Used by Marlee Wray
Chapter 10
Laurel
I wake sick. Managing to get the yoga pants and a white shirt that’s too tight on, I make it to the guest bathroom. After a while, cool water on the back of my neck and swished in my mouth helps. My own bra and shirt have dried, though they’re stiff from the pool chemicals. I trade the soft obscenely tight white shirt for my own bra and top.
In the bedroom, Trick’s sound asleep, so I take the can of Sprite to the hall. There’s an armchair and side table at one end, so I sit there. It’s the sort of house with a hall big enough for seating areas. Sipping from the can, I think about the way these guys are with one another. I’d thought this was Connor McCann’s mansion and compound. Trick has his apartment, and I’d heard that Anvil Stroviak built a mansion on the same block as McCann’s. But some things about this house make it seem like community property for an extended family, like when Trick said he’d ordered the bathroom furniture and was adding things for me to a house shopping list.
I make one more trip back to the bathroom to be sick, then my stomach really does settle, and I manage to sip through several ounces of soda with no problem. There are a couple of leather-bound books sitting on the table. The Count of Monte Cristo and the collected works of Edgar Allan Poe. In school, I read The Count of Monte Cristo and a few of Poe’s short stories, but not many. Flipping the wispy pages, I realize someone’s written dates from the past few years above some of the poems. I read, so lost in the book I don’t hear Zoe approach until she’s standing over me.
“Hey. Morning. Whatcha doin’ out here?”
Smiling up, I shrug. “Reading. He’s asleep.”
“Come downstairs and keep me company.”
I love that the younger woman’s open friendliness last night wasn’t just cocktail-induced, and the fact that she’s still nice on a morning when she must be battling a hangover. You wouldn’t know it by looking because she’s gorgeous, with her shiny curls and lithe body.
I want to join her downstairs, but I’m not ready to be thrown back into socializing-slash-being-ignored by C or Anvil.
“Who’s down there?”
“In the kitchen? Probably no one yet. C’s not even out of bed. And once he is, he’ll work out and take a shower before coming to hang out. Usually I make coffee and tea around now and do some food prep, but I don’t set out the breakfast buffet until ten thirty.”
Laughing softly, I make a mock cringe face. “You put out a breakfast buffet? Like a hotel? Outsiders have no idea the amenities here in the C Crue mansion. I found a drawer with ten brand new toothbrushes still in boxes. I used one, which I assume is okay?”
“Oh, yeah, of course. The guys don’t want assigned guest rooms and bathrooms, so if there’s a used toothbrush from the last time someone stayed over how would they know whose it was? So we just keep a supply of new ones. Though these days, when Rachel and Sasha stay over, they always seem to use the room right off the front door that’s like a downstairs master. It has an attached bathroom, so they could keep some of their stuff in there for good. A lot of times when Trick sleeps over, he crashes on a couch in the media room or somewhere like that.”
As I suspected, sometimes they cohabitate in the main mansion. It’s kind of great in some ways. I liked sharing places with roommates in college. Less lonely than living alone.
Setting the book down, I stand, grabbing my empty can and following her downstairs. She stops suddenly halfway to the kitchen.
“All right, it’s rude, but I have to. Let me see that ring.”
Instead of holding out my finger, I slide the ring off and hand it to her.
“Wow,” she says with a sigh. “Love this. So elegant. I always think emerald cuts are the most elegant. Sort of traditional, but still stunning.”
“It’s beautiful for sure.” Putting it back on, I glance at it, startled again at how enormous the stone looks. I don’t have small hands, so for a ring to look big, it’s saying something.
“Colored diamonds are a C Crue theme. Rachel has a blue diamond. I think I want white though. Yellow looks so good against your skin, but yellow’s not a good color for me.”
“Are you looking at rings?”
“I am,” she says tartly. “So far C doesn’t want to talk about it. But if we’re not going to get married, what am I? His slutty housekeeper?” She laughs, so I chuckle with her.
In the kitchen, she moves around efficiently, setting up a pretty tray of teas and shortbread cookies that could be laid out at a hotel. She pours me an herbal ginger peach that’s caffeine free. I wonder if Trick said something to them about the pregnancy.
“You’re a professional dancer, right? I saw you perform at the renovated Langston theater. You were fantastic.”
She beams. “Thank you! Yes, a dancer. But also the co-president of a production company. We’re new. Our first show opens off Broadway in four months. You’ll love it. Everyone will. It’s amazing.”
“Morning,” a deep voice says.
Turning, I nod at Connor McCann whose hair and beard have been buzzed shorter since the party. He’s wearing black shorts and a tank top, and his muscles are huge. He’s probably only a couple of inches shorter than Trick, but he looks stockier because of his build.
He looks at the empty coffeepot and turns to go.
“Wait,” Zoe says, touching his arm. “Almost ready. Couple minutes at most.” She pours freshly ground beans into a French press.
C looks at his phone, scrolling through messages. He pauses on one, then looks at me. “Is Trick up?”
I shake my head.
Dropping his gaze, he sends a couple of texts, then puts his phone in his pocket.
Zoe presses a button and Motown music plays. Her hips dance as she makes and then pours coffee for Connor.
“Hey,” Trick says, coming in. He’s dressed again in the jeans and t-shirt, and his hair is mussed. Even rumpled, he’s the most beautiful person in the room. Though Zoe’s rocking booty could win some special prize of its own.
Zoe smiles and rolls her eyes as she pours coffee into a mug for him. “You’ve got Trick timing as usual.” She looks at me with a smirk. “Trick always seems to walk in right when something he likes to eat or drink is ready.”
“Gotta keep up my all-knowing rep.” His gaze lands on the Sprite can, then returns to me, appraising.
C picks up his cup and takes a swig. “I texted the kid, Hornsby, for something. He said he’s in Dorchester working on something for you?”
“He’s almost done. Does something need to get done right away, C? I’ll do it,” Trick says.
“No, it’s not for you. I’ll get one of the other guys to do it. Hornsby used the word off-books. What the fuck’s he talking about?”
“It’s not crue business.” Trick dunks a cookie in his coffee. “He didn’t have anything going. Derrick either. So they ran an errand for me. I told them not to log it, that I’d pay them off-books.”
“You and I had this conversation with Anvil, did we not? I remember you and I agreeing and convincing him. So, what the fuck?”
The words are said casually, so I can’t tell if the curses mean he’s really angry or just annoyed. That’s the trouble with career criminals; their low-key reactions to things can’t be trusted.
“I guess…” Trick takes a swig of coffee and grins. “When you get to the gym, tell ‘Vil I’m a hypocrite.”
“Jesus Christ,” C says, setting his mug down with a clatter. “Walk with me.”
Trick follows him out.
Zoe laughs softly, pouring coffee into two more mugs. “Are you ready to be married to that? A guy who breaks even the rules he makes himself? And then is so cute about it you can never stay mad at him? You’re going to have your hands full.”
Tilting my head, I wonder if she’s right. What transgressions will he expect me to overlook because he’s handsome and charming? The other reason he won’t expect a fuss from me is that the marriage is a sham, an eighteen-month booty call because I’m pregnant. That thought bothers me a lot.
“Things with him are always complicated. We’ll see how it goes and whether things last.”
Perfectly plucked brows rise. “Whether things last?” Sipping her coffee, her gaze remains on my face, scrutinizing it. “I know girls who would scrub every floor in this house topless for the chance to catch Trick’s eye. I get daily texts begging me for invitations to hang out anywhere he’ll be—dinner, a party, jail. If you’re not sure you want him, especially considering the huge second chance he’s giving you, maybe give back that gigantic ring and move on.”
I sigh and stand, wanting to tell her there are things she doesn’t understand. But then I realize maybe she understands just fine. Maybe I’m the one who needs to sort out my priorities as she’s suggesting. “Trick inspires a lot of loyalty. He’s lucky to have such good friends looking out for him.”
She frowns, but says nothing to stop me from leaving the kitchen.
I rub my temples, feeling terrible about alienating the only one of his friends who was making an effort to be inclusive. Pressing my lips together, I climb the stairs, not sure why I’m even going back to the guest room. It’s unsettling to be unwelcome and disliked. It’s never happened to me before. I’ve been on various teams and have worked different places, always with lots of friends. I hate the way C Crue’s distrust makes me feel. Although, grudgingly, I know it’s my fault. I accepted an FBI assignment that’s focus was to get evidence against them. I doubt I’ll ever get anything but cool disdain or outright animosity from Connor McCann.
Lifting my phone, I text Trick.
Hey, it’s time I go to my parents’ house. They must be frantic re: Monet. If you don’t think it’s safe, can u drive me? I’ll get a different ride back to Boston.
* * *
Trick
My guys find Monet and are on the way with her to her parents’ house, where I plan to intercept her for a talk. Laurel’s not going to be up nights and strung out with worry while she’s pregnant, so little sis is going to straighten up or she’s going away.
After smoothing things over with C for hijacking crue members without telling him, I read the text message from Laurel. I don’t even want to know what she and Zoe disagreed about because I don’t care. There are big threats and issues to deal with. I need everyone to settle down and get along.
My mind goes to the liquor cabinet, but it’s not the time for daylight drinking. Unless I want to say to hell with this and let Laurelyn go back to Boston for a while. It would give her and the crue time to come to terms with the new reality. I frown. For me it would suck since I want her in my bed, but I could get her an apartment in a high security building and put a bodyguard on her. I could visit her there, just like I visit the rest of my family.
Right now I’m fighting battles on so many fronts. Maybe too many to win them all. Can’t afford to lose the war with Enzo Palermo. Can’t afford to lose against the FBI. Losing those fights means death or life in prison, and there’d be fallout for the entire crue. If I let Laurel go for a while, I’m the only one who loses.
Going into the game room, I rub the back of my neck. Racking the balls on the pool table, I make my decision, though it makes me feel like disappearing to Dorchester myself for an all-nighter of hard drugs that’ll wipe my mind blank.
I chalk my cue stick and break, watching the balls roll into pockets.
“Hey.”
It’s Rachel’s voice, along with cooing Irina. I don’t turn around immediately because I’m not sure I can get my game face on again yet.
“Good morning.” Injecting as much friendliness as I can into my voice, I shoot a couple more times. Then when I get my shit together, I turn and find she’s gone. I set the stick against the wall and head into the hall.
“Hey, did you need something?”
Rachel turns, her expression serious. “Last year I did. And you were there, Trick. More than once.”
It’s true, but what is there to say to that? Nothing. So I’m silent.
She shifts the baby in her arms. “The question is what do you need?”
“You did it last night. If I think of something else, I’ll let you know.”
“Good. Do that.”
As she starts to turn, I walk closer. “Honestly…” I trail off. There’s an emptiness in me when I think about letting Laurel live in Boston. I wonder if Rachel could help me by reaching out to Laurelyn and befriending her a little. I was counting on that happening naturally with Zoe, but no joy. But how can I ask Rachel to open up to Laurelyn when I’m not sure she can be trusted? I can’t risk Anvil and Rachel. My voice is low when I continue, feeling the gravity of where I’m at. “The truth is I’m the captain of a sinking ship. I’m trying to patch the holes, but… it’s not working.”
Her voice is soft but resolute. “What should I do? Bail water? Or weld something?”
That cheers me up a little. “If I thought it would help.” The shake of my head is short and sharp. “I guess… when you’re standing on shore, play some music till all the lifeboats are away. And play loud enough for me to hear until you know I can’t hear anymore.”
“Here,” she says, holding Irina out. “Hug her while I get my violin.”
“‘Vil won’t like it.”
“Take her.”
I curl the baby against my chest, studying her little face. She’s pretty like Rachel, but it’s possible she got ‘Vil’s crazy crisscrossed eyelashes. If she’s gonna have one thing of his, at least that’ll work for her.
“One-handed. Just as I suspected. You’re not scared of babies.”
“Nah.” I don’t say it’s because I became a dad at thirteen. My heartbroken ma stayed in bed most days for a long time after the funeral and, when Kathleen was gone, it was on me to make sure the three-year-old baby didn’t starve or get neglected. That time wasn’t pretty. It was harsh, especially when we ran out of money. I was a kid myself, and I ran that house at the same time I was going to school and planning a hit. But I kept us all alive and Kathleen safe from Murphy. People wonder why I never get overwhelmed when the world’s burning down. It’s because I know how to I grit my way through anything.
If there’s trouble, bring it.
Walking toward the game room, I ask Irina, “Want to learn how to play pool, baby?”
“Hey, Trick?”
I look over my shoulder at Rachel, who’s twenty-two but who’s so tiny and small-boned she looks like fifteen was yesterday. “Yeah?”
“I’m gonna play while you think. But just to be clear, I’m not on the shore. I’m on the deck. And that’s where I’ll be, until the holes get patched or we sink.” With that she turns and walks away.
Rachel’s another one who had a trial-by-fire childhood. Runaway mistress for a mother. Evil, emotionally abusive father. These are my people, my crue.
“Once upon a time,” I whisper. “Your mom had a secret. She did something bad. Yeah. And your dad almost died because of it. Uncle C and Uncle Trick were really sad. True story. So when Uncle Trick found out, he thought he should send your mom away for good.” I exhale, thinking about how close I came to ruining Anvil’s life. “Now that Uncle Trick knows her better, he’s really glad he didn’t.” I kiss the baby’s little head, looking at the pool table. “What do you think? You want stripes or solids?”
* * *
Laurel
By the time Trick comes to the room, I’m furious, having sent two more texts for a total of three that he ignored. Was he palling around with his friends over coffee? For them it may be a normal day, but my sister’s still missing.
At the dresser, he pulls out a pair of socks and puts them on. “What’s up?”
“Did you read my messages?”
“Yes.”
“It’s been over an hour since I sent the first one.”
“I know.”
“What took you so long to come up?”
“Truth?”
“That’s best, right? Lies are a punishable offense.”
“I didn’t come up because I hoped you’d come down. You could’ve kissed a baby that’s the cutest one on the planet for about eight more months. And you could’ve kissed me.” Sliding his watch on, he snaps the clasp shut.
“My parents are upset. I should be with them.”
“My guys found Monet. They’re waiting for us.”
Startled, my head turns sharply to study him as he picks up his gun. He examines it, moving the parts experimentally. “Pool water. Meant to clean this. Forgot.”
“Trick?”
“Yeah?” he says, looking over.
“You found her? Monet’s back in Coynston right now?”
He nods, his expression flat. “I said I’d find her for you.”
“Thank you,” I say emphatically. “She was gone for almost two weeks once and—”
“It was tough on you guys. Sure. When my sister was gone for five months, it was one of the toughest times of my life. I know what it feels like to worry.”
Exhaling, I step forward, but his arms strapping on his holster are in the way of my getting too close.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. Ready?” His tone is neutral, but it hurts me.
Picking up my purse, I feel the rift down to my bones, as I guess he means me to. When am I going to learn that there is no game anyone plays with Trick that they actually win? Trying to push him to do something he doesn’t want to do, even just climbing some stairs, isn’t ever going to work. If one of us is going to be uncomfortable, it’s always going to end up being me.
Following him out of the room, I glance around at the unoccupied hall, and when we descend, the main floor seems empty too. I wonder where everyone is, but don’t ask. It’s none of my business. He holds the front door open for me, so apparently certain standards are still in effect.
He gets my door at the truck too. But once inside it himself, he puts music on to cover the silence and takes the most efficient path to the hill. The C Crue mansions are on a dilapidated block, which I guess is where C and Anvil grew up. During high school, Trick lived with a relative in the middle-class part of Coynston. My family lived at the bottom of the hill, so upper middle class. I suppose Trick could buy all the houses at the top of the hill now.
He pulls the truck around a corner. “I’m gonna speak to Monet first. Then you can take her inside to your parents.”
“Why do you want to talk to her?”
“Because there are some things she needs to hear from someone who knows what it’s like to get and stay clean.”
I blink. He’s always so flippant about quitting drugs that I assumed it, like everything else, was easy for him. This is the first time he’s hinted that it’s not.
“If you think it’ll help her, please do talk with her. We’d be grateful if you could get through to her.”
He nods.
The guys who get out of the waiting sedan are both tall. One looks young, maybe nineteen, and he’s lanky. The other looks Trick’s age and has his build. Trick says something to them, and they laugh and shake his hand. Trick makes a motion with his hand I can’t interpret and says something else with a smile. The men laugh again. His easy, irresistible charm is back in full force.
Then he gets in the sedan’s back seat with Monet. He speaks only a few moments before she hangs her head. My heart pinches in my chest. I realize she probably needs a serious talk, but it hurts me to see her hurting. I know from all the things she’s said that she can’t control herself sometimes.
After about fifteen minutes, he gets out and goes around the car and opens the passenger door on her side. When she gets out, I can see she’s sobbing. I reach for my door handle, but then he hugs her and she leans into him.
Over her head, he signals his men to go. They wave and follow orders. He’s on the street with Monet for another ten minutes, telling her things I’ll probably never understand. When he finally leads her to the truck I’m looking down and wiping my own tears away.
I pull myself together as quickly as I can, swallowing the lump in my throat.
He opens the back passenger door, and she climbs in. As pale as the moon and shaking like a leaf, she says hello to me.
Trick gets in and starts the car. He drives us around the block to my parents’ house. Getting out, he opens both my door and hers.
Monet’s under control until she looks at him, then the tears start streaming down her face again. “Don’t say anything to, um, anyone, okay?” Her eyes dart nervously to me and then back to him.
“Nope.”
“And I’ll be ready tomorrow morning. Thank you, Trick.” She hugs him and then rushes to the house.
“Ready tomorrow morning?”
“She needs to be in a recovery center.”
“She just got out of one,” I say, my heart sinking as I look at the front of the house. Monet’s already inside. “She’s used up all her days that insurance will cover, and my parents and I—it’s wiped them out and I don’t know if the credit card companies will extend me more—”
“No, Laurel. I’ve got it.”
Holding my head because once again I’m caught between a rock and a hard place, I feel sick. “I know she needs support, but I—I can’t have you doing this, especially not when I already put you in such a terrible position when I was trying to save her. This time, she’s got to pull herself together and do outpatient. We’ll help her. I’ll call every day. All right?”
“No.” His tone isn’t harsh, but it’s firm.
Tears stream down my face and drip from my jaw like rain off the edge of a window ledge. “It wouldn’t be enough?”
“No.”
I pull the ring off and hold it out to him. “Please. Return this and use the money to help her. I don’t need such an expensive ring. I never did. And I can’t keep this and let you pay for her treatment too.”
Trick looks at the ring for a moment, and then takes it and puts it in his pocket.
My heart aches even harder at its disappearance and the fact that he doesn’t say a word, doesn’t try to argue or convince me to keep it.
“Will you come in?”
He looks at me and then at the house. “No. Should be just family.”
I don’t think I can feel worse until I hear those words. I think about the night before, when he said I was his family. Obviously the C Crue has been his family longer and he’s choosing them over me. Why wouldn’t he? They’ve protected and supported him for years. All I’ve done is abandon him or threaten to, even while he was reaching out to take care of my little sister.
“About what I said to Zoe, it was only—”
Shaking his head, Trick holds out a hand to ward off the conversation. “I don’t need to know what was said. It’s okay. You’ll go back to Boston.”
“Alone?”
“No, there will be a bodyguard. He’s on his way. He’ll drive you back. In my world, there’s a code. Innocent women and children are off limits. The Palermos aren’t likely to break it, but the security detail will be there in case.”
The sky’s strewn with gray clouds, which suits the mood. Looking up, tears burn my eyes. “Will I see you?”
“Yeah.”
That he doesn’t look at me or say when that will be tells me all I need to know.
My voice struggles. “Okay.”
“They’re waiting. You’d better go.”
When I look at the house, I find the storm door’s open and my dad’s standing in profile. They have Monet home, and there’s a plan for her. What if I didn’t go in? What if I got in Trick’s truck and told him I wanted to be with him—anywhere? Even Connor McCann’s house? What if…?
But when I turn, he’s in the C Crue Range Rover again, the tinted windows hiding him from me. And just like that, I’ve lost Scott Patrick for the second time in my life.