Liam’s face lights up brightly as he orders the bartender, “Bring us a few slices of chocolate cake, the freshest ones in the fridge, along with another bottle of champagne.”
“What the hell are you doing?” I ask, my head reeling. “You’re ordering dessert, and you haven’t even bothered to tell me what the fuck is going on? I don’t want to stay any longer. I want to go home!”
I lower my voice as the bartender reappears with two white plates stacked with dark chocolate cake sliced to perfection. It’s dark brown layers are on top of dark brown frosting with a white dollop of sugary whipped cream. My mouth is near watering. Chocolate is always my downfall, but I push aside my slice and focus on the problem at hand.
“Your dad drives an ice cream truck, and you were pretty eager to take my money earlier,” he points out seemingly randomly as he stuffs his face with a large bite. His eyes close in pleasure, savoring each and every little morsel of that cake. After a sip of fresh champagne he continues, “I’m guessing that being in the ice cream business isn’t that profitable, nor does it come with quality health care insurance.”
“No,” I answer deadpan. “It doesn’t, but you knew this already. I told you about it.”
Liam looks around over his shoulder and towards a few older, graying men sitting at the bar. The group talks low with each other as they sip frothy mugs of golden beer. Like Liam, they wear all black -- some with battered leather jackets full of black and white patches sewn carelessly onto the sleeves and back.
“You see the guy on the right of that group of guys? The one with the red, scarred hands?” I didn’t notice this before, but the man he is referring to has a hand as bright red as a cherry tomato. It looks almost as if he has soaked in the sun too long, but the scaly quality, how it almost glimmers in the light above him tells a much worse story. The flesh looks as if has been dragged through the ringer and put back together again. I can’t help but shudder at the thought.
Liam adds, “That’s Sean. He’s one of the first guys to join Steel Saints, my club. I didn’t have any question about letting him either. He is one of the best riders I’ve ever seen in my entire life. He could ride through torrential rain pour without hesitating. It was like him and his bike were one. So I put him in charge of one of our more difficult jobs -- running shipments from our partners in California back to Vegas. He was such a natural at riding the highways that we even had him training young guns and peons, the guys that were probation members.”
“Then, one day, Sean found himself being chased down by a group of guys from the Black Flag Mafia. I knew about their plans a few days earlier, but I had trusted that Sean could get himself out of trouble if he got spotted. That day was January last year. Roads outside California weren’t exactly the best. There was some weird frost on the ground and Sean was trying to outgun two Black Flag riders in a big ol’ Ford truck. His tires twisted out from under him, sending him flying across the highway’s pavement. He didn’t stop rolling until he slammed into the side of an underpass. He was lucky that this happened during the morning rush. The few cars that stopped kept the Black Flag guys from taking more than his daypack and satchel of drugs.”
I lean in further as Liam continues his story. “You know, I love being in Steel Saints. I formed it because this was a way for me to make a quick buck without having to work a 9 to 5 desk job like some chump. And as you can probably guess, it pays to break the law. Sean was bringing in a ton of money at the time, enough for his wife and their newborn son to live in a high-rise on Sunset Street. But it wasn’t enough money to pay his medical bills without health insurance. I think the first bill his wife Bonnie brought me in was nearly fifteen grand, and it was only for the emergency room. Sean needed reconstruction surgery, skin grafts, physical therapy, etc.”
“My boys and I did our best to cover. We all agreed to take ten percent cut of our income to put towards his bills, so he didn’t have to worry about it. Yet, it still piled up much higher than we could handle, especially with the loss of our supplies from Cali headquarters. We ended up all going without a paycheck for a month to take care of our guy.”
“Okay…” I finally say, still looking over at the man with the dark eyes and the red arm. “I still don’t know what that has to do with my dad or me.”
“My second guess is that there isn’t a fraternal order of ice cream truck drivers that are willing to forgo their paychecks like my men were willing to do. My third guess is that his medical bills are the reason why you have an envelope with his name on it sitting in your safe.”
“What the hell were you doing in my safe? That is none of your business!” I shoot him a look of absolute disgust, yet he continues to shovel chocolate cake and champagne into his mouth like this is just some regular old business meeting.
Liam puts down his fork and lowers his voice, not losing that dry humor behind his tone, “Lady, I’m a criminal. Do you really think that I am not going to look into your safe when you keep it unlocked? We’ll talk security 101 later, but right now, I want to talk about my proposition. You need me.”
I mutter under my breath, “I need you like a hole in my head, you mean.” The truth is that I’ve been on my own with this for far too long. I can handle whatever he thinks I need him for like I always do. It’s how I got into grad school and started my blog. It’s how I am still standing today.
“No.” His voice has a finality to it as he reaches across the table and grabs my hands. It’s not romantic -- far from it. He forces me to place them on the center of the table while he holds them down against the cold, manufactured wood tabletop. I steal a look at them plastered there under his grip before making myself look up into his emerald colored eyes. “You need me because I have the money. And with your help, I’ll have even more of it to share.”
I cut him off as firmly as possible, “I don’t want anything to do with those diamonds or your boys. Whatever offer you’re about to make me, the answer is no.”
“I’m not giving you a cut of the diamonds, Alana. I’m offering to do for you what I did with Sean. I’ll give you one hundred percent of what I bring in from the sale.” He takes out his phone and types in a few numbers. When he turns the screen around, he shows me the five-figure number: 20,000. My face freezes in place as I try to sit further back. His quick hands catch me in place. “I’m sure this won’t cover all your dad’s medical bills or whatever you’ll need to live for the next month or so, so I’ll add this to sweeten the pot. You work for me, and I’ll throw in twenty percent of the restaurant sales and twenty percent of whatever I bring in from my boxing matches this month.”
My mouth goes dry as I ask as coolly, “And how much are we talking from that?”
“From the restaurant, that’s another five thousand. And for boxing, I’ve got a couple of big fights coming up, including the Tri-State Pro-Am fights. They’ve got a prize purse of ten thousand each for the win and five thousand for participating in title matches. That’s about two to three if I win one. I’m the odds-on favorite to win at least three of them and go to the finals in another two.” He pauses as he adds, “You look as if you need this calculator app more than I do. You want me to do some math for you?”
“No,” I answer breathlessly. “No, I got it. But what about my truck? I’ve got supplies to sell. I can’t just give that up for you to do what you want.”
“That’s the thing. I’ll come with you. I’ve got to sell the supplies, and I’ll do it from your truck. But given my followers, I’m guessing that I’ll probably have repeats of what tonight was like. You did like the huge stacks of cash I made in under an hour of selling, right?”
Of course, I remember that. I’ve never sold that much in one day, let alone an hour. I doubt my dad has either. His star power could generate so much buzz for my dad’s business that could be invaluable in the future, especially if my dad’s recovery was going to take a longer time. But a month with some hard-ass criminal riding along with me in my truck? And not just any criminal, but a jackass like Liam whom I’m already having strange cravings for? That just didn’t seem to work for me. I needed an excuse to get out of him being with me in such close quarters.
“I don’t want to be afraid for my life because you’re riding along with me. This is my life and my dad’s business, and I’m not ready to give it all away if you get caught by cops or have some weird mafia or motorcycle club or… uh… whatever… come after you. I’m not like you. I don’t break laws.”
“That’s my other point, Alana. By the way you look today, I’m guessing you don’t really get out that much. What kind of life are you actually living if you don’t add a bit danger into it? Trust me when I say that life is way more interesting when you don’t follow the rules, and you let your instincts take over.”
A more interesting life -- that’s something I won’t deny I need. Spending my nights locked in my dorm room writing historical fiction isn’t what most people would describe as actually living. I can’t remember the last time I went out to eat like this or had a night where I was alone with a really good looking guy. My life was a blur of working as a TA, driving the ice cream truck, writing my homework, and thinking of blog posts.
My readers would agree with Liam as well. One night, I was venting to Jana that I didn’t have many readers for my blog, even after pouring my heart out about my last breakup. Jana pointed out that my breakup was just “normal stuff.” There was nothing exciting about Adrian leaving me because I was just some bland girl who couldn’t even stop her man from cheating on him. I was just another throwaway girl with nothing to show for it, not even an interesting tale to walk away with.
All my life, I’ve been writing these stories about beautiful women locked up in towers and evil queens jilted by lovers. By all accounts, they’re good, real good or otherwise I wouldn’t be in grad school right now. But I was living behind the page and my keyboard. I was making up these lives that I realistically would never live and female characters that I just would never get to be. Here Liam was offering me a chance at being something more than a grad student driving around her dad’s ice cream truck.
It’s selfish, of course, but this could be big for me as a writer. I could make a name for myself, drive readers to the site, even charge a bit for advertising too to bring in some cash. Who knows… maybe I could turn this into a novel. Already, the story was starting off great: girl gets kidnapped by some handsome criminal offering her money she can’t afford to turn down. There was violence, redemption, blood, and maybe even some lusty romance to share.
“Alana? Hello… Earth to Alana?” Liam washes a hand over my view trying to grab back my attention. “What the hell are you thinking about? You’re taking way too long to make your mind up.”
I shake my head and pull my hands out from under him. “I’m sorry. I’m just thinking about some other ideas. Say I agree, I want to be able to write about this.”
“You want to write about this?” he repeats, his dark, bushy eyebrow raising.
“Yeah. See, I’m a writer. That’s what I’m going to grad school for, and my writing has been…” I take a deep breath of air as I admit, almost ashamed, “Boring. It’s been boring. This could totally change the game if I get some inspiration.”
“So you want to write some book about me and the club?”
“Maybe. I’m not sure yet. But maybe it will give me some inspiration and some ideas for some more unique characters. I just want your permission to write about what happens to us. I won’t use names or anything. That would be incredibly stupid --”
“Why would I care then? Just give me a badass name like Maverick or something and I’m okay with whatever you want to type out.”
“Well, that’s the other thing. I have this blog.”
“A blog? Isn’t that like an online diary for nerds.”
“Come on now. It’s not that bad. I’ve got readers and followers. I write about my life with the ice cream truck, and it can be pretty exciting.”
“I’m sure chocolate sundaes get your readers all riled up,” Liam jokes.
“Shut up. I’m being serious here,” I reply almost offended. “I want to write about what is going on in real time. I think I could sell some advertising on my site if I can drive up enough readers. And your story could do it for me.”
“I’m not big on journalists, Alana. I’ve got cops around here, but if they find out about the diamonds, I’m not going to be able to keep them on my payroll.”
“No names. I promise. I don’t even give my name, location, or ice cream truck name on my blog. It’s all anon. Police can’t track it. I’ll make sure my roommate Jana beefs up the security so it can’t be hacked in. She already, sort of, knows about what’s going on so we wouldn’t even be adding another person to this mix.”
Liam reaches over with his fork and takes a bit of my piece of untouched chocolate cake. After chewing silently for a few seconds, he finally commits. “Fine. I’m good with that. I give you my paycheck and some proceeds for the next month. In exchange, you let me use your truck and ice cream sales routes as a hideout, you attend some of my matches and provide a look out for me, and you become a temporary member of Steel Saints.”
The hair on the back of my neck spikes at a few of his demands. “Wait. I have to go with you to the matches? Why do you need me to go? Can’t I just read about you winning in the paper or online?”
“It’s because of my ex. She’s fucking crazy, and not in the good way that gets me going. With you there, I’ll have another eye looking out for me. Call it your extra job in exchange for the payouts from the fights.”
Ugh. So we’re even adding more to my plate including me playing babysitter and watchdog from a crazy ex? I guess I could handle that, and if she showed, it would certainly make a good story for the blog. I nod my head slowly in agreement, but I’m still stuck on one other part of what he wanted.
“But do I have to be a member? I’m not some biker’s ‘old lady’ or whatever you call them. I’m not going to be forced into becoming a prostitute or something, right? You’ve got to promise me that. After the month’s up and your diamonds are gone, we’re done. We part ways, and we never talk again. I don’t want nightmares about motorcycles following me everywhere for the rest of my life.”
“Got it. No turning you into some streetwalker. I’ll put away the fishnets and eye shadow. But you will have to meet my guys if we’re going to make this work. They have to approve of you first, and we’re going to need to get some security while we do the sales. I don’t go out there alone.”
My stomach turns at the thought of having to be in a room full of men just like the ones outside my ice cream truck. Walking into a den of rabid animals isn’t exactly something I can handle right now. But there’s about $30,000 on the line here, and I’m ready to walk off the side of a building if it keeps my dad out of debt and him in the hospital he needs to be in.
I reach out my hand towards Liam to offer it to him. “Fine,” I say slowly. “It’s a deal. One month of riding along in the ice cream truck, you pay me, and we’re done.”
Even as he smiles brightly, there’s something inside of me that just knows that a deal with a man like this is never as straightforward or as easy as it may seem. If I’m going to make this work and get out alive and with my money, I’m going to have to break just about every rule that comes my way.