Tortured Sinner by Tessa James
Johnny - 2
Inearly mowed that girl down, but don’t have a second to spare if I’m going to meet Franklin on time. The old me would have stopped to make sure she was okay. I would have taken in her subtle beauty and helped her off the ground. I would have carried her bags to wherever she was going. I wouldn’t have been a dick.
But I don’t have the luxury of such things anymore.
I wasn’t supposed to have work-related shit today, but when the phone rings, I have to answer. The consequences for not doing so far outweigh whatever the reasoning could be.
Most of the time, I don’t even know what will be asked of me. And even more often, I don’t want to follow through with their demands. They’ve made it clear that if I don’t, there will be a penalty.
The last time, the price was blood.
I won’t let that happen again.
So, I do what they say. I run their errands. I do their bitch work. I comply and hope like hell that eventually there will be a means to this end. There has to be. I can’t keep this up forever. Not if I want to live.
Josey checks his watch when I round the corner to the rundown alleyway where he’s standing guard. “You have thirteen seconds to get in there.”
I rush past him and burst into the back of a small diner.
Everyone except Franklin flinches at my abrupt arrival.
“Cutting it close, Johnny.” His thick voice cuts through me. Franklin gently picks up the mug in front of him and leans back into his chair. He takes a swig of his steaming coffee while staring me dead in the eyes. "I have a package that needs to be delivered." He nods to one of the larger-than-life men standing in the dimly lit corner.
The guy steps forward and extends the thing to me. It’s a padded envelope the size of a sheet of paper, but it’s stuffed full of something. For the slightest second, I almost ask, but I know better than to question Franklin and his operation. If I’ve learned anything from the last six months, that kind of shit never plays out well.
I take it from the man, and he retreats to his dark corner. I try not to analyze the weight or density in an attempt to figure out the contents. At this point, I think it’s better that I don’t know what's inside. Regardless, I don't underestimate the value or risk associated with transporting it to wherever he asks of me. It's clearly illegal, otherwise, he'd ask someone else to do it.
Me, on the other hand—I’m expendable to him.
“Here’s the address.” Franklin shoves a smaller envelope with a piece of paper on top of it across the table. “And a little something for your time. You know the drill; you’ll get the other half upon completion.”
Franklin may be a ruthless criminal, but he’s still a businessman. I might make significantly less than he pays all of his other cronies, but he still compensates me in some capacity. And luckily, it’s enough to cover my expenses and then some, considering I haven’t managed to keep a steady job because of this illicit side-gig.
It’s not ideal, any of this, but I have to hope it will all pay off eventually.
I reach for the parcel, and Franklin snatches my hand. We lock eyes.
“Under different circumstances, kid, things might not be like this. I’d venture to say we might get along.” He slowly tightens his hold as his tone hardens. “But I’m no fool. And you better not cross me. You understand?”
I nod my head in obedience. “Yes.”
“Yes, what?”
“Sir. Yes, sir. I understand.”
A devious grin spreads across his fat face and he releases me. “Great. Glad to hear it. Now, you have until midnight.”
I take my leave without another word, already scanning the address and trying to map out how to get there without being detected. I’ll need to circle back home to get my backpack and form a proper plan.
I shove the package in the waistband of my pants and cover it with my shirt and tuck the envelope into my back pocket, making sure it’s hidden, too.
Josey greets me in the alley. “That went better than last time, I take it.”
I slap his massive shoulder. “Yeah, I’d say so.”
Josey has never really given me any reason to dislike him. If anything, he’s been the only one to actually show me any kindness. The first time I got involved with Franklin, I got the shit kicked out of me and left in this very dodgy backstreet. Josey waited until everyone went inside and helped me off the ground, dusting the dirt and trash off of me and helping me get reoriented.
I think he’s always known that I didn’t get into this line of work because of a drug addiction or gambling debt. I’d wager to say he pities me for getting involved with Franklin, but understands what I’m doing it for. And with that, he doesn’t shit on me like all the other guys do.
Don’t get me wrong, I’ve seen Josey be a complete badass and knock the crap out of some dudes, but he’s got this gentle giant kind of thing going on. He only seems to crack heads when it’s absolutely necessary.
And from what I’ve heard, he was born into this line of work. He didn’t really have a choice. Going against his obligations would be going against family, and to his bloodline, that’s a deadly sin.
At least I have the possibility of getting out of this—if I can stay alive long enough.
* * *
Iarrive back at the complex without catching anyone’s attention. I blend in reasonably well. Most people are too occupied on their cell phones to even notice when I walk by them. It makes my job that much easier. I wear clothes that are inconspicuous and try to make it difficult to pick me out of a lineup. There is no shortage of brown-haired guys running around this area. I’m just another one of the many.
I punch my code into the keypad and head through the courtyard. Picnic tables sit empty the way they normally do. Between the number of flight attendants that live in this building and the rest of the working class, the recreational space isn’t usually occupied.
I run up the stairs at a pace that allows me to be careful not to drop the package tucked into my jeans. I turn the corner toward my door and my eyes catch on an unfamiliar brunette walking into Beth’s place.
As if sensing my presence, the girl looks over her shoulder at me.
It’s the girl from earlier. Those same sky-blue eyes pierce through me the way they did not too long ago. It stops me in my tracks, and I find myself dumbfounded at my inability to walk the extra two steps to my apartment. I want to speak up, to tell her that I’m sorry, that I’m not usually like that, but I can’t.
I’m frozen in place.
She narrows her gaze at me and turns around, sort of slamming the door shut behind her, putting something solid between her and the douchebag that ran into her.
In reality, she’s doing us both a favor. Her hating me right off the bat means there’s no way I can tangle her up in this nightmare I’m living. I’m getting good at this whole bad-guy thing, and I’ll continue to play that role as long as it advances me in this dangerous game.