been a long time since I
heard a family bicker, actually.” She felt warm and airy from the wine, and
realized she was saying things she maybe shouldn’t say to more or less strangers.
Jackson’s gaze found its way back to her, and he looked at her intently.