It was with grudging respect, great surprise, and more than a little relief, that Hal watched Valentina move towards him at a fast clip across the dew-kissed lawn. After the previous night he was pretty sure she wouldn’t show up this morning, and the fact that she had, shocked the shit out of him. Hal wondered why the hell she wasn’t still lying in bed plotting up diabolical ways to get rid of him. On his part, he had spent the better part of the night pacing the damn floor trying to decide if he should go apologize for the crude and unnecessary things he said to her, or go bang down her door and do exactly all those things he told her he would do. Bitch was under his skin either way, that was for sure.
She had locked him out. As if a little bit of metal and wood could have stopped him. Thoughts of how her soft, wet mouth had yielded to him made his balls ache. When he had put his hands around her neck, it was not for want of violence or to control, he realized in surprise, but to feel the quickening beat of her pulse in response to his touch.
God help him.
As Valentina drew nearer, he was struck again by just how goddamn pretty she was. Valentina Abruzzi had no hard edges. Everything about her was soft and feminine and fresh. And she always dressed in those pastel colors that he loved. Mint green, lemon yellow, cotton candy pink, sunset orange. This morning she was wearing a pretty cornflower blue sundress with thin, white lace straps that he made him wanted to run his fingers under them.
Or snap them right off.
Hal felt the crotch of his denim tighten. Again.
Jesus.
Being around Valentina was starting to give him a constant boner. He needed to gain some damn control over this situation.
For starters, that Driving Miss Daisy crap ended today.
Hal lifted his chin in greeting to Valentina as she approached the car. Then he flicked his morning smoke to the ground, walked around to the front passenger door, and held it open for her as if in challenge.
She looked at him with a raised brow but didn’t say a word.
“No more of that backseat bullshit, Tia. From now on you’re sitting in front— next to me.” Her deep brown eyes, usually so expressive, told him nothing today. His breath stalled somewhere in the vicinity of planet Mars when his gaze zeroed in on a small blue bruise on her neck.
“Last night—did I hurt you?” He forced himself to ask.
“Hurt me? No, Hal. You didn’t hurt me.” Her voice was gentler than he deserved. “I’m absolutely fine.”
The muscles in his face slacked briefly with relief and his throat worked up and down as he searched for the words that needed to be said— because if Valentina was woman enough to show up this morning and downplay the shitty way things went down, then Hal sure as hell better be man enough to give her the apology she deserved.
“I can be a real sonofobitch, but that doesn’t excuse the way I acted last night. I shouldn’t have said the things I said to you. A woman like you doesn’t need to hear that messed up kind of shit. A woman like you deserves better, especially from a guy like me.” Hal’s voice was thick with regret. “So I fucking apologize for acting like a dick, and I’m sorry for saying that demeaning and graphic shit to you. And if that bruise on your neck is from my goddamn hand being around your throat, I’m sorry for that too. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I would never hurt you. I just ain’t used to touching something…someone…so soft.
Valentina looked away for a second while that faint blush hit her cheeks again, then she met Hal’s eyes without rancor or recrimination. “Apology accepted.”
“Just like that?” he asked with a small degree of suspicion, even as his body was flooded with relief.
“Yeah, Hal, just like that. Not everything between us has to be a battle.” She reminded him of his own words with a small smile. Then, without another word, and to his total amazement, she slipped right past him and settled into the front seat.
Hal kept stealing looks at Valentina’s legs while he was driving. She had them crossed at the knees so the sundress rode up high on her thighs. On her right ankle was a thin gold chain with a tiny heart dangling from it. And her toes. They were small and dainty and painted a pale ice blue. Kinda like the color of his own eyes. Her sandals were flat heeled, little strappy things that made the arch of her foot look incredibly fucking sexy.
Valentina Abruzzi—the gift that kept on giving.
She reminded Hal of those giant color-layered jawbreaker candies that his mom used to buy for him and Glory when they were kids. It took forever to get to the prize in the middle, but each layer was so sweet and unexpected that you wanted to take your time licking your way through—Glory would plow right through hers, but Hal could make his last for days.
Stand at attention, lover boy. Hal’s inner soldier forced him to focus on the road ahead—and with good reason. Valentina’s directions were leading them deeper and deeper into the city. As they drove through the littered streets of some of the most dangerous neighborhoods in the area, Hal raised his eyes in question at Valentina, but she remained sitting serenely beside him.
She called this little foray into hell, Bread Day? More like run for your life—get me the fuck out of here—what the hell was I thinking— Day.
The tension in him coiled tight as his eyes took in the deserted streets. The apartment buildings were lined up in a crumbling brick row, their grimy windows and torn shades pulled dark against the coming day. No one behind these scarred doors was getting up early and showering to put in a solid nine to five work day. This was not a place that instilled ambition.
The sidewalks glittered with shards of thick bottle glass, used needles, and crushed cans of energy drinks. A large pit bull sporting a choke collar and a very short chain was tied to a broken, rusted metal link fence. The dog’s teeth were bared as he snarled and barked savagely, doing his best to defend his owner’s squalid, fetid territory. But even those ferocious growls were not enough to wake the junkies who jerked and huddled under the sparse bushes as the early morning light cast its heat on their ravaged faces. The putrid odor of vomit, dumpster waste, urine, unwashed bodies, and despair seeped through every molecule of air.
“It’s just up ahead. The next corner after that downed stop sign.” Valentina leaned forward in her seat and pointed. Hal took the left and pulled into a parking space littered with newspapers, food wrappers, and a half dozen or so used condoms. The building that Valentina pointed out appeared to be a small, abandoned warehouse.
“It’s just inside.” Valentina pointed to a metal door with what looked like a homemade sign taped to it. “I’m gonna grab the stuff from the trunk. If you just want to open it up for me, I’ll be fine. Pauli usually sits here and waits with Big Blue. Not sure of the life span of the car in a neighborhood like this …” She chewed on her bottom lip.
“For once, you and I fucking agree. There’s zero chance that this Caddy would last five minutes here.” Hal looked past her to the sidewalk where a few crack-heads had started to line up near the warehouse door. “If you think I’m gonna let you step one foot out of this car without me, you’re as messed up as they are.”
“I’ll be okay, it’s fine …” Valentina frowned as she looked at the grimy door. “But Father Michael does usually have a light on by now.”
Hal dragged his cell out of his cut, punched in several numbers, grumbled a few words, and hung up. “I got a couple of prospects on their way. They’ll watch Blue for us—should be here in a few minutes.”
“Few minutes?” She raised doubtful eyebrow. “And how are they going to manage that? We’re nowhere near your clubhouse.”
“Prospects don’t live at the club. Ain’t my problem how they get here. But trust me, those boys’ll do whatever they have to do make it here ASAP.” Hal watched the door to the warehouse with interest. “Lines starting to get longer—rankest looking bunch of junkies I’ve ever seen.”
“We aren’t here to judge, Hal.” Valentina reproached him.
Hal snorted in response as a dim glow lit up the grimy window on the first floor of the neglected building. The metal door creaked open, and just inside stood a small, stooped, wrinkled man with a full shock of gray hair and eyes that twinkled blue, even from a distance. The clerical collar he wore stood out like a beacon of hope against the dreary backdrop of squalor and decay.
As if on cue, the loud rumble of Screaming Eagle exhaust pipes came thundering down the mean streets. Two men wearing Hells Saints Prospect cuts pulled up behind Big Blue. With an order for Valentina to stay put, Hal got out of the car and went over to talk to the recruits. After a few moments of discussion, the slighter one with the long, bushy black beard moved to the front of the car. He stood as if at attention with his legs apart and his back ramrod straight—his sinewy arms were crossed and flexed over his chest. The second man was shorter and heavier. Sporting a ginger-colored handle bar mustache and a Celtic cross inked on the back of his neck, he took up guard duty directly behind Big Blue’s back fender.
Hal opened the door for her. “We’re good to go.”
He helped Valentina unload what seemed like hundreds of loaves of bread from the huge trunk of the vintage 8-cylinder and carry them up the stairs into an empty staging area. Father Michael stood behind a long-improvised table made up of a few sawhorses and a couple of sheets of plastic covered particle board. Next to him were two nuns dressed in full habit — and impossible as it seemed, they looked even older than Father Mike himself.
After some cursory introductions, Hal watched on closely as Valentina and the clergy passed out the loaves of bread and some pantry staples to the long line of—down on their lucks. That was the term Sister Mary Angela had whispered into Hal’s ear after one particularly vile, scabbed up, bag bitch had passed through the line.
Damn depressing was what it was. No wonder Pauli had waited in the damn car.
Hal’s hyper-vigilance was set in overdrive as he studied the parade of unwashed, decaying, zombie-like creatures stumble their way through the Bread Day line. His skin crawled, and he was doing some jonesing of his own—for hand sanitizer.
Or a hep shot.
But Valentina, on the other hand, was completely at ease. Smiling and serene, she appeared to be an angel of mercy or a well-loved princess holding court. She greeted most of the down on their lucks by name and inquired about their health, legal status, and family issues—Did you ever mail that letter to your daughter, Harry? Make sure you remember to call your probation officer on Thursday, Abraham. How is that library card working out for you, Virginia?
On and on and on, Valentina smiled at them, touched them, and to Hal’s absolute and total horror, kissed a particularly crusty, old guy right on the cheek in apparent hopes of eliciting a winsome, toothless smile from him. Which she got—in spades.
Go figure some shit out.