Wild Aces (22 page)

So, what the hell was I still doing here?

I couldn’t imagine why a poker club would need Trapper’s help this late at night. It was well past midnight. Didn’t places like that have bouncers or security guards to take care of any problems that came up? Something didn’t feel right about it. Maybe it was because it was a woman who had called, and he’d turned down the volume, so I wouldn’t hear her. It was a nice try, but he wasn’t fast enough. That move just made it feel like some shady shit was going on.

There was also a chance I was just being extra sensitive because there was so much about him that I still didn’t know. I didn’t expect to learn it all immediately; Trapper seemed like a super private person, so it was going to take some time. But if I knew at least a little more about his poker life, maybe it wouldn’t have hurt so much when he ditched me.

And maybe if Cody hadn’t done it so often, it wouldn’t have bothered me at all.

“I’ll be back before you leave for work, love.”

I felt Cody’s lips on my cheek and opened my eyes, trying to focus on the clock on my nightstand. It was two in the morning.

“Where are you going?”

“I got called in. They need me.”

“Now? But it’s your day off.”

“Yes, baby, now.”

I turned on the lamp beside my bed. “Couldn’t you tell them that your girlfriend hasn’t slept in the same bed as you for over a week? And that we need at least one full night together?”

“That’s not a reason for me not to go in.”

I was a little groggy, still feeling the wine we’d shared at dinner. But that wasn’t why my hands were shaking. I couldn’t believe he was doing this again. Maybe I should have felt grateful that we’d gotten to have dinner together and watched a movie…even though he’d passed out halfway through it, and I had to wake him to go to bed.

But all I could think about was hearing my front door close and reaching over to his side of the bed and feeling nothing but cold sheets. I hated that about us—his side always feeling cold. For one night, I just wanted to stretch out my leg and have my toes touch his warm calf. I wanted to roll over to his side and be able to wrap my arms around him instead of a pillow. I wanted to know he was here, with me, not out there on the streets.

“Okay,” I said. I didn’t want to argue, and nothing I said would make him stay. “I’ll see you when I get up for work.”

I knew that wasn’t the truth. There was no way he’d be back by then. He never was. And the only time we’d get to spend together was when he stopped by my office to bring me lunch. At least we had that.

“Be careful out there, Cody.”

“I always am, baby.”

My phone rang from inside my purse, which was somewhere in Trapper’s living room. I bolted off the stool and quickly looked for it. I didn’t recognize the number on the screen when I finally held it in my hand.

“This is Brea,” I said as I answered.

“Ma’am, my name’s Ryan. I’m the super over at Brushwood Places.”

It took me a second to figure out which building he was talking about. “Hi, Ryan. How can I help you?”

“Mr. Dawson told me to call him if there were any noise complaints tonight. Said he’d handle it personally. But you see, he ain’t answering, and I’m afraid one of the residents is gonna go ahead and call the police. So, I found some note that said Jordan somethin’ manages this building. I gave Miss Jordan a call, and now, I’m talking to you.”

The office line rang to whoever was on call. Tonight, it was me…which I’d completely forgotten about.

“I’m more than happy to call the police for you, Ryan,” I told him. “We usually let them handle all noise complaints, especially if they happen late at night.”

All of my property managers followed that practice; it was best not to get involved with tenant disputes.

“Mr. Dawson don’t like it when the police are called. That’s why he usually deals with the noise himself.”

“Okay then. Is it something you can handle, or would you like me to come over?”

“Broke both legs last week while I was sprinkling salt out front. Mr. Dawson wants me to stay in bed, so I don’t hurt nothin’ else…if you know what I mean.”

Max Dawson was our largest leasing account. If he was tied up and unable to respond to the complaint and Ryan was bedbound, then that left me. With Trapper gone, I wouldn’t be getting any sleep tonight anyway.

“I’ll head over there now.”

“Hit two-three-four-five on the keypad, ma’am. That’ll buzz you in.”

That was original.

“Got it. What’s the apartment number?”

“One fourteen.”

“Thanks,” I said. I hung up and dropped my phone back in my purse. Then I hurried around the kitchen and up the stairs, picking up all the clothes that Trapper had stripped off me and dropped on our way to his bedroom.

After I quickly dressed, I zipped up my jacket and wrapped my scarf around my neck. Frankie’s townhouse wasn’t far from Trapper’s, so I knew the right intersection to pick up a cab.

Once I settled into the backseat of the taxi, I tied my hair into a messy bun and swiped some gloss over my lips. I doubted if Frankie would still be awake, but I typed her a text anyway. At least, she’d have a surprise to wake up to.

Me: It haaaaappeeeeened.

I clicked Send and pulled up my favorite celebrity gossip site. I didn’t even have a chance to read the first headline before Frankie’s reply popped up on the screen.

Frankie: You go, girl! Was it the perfect cock you hoped for?

Me: Oh, YESSSSS.

Frankie: I knew it. He’s a keeper.

Me: Why are you awake?

Frankie: I’m trying to get caught up with my e-mails. Still have over 4000 to go. :-( Why aren’t you doing the dirty again right now?

Me: Uh, well…I’m in a taxi on my way to settle a noise complaint.

Frankie: That’s not policy. I hope you brought Trapper with you?

Me: No. He left, too. But not with me.

My phone started ringing, and the screen filled with a picture of Frankie and me at a winery in Maine.

“Let me guess,” I said, laughing. “Your nails are too long, and it’s making it too hard for you to text?”

“They’re like claws, I swear. Let’s go for manicures tomorrow?”

“Sounds good to me.”

“Why did Trapper leave? And why aren’t you letting the police handle the noise complaint?”

I leaned against the window, feeling the chill through the glass. “Trapper had some work stuff to handle, I guess.”

“He left after you guys had sex?”

“Yep.”

She sighed at the same time I did. “Forgive me for saying this, but that reminds me of something Cody would do.”

She knew me too well.

“Yeah…I know. And I hate it.”

“I’m assuming you’d rather go out on the noise complaint than be stuck at his place alone?”

“Right again. It’s for Max Dawson, and his super said that Max doesn’t like it when the police are called. For him and only for him, it’s the least I can do.”

“You know, your boss should really give you a raise for this,” she teased.

I laughed so hard, I snorted. “Will
you
tell my boss that, please? She’s this hard-ass bitch who’s so stingy with money, and I make her
sooooo
much of it.”

She laughed. “Rumor is your boss’s husband returns tomorrow night. Ask her then. I guarantee she’ll be in a much better mood.”

“Noted.” I giggled. “I’ll call you in the morning. Love you, bossy bitch.”

“Love you more.”

Trapper

I walked to the end of the hallway, reaching the apartment number Adrianna had texted me. It was so quiet. I put my ear against the door, trying to hear if anyone was talking inside. There was nothing but silence, so I knocked to make sure I had the right address. My heart was pounding hard enough to feel it in my throat.

“Who’s there?” asked a guy from the other side of the door.

“Trapper Montgomery.”

The door opened, and I stepped inside. I was immediately hit with a rancid smell that brought me back to my childhood—meat that had been left out of the fridge for weeks. I covered my nose and saw Adrianna and her assistant standing against the back wall. Their arms were looped together, their shoulders touching, as if they were trying to protect themselves from something.

“Are you all right?” I asked them, walking toward their side of the room. “What’s going on here?”

Adrianna used her head to point to the right. I turned and saw a guy standing in the kitchen. He was holding a gun, aimed directly at me.

“
I’m
what the fuck is going on here,” he said.

I glanced back at Adrianna. Her face told me I really needed to be careful. This wasn’t an angry seller. This was a guy who was fucking crazy.

“Why don’t you put the gun down and let the girls go?” I said. “Then we can talk about what you want.”

He used the butt of it to scratch his chin. “Hell no. That pretty little blonde there is the reason I got this gun. I ain’t giving her up.”

“What’s he talking about?” I asked.

“I stuck a knife at her throat and told that big motherfucker that if he didn’t give me his gun, I would stab her.” He was talking about Kevin, the guy I’d hired to protect them, who I didn’t see anywhere in here. He waved me closer, so I could look around the corner of the kitchen. “That motherfucker right there.”

Kevin was tied to a chair with a pair of panties stuffed in his mouth to keep him quiet.

The gun in this guy’s hand made him think he was in control of what was happening here. But it wasn’t the first gun that had been pointed at me, and it wasn’t the first time I would have to talk my way out of a shitty situation.

“What’s your name?” I asked him.

“You come into my house and want to buy something from me, and you don’t know my
fucking name
?” He stumbled forward a few steps.

“Just tell me your—”

“Put your hands up!” he shouted.

I lifted them into the air.

“You must be the boss I keep asking for?”

“That’s me, yeah.” I glanced at Adrianna.

Her purse was still hanging over her shoulder. I knew she had a gun in the inside pocket, and mine was still in the waist of my jeans. We just had to find the right moment to take them out. Adrianna’s eyes told me she agreed with that idea.

“Let’s talk this out,” I said. I took a step to the side, trying to get all his attention on me. “You asked for me, and now, I’m here. What is it that you want?”

“Whore!” he screamed. With the gun still pointed at me, he looked over his shoulder, as if he was searching for someone. When a response didn’t come, he yelled again, “
Whore!
”

“
Cooooomiiiiing
,” a woman slurred. She held on to the wall as she walked into the room. There were scabs all over her face. She was picking at one of them and making it bleed. The blood ran down her neck and onto her shirt, joining the other stains already there. “Can’t be no whore if your dick’s the only one I suck, Whitey.”

“Shut up, and tell ’em what you want.”

She shrugged, her fingers moving down her arm. There were scabs there, too, but those were larger, some open and oozing.

“Tell ’em!” He hit the back of her head with the gun. “And speak up. No one but me can hear you.”

“I want a baby.”

“She wants a baby,” he repeated.

“But you have a baby,” I said.

Whitey walked into the kitchen and disappeared around the corner where Kevin was tied up. When he returned, he was dragging a small kid by the collar of his dirty shirt. “You mean, this baby?”

He let go of the shirt, lifted his foot, and kicked the kid in the middle of his back. The kid tumbled several feet and landed on his face.

My jaw clenched, and I stepped forward to wrap my fingers around Whitey’s goddamn neck. But I glanced at Adrianna first, her eyes warning me that I needed to keep my anger under control if I was going to get us out of here. My hands dropped back to my sides, my fingers releasing from their tightened fists.

“Ouchie,” the kid sobbed. “Daddy, that hurted.”

This was why I didn’t go on pickups. I couldn’t see things like this—the way the imports were living, how they were treated, hearing their tiny voices begging for help. It brought me back to those years when I was the one being dragged by the shirt and kicked until I fell on my face. I couldn’t handle the memories, and I couldn’t handle being reminded of them.

“I’m not your fucking daddy!” Whitey shouted back. He looked at me and pointed at the kid, who was still crying on his knees. “She wants a baby. She just don’t want this one.”

The woman scratched her arm and said nothing. She hadn’t looked up once since Whitey dragged the kid into the room. Her slurred words and swinging jaw told me she was high as hell. The sores and scars told me she’d been an addict for a while.

It made me sick to even suggest this, but it was a solution. “If she wants a baby, why don’t you get her pregnant again?” I said to Whitey. “Seems like that would solve all the problems here.”

“Don’t you think I already thought of that?” He pointed the gun at his own head. “I ain’t no dummy.” He laughed, and the woman groaned. “She lost her ovary or some shit during her last OD. Doc said no more babies will be coming out of that cunt again.” He pointed the gun toward the kid. “This one ain’t mine. He looks like his daddy and, I
can’t fucking stand
his daddy. So, we want a new one.”