Livianna
"What's with the bad mood?" Astrid asked, following me into my room, shutting the door behind her. "Grinder's remorse?"
A strange snorting noise escaped me at that. "There was no grinding."
Okay.
So there was some grinding.
But it was practically innocent.
I mean, not that my body knew that
It had been on high alert since the moment we had gotten out of that bed.
It only amplified while he told me his story, at times his feelings so strong that he slipped in and out of Spanish while he spoke.
And Roderick speaking Spanish in that deep voice of his? Yeah, let's just say my lady business didn't stand a chance.
By the time we had finally gotten back to the city, the aching pressure on my lower stomach was becoming oppressive, impossible to pretend it didn't exist.
"Liv," Astrid said, voice a little firm for her. "Look at me," she demanded when I had been trying to avoid contact. "If there is anyone in this loft who can pick up on the sex undercurrents, it's me. And I am picking them up. Hell, even Cam is likely picking up on them. That's why he's grumbly."
"He's always grumbly."
"He's being grumbly in Roderick's direction," Astrid insisted. "He feels it. The sex between you two."
"There was no sex!" I insisted. And my unsatisfied body groaned in annoyed agreement.
"There was something."
"There was just like a little... kissing. Maybe a tad of... over-the-clothes grinding."
"Oh, be still my heart," Astrid declared, falling back on the bed, her hand to her heart. "You dry humped Mr. Puerto Rico out there. Is that a thing? Like a male Puerto Rican beauty contest? Because if there isn't, there should be. And your man out there would win every single time. He could be gray and still get the title. It's the dimples."
"It's weird to think of dimples as sexy," I admitted, falling back on the bed with her.
"They're cute on boys. But that guy out there, he isn't a boy. That is all man. And they are sexy. So why was it just making out and dry humping?"
"He went to roll me onto my back but his arm was under me..."
"His bad arm," Astrid guessed. "Ugh. That day just keeps coming back to fuck with you, huh? Well, what's the problem now, then?"
I felt my shoulders shrug. "When he woke up the next morning, he was in a mood."
"Blue balls will do that to a man."
"No. It's... it's like he's over it."
"That man is not over it," she told me, head turning to me on the mattress so I could get the full effect of her eye roll. "His eyes find any excuse to go to you. And he was totally watching your ass while you walked down here. I mean, of course. It is an epic ass. But still. He wants on. He's probably picking up on some vibe from you."
That was likely.
I blew hot and cold.
If he was looking for some kind of reaction, he had likely figured I was not into it.
"Want me to send him in here? Get your jollies on?"
A snort moved through me. "And what would you tell him as you shooed him in here?"
"That you have cobwebs in your lady business that need clearing out."
"I missed you," I told her, meaning it.
"I missed you too. When I found a few minutes where I wasn't working. But all that working got me this," she said, digging into her pocket to produce a piece of yellow lined paper with her all caps writing on the lines. "Apparently, they have one of the Double Triggers that you are looking for. I don't know who this contact is, so I don't know how solid their information is, but I figure it is worth a meeting since every other lead has gone cold. I mean, that isn't a vote of confidence, but we really aren't in a position where we can overlook even the shady leads."
"Yeah," I agreed, sighing.
"You don't want him getting in trouble with his club," Astrid guessed.
"No," I agreed. "He takes care of his mom and sisters with the money he makes from that club. He doesn't deserve to be kicked out because I stole from him."
"You bleeding heart, you," she said with a smile.
"You like him too," I accused, bumping her hip.
"I do. And I think we have all learned our lesson about stealing. Hopefully, we will get the gun before his time is up though."
"Yeah," I agreed, patting her thigh as she sat up.
"That guy - JB - is expecting to hear from you by tomorrow or he says the deal is off."
I exhaled a breath, wondering when - or if - things were going to calm down.
Even after tracking down this gun, it wasn't over. I was going to be out nearly twenty grand. We would be okay, sure, but I didn't just want to be okay. I wanted us to be comfortable, to be able to take a step back when we wanted or needed it. So we were going to have to make up that money. After Christmas. Start the new year off right, hit the ground running and all that.
I rolled the cricks out of my neck and shoulders, climbing deeper into my bed, throwing the blankets over me, feeling the night of near sleeplessness catching up to me after all the hours of watching the road.
Before I even got a chance to roll around much, I was out cold.
"Livvy," Roderick's voice called, low, tentative, seeming like he was sorry to wake me up. A grumbling whine came out of me as my arm swung out, slapping his leg, finding he was sitting on the side of my bed, something that made my eyes slowly slit open. "I know, sorry, mami. But if I didn't come in, Astrid said she was going to wake you up with ice water. I don't know her that well, but I get the feeling that was no empty threat."
"Why do I have to wake up?" I asked, rubbing at my eyes, heavy still with sleep.
"Because you've been sleeping for about twelve hours," he told me, making my eyes open fully, my head swiveling to check the alarm clock on my nightstand.
Twelve hours?
How was that possible?
"She said something about how you have to call JB still."
"Shit," I hissed, pushing myself up in the bed, finding him sitting there in just his pajama pants, making another whimper move out of me.
"Cam got donuts," he told me, making me feel mildly less miserable at the thought of fresh coffee. "And since I am not five anymore - and donuts for breakfast don't quite cut it - I made scrambled eggs. You've got to be hungry."
I was.
Starving.
"I am going to call JB, take a quick shower, then come out. Save some eggs for me."
"Sure, mami," he said, hopping up.
Mami.
That was driving me crazy.
It shouldn't have been.
The word - endearment - always kind of rubbed me the wrong way before. But something about the way he said it, yeah, it was stoking the already raging wildfire of need within me.
Enough so that after calling JB who sounded like some white boy trying too hard to sound like a gangsta, I got in the shower and let my hands travel, let them try to take care of the aching need so it didn't keep distracting me all day. The last thing I needed when going to meet another contact was a body that only wanted to jump Roderick.
"Cam, you don't have to go," I insisted a few minutes later after telling everyone about the meet that night. To that, he growled at me, lifting a stubborn brow. And when Camden was in a stubborn mood, there was no talking him out of anything.
"I will hold down the fort, no worries," Astrid declared, saving me from having to tell her I wanted her to hang back. I hated having to tell her that she needed to stay home, that she was a bit of a liability in some ways, on some jobs. It wasn't her fault. She just didn't quite have the instincts, didn't have the reflexes, didn't know how to read a situation quite the way Cam and I did. And hopefully Roderick as well.
It was a bit difficult, in a way, to picture him pulling a gun and squeezing a trigger. Sure, I knew he had done it once before. But he was a child of a turbulent home, trying to protect his mom and little sisters.
He was just so laid back, easy with a smile, quick with the silver tongue.
"Ew stop," Astrid declared, swatting his hand when Roderick tried to scoop eggs onto her plate beside her vanilla frosted donut.
"Astrid hates eggs. And that commercial for charity that spells 'cars' wrong," I told him. "And Cam hates avocados. And pop music. And the sound of hair dryers," I added, nodding to the toast he had spread with avocado.
"What about you, Livvy?"
"What about me?"
"What do you hate?"
"Raisons. Banana chips. Dr. Pepper. Assholes who don't know how to use their turn signals. People who wear mom jeans ironically. Women who don't believe other women."
"What?" he asked, shaking his head.
"Go ahead," Astrid said, shrugging, taking her plate back to the living room. "He's practically family now," she added, making my smile tease up a bit.
"I told Astrid about what happened with Eman within a week or so of her coming to live with us. It was four years of living with us day and night, telling us all about her life with a junkie mom, on and off the streets all her life, when we were out to eat. She just... flipped shit. Ran out of there. There was a guy at the restaurant. Her mom's old boyfriend. Who used to molest her when she was nine. It took her four years of living with us day and night, working with us day and night, never spending more than a few minutes away from us to trust us with that information, that story, that part of her. So it pisses me the fuck off when women don't believe other women when they tell them their truth just because time has passed, because they didn't tell them right away, because they didn't put up billboards telling the world about the worst time of their life. Because it is rare that any of us don't have one of those stories. And the privileged few who don't shouldn't disbelieve the vast majority who do. I hate false sisterhood."
"You would love the chicks in Navesink Bank," Roderick said, shaking his head a bit. "The girls club is this badass group of chicks. You would fit right in."
"Lo, I would imagine, is a member."
"Founding member if you will. And Jstorm, Alex, a whole slew of others. As each Henchmen settles down, there is a new member of the girls club."
"So they're all... criminals?" I asked, brows drawn together.
"Not all, but quite a few."
"Interesting."
"I think, as a whole, only people who are in the lifestyle - at least a little bit - are able to live with the idea of being involved with a Henchmen. There is a lot of uncertainty, worry, and danger involved. Most average people can't handle that."
"That's true enough." Which was why my only friends in the world were in the job with me. There were too many risks. First, in regard to my freedom. You didn't know who you could truly trust, who might turn on you if they got mad. And then there were the chances that they would blame you anytime you got hurt. They could never understand. You might put them at risk by loving them.
It made sense for criminals to date criminals, to associate with criminals.
"What about kids?" I found myself asking.
"What about them?"
"I'm assuming your brothers have some?"
"Most have them."
"And they're not worried? That their lives would put their children in danger?"
It was something I thought of occasionally.
A future.
Settling down.
A husband.
Children.
But even if I managed to sock enough money away that I could retire from the lifestyle, there was always a risk of old enemies tracking you down, using your loved ones against you.
"There's always a risk. Reign's daughter was taken recently. But by her own criminal grandmother. But we are lucky in that we have Hailstorm. If there is a threat, all the women and kids head up there. It's one of the safest places on the east coast." He paused, taking a sip of his cold coffee. "Do you want kids, Liv?"
"Someday, yeah. You?"
"I don't have much of a choice in the matter," he said, smiling big, all stunning white teeth.
"Your mother," I guessed.
"My mother," he agreed. "Though, I like the idea of kids. A whole litter of 'em."
"How many is a litter?" I asked, finding myself smiling.
"Three, four. Something like that."
"What about you, Cam?" Astrid asked from the couch. "Do you want any kids?"
Cam shrugged, but I saw more than a shrug. I saw want there, a desire for something he wasn't sure he could ever have.
"What about you, Astrid?"
"Can't risk fucking up some innocent thing. Maybe I can adopt other fuck ups and we can be fuck ups together."
I could see her doing that. Not quite the way she described, of course. But I could see her growing up, working through her issues, settling down, and then deciding to open her home to teen girls who reminded her of the girl she had once been. That was a future I wanted for her, in fact.
The conversation went a little lighter from then on, discussing various little things we liked or hated, retelling old war stories, laughing over some of the antics of Roderick's brothers.
Before we knew it, it was time to get going.
It was funny how Roderick seemed to simply fall into line with us, getting up to grab a gun when we went to fetch our own, slip into a more serious, silent role as we all filed out, reminding Astrid to lock up after us, to keep an ear for her phone, then shuffled into the SUV - Cam driving, me up front, Roderick in the back even though it was his damn car.
Then we made our way to The Bronx - a place we didn't love doing work in.
"Hunts Point," I mumbled as we parked.
"Is it a bad place?" Roderick asked, looking around. "To be honest, the whole city looks like a hell hole, so it is hard to tell the difference between the good and bad areas."
That was fair enough.
"Well, it's not a great area," I said, rolling my neck, trying to stop the weird tingle at the base of my spine. "You guys ready?"
Cam sent me a look that said he felt the tingle too, but we both seemed to understand that this was simply something we had to do, not having any other leads to go on.
We moved down the alley between two buildings as we were instructed, then into a covered lot.
"You Liv?" a man asked, coming out from behind a support beam.
JB was pushing thirty but dressing like he was nineteen with oversized, sagging pants, a giant basketball tee and a backward red cap over his Slim Shady peroxide-blonde hair.
I hated bangers. Not just because street violence often left a lot of innocent people dead in the crossfire, but because the goddamn baggy clothes made it impossible to know if and what they might be packing.
"That's me," I agreed, lifting my chin a little as he did a once-over. It was all par for the course. Most contacts objectified me. That was simply how it was.
"Even sexier than you sound on the phone," he commented, making me wonder if I could cause ocular damage from holding back an eye roll so hard.
But Cam and Roderick closed in ranks a bit, making it clear that I wasn't here to be a play toy, to be hit on, to be used in any way.
"Cut the shit, JB. Do you have the gun or not?"
"Oh, me, baby? I have lots of guns. We have lots of guns. Don't we?" he asked and like some cheesy movie where a bunch of green idiots walk into a clear trap, members of JB's gang closed in ranks on all sides of us.
Roderick's fingers tapped my hip in what felt like a silent plea not to jump to conclusions, that this was not the time for hot-headedness, that maybe they were just putting on a show, trying to seem more important than they were.
"If we're done with the theatrics, show me the gun, so we can get this over with before someone calls the cops on us all."
"Chill, baby. What's the rush? Ain't nobody tell you it's better to build up the anticipation?"
"Ain't nobody tell you that 'ain't' isn't a word and double negatives make you sound like an idiot?"
Crap.
That just got away from me.
"Oh, she's got spirit. Know what I could do to shut that mouth up, bitch?"
Oh, we were at bitch already.
It felt almost premature for bitch.
Then again, everything about this guy screamed premature.
"Yeah, JB. She got them blowjob lips," another of his buddies chimed in, bolstered up because they outnumbered us.
And, really, blowjob lips?
Were we in middle school?
"Look, JB. We have more important things to do tonight than stand here and listen to your adolescent bullshit. Do you have the gun or not?"
"Depends. You got the cash?"
I could feel Cam and Roderick's bodies tensing at my sides.
Because we all knew it.
They didn't have the gun.
But they knew we had the money.
"Gee, I must have left it in the car," I said, trying for snarky and unaffected even as I tried to count their ranks, as I tried to gauge how long it would take us to get behind some kind of shelter to protect us from bullets, how long it would take to get back to the car, how many shots we could potentially take by then.
It wasn't looking good for us.
And in this kind of situation, it was best to find a way to cut your losses to avoid bloodshed.
They could have the cash.
And we could walk out of there.
They knew my operation stood no chance of moving against them, as ragtag as they might be with their ridiculous tribal ink and gauged ears.
"Bullshit. I think the bitch has it under her shirt. Maybe we should check," another of his guys suggested, pursing his lips at me.
I took half a step forward toward JB, reaching down slowly to yank up the front of my shirt, showing the stacks shoved into the waistband of my jeans, making it clear he could take it.
"We just wanted the gun. We don't want any problems."
"Problems? We won't have no problems," JB said, moving a step closer and I could feel my men getting even more tense, but not wanting to be the ones to reach for weapons first if violence could be avoided still. "This looks like the right amount of cash to me," he said, reaching to grab the stacks, his fingers dipping a lot further into my pants than they needed to, making my skin start to crawl, my stomach twist. But I stayed still. I tried to keep this from escalating.
We were getting robbed.
It seemed almost like karma at this point.
"But," he said, making me stiffen as he shoved my money into his pocket. "I think we could sweeten the pot."
His hand was around my throat, twisting me to hold me against his body before I could even try to stop him.
And by the time my vision stopped whirring from the change of position, I saw guns.
Not just Roderick and Cam.
But ten or so others from JB's men.
It was easy to tell yourself to be smart, stay calm, that getting worked up would only make you slow and cause you to forget every self-defense skill you had ever learned in life.
But your body wasn't always willing to listen to reason.
Mine wasn't.
Not faced with the odds before us.
It didn't matter how trained the three of us were.
We were outnumbered and out armed.
Even if none of them knew how to shoot for shit, the chances of them getting lucky hits were pretty damn high.
So my blood pressure spiked.
My pulse thudded in my temples, throat, wrists, groin.
Sweat beaded into my hairline despite the cold, trickled down the back that was pinned to JB's body.
My breathing got faster, more frantic, the weight on my chest making it hard to pull in the proper amount of air to keep my brain from feeling fuzzy.
Fuzzy.
That was what I felt.
"Oh, I think your friends are going to want to put their guns down, don't you, Liv?" JB asked, and I felt the unmistakable cold of a muzzle pressing into my temple.
There was no way they were putting those guns down. I all but demanded it with my eyes even as their fingers slipped closer to the triggers, a movement noticed by some around them because it was met with cocking of their guns.
Somewhere to the side of the lot, a car door slammed, the noise echoing into the partially enclosed space, making everyone jolt, making everyone look around.
Well, not everyone.
Just his men.
Just his untrained group of street thugs.
We moved.
My adrenaline proved a gift, giving me the quick reflexes I needed to ram JB in the rib while twisting the gun away from my head, letting me duck down and away from his hold, running as fast as my legs could carry me as the shooting started, throwing myself behind the beam JB had first appeared from, praying Roderick and Cam had been able to find some kind of shelter too. That the bullets hitting, met with cries and curses were only JB's men, not mine.
"Yo stupid bitch, you're going to pay for that," JB screamed as he joined me behind the beam, gun raised as I squeezed the trigger of my own, my aim off thanks to a shaking hand, grazing his ear, taking just enough off of it to hurt, to piss him off further.
He was faster than I expected, his street fighting style more unpredictable to the martial arts I was used to, knocking my gun out of my hand, landing an uppercut to my chin that was just too far to one side to knock me out like it could have with full force, sending my body slamming back against the beam.
Pain ricocheted through my body as my leg kicked out, knocking his gun away as well.
When it came to upper hands, I had no idea who had it now that we were both unarmed.
All I knew was we were both hot.
Him with his hurt male ego, his pride that could never survive getting his ass kicked by a woman.
And me, well, it was all primal fear. Because I knew a bullet to my brain wasn't the worst thing that could happen to me in this parking garage.
No.
The worst thing would involve watching my men - and my only remaining form of protection - be brutally murdered, then have JB and his entire crew take turns with me before finally putting me out of my misery.
There were fates worse than death.
Women lived with their potential reality every time they stepped outside their homes. Hell, or even stayed inside them.
And I wasn't going to let that be my story.
I wasn't going to let them do that to me.
I would die first.
So when I went at JB it wasn't just with my ego, it was with my survival instinct, my unshakable determination to walk away from this with no new scars to speak of.
I barely registered each new pain - each hit, kick, slap, grab, graze sent through my body. I didn't know if my fingers or knuckles broke when they made contact.
I was in and out of my body at the same time, fighting for survival.
Blood flooded my mouth, sweat poured.
My body hit the hard cement ground, showing me the other side of the beam for the first time.
Bodies.
There were bodies.
And my eyes instinctively searched for those of my loved ones even as the sounds of bullets popping off flooded my ears and JB's shoe collided with my ribs.
And then something happened.
Something happened that - no matter how long I could be given to think up scenarios, I never could have predicted, never would have believed was possible.
A new figure moved into the scene.
A familiar one.
One with hair I knew.
Eyes I knew.
Hands I knew.
Except I had never seen like this.
With an AK slung around the chest, hands on the trigger, and bullets flying faster than an eye could keep track of.
Astrid.
But, no.
It couldn't have been Astrid.
Coming in.
Taking men down without even blinking.
Using a gun I had never trained her with.
Aiming better than even I could.
No.
It couldn't be Astrid.
I was hallucinating.
Dying.
Seeing shit right before like most people did.
Even as I thought that, everything went black.
-
Roderick
Bullets flew fucking everywhere.
There was no way to even see Liv through it as Cam and I flew apart, sought shelter as we aimed as best we could, tried to take out whoever was nearby.
A few bodies fell quickly, but didn't stay down.
Adrenaline could practically reanimate a fucker on his deathbed.
And these men rose again, reloading, looking for targets even as they bled all over the ground.
I could hear her.
Over the bullets when they let off enough to reload or seek targets.
Liv.
Crying out.
Cursing.
It was killing me not knowing what was happening to her, not being able to get to her.
My stomach twisted in knots as I rose up, taking aim, taking down one more of JB's men even as Cam rolled to a new position, coming up behind another.
It felt like forever.
Like time sped forward.
It probably wasn't more than two minutes though.
And there was a new noise, a new commotion.
Astrid.
With a goddamn AK-47 strapped around her, and two extra belts of bullets over her shoulder just in case.
And she didn't pause, didn't think, didn't worry about the consequences. She just moved into the scene, pelleting multiple bullets into every man she saw.
Cam made his way around to her, trying to cover her though it was pretty clear she was handling herself just fine.
And me, my gaze sought out Liv.
Who was finally visible, on the ground beside the beam she had disappeared behind with JB.
Wrecked.
She was wrecked.
My stomach twisted at the blood in her eyes, her cheek, coming out from between her lips.
And even as her eyes seemed to be taking in Astrid, brows furrowed in disbelief, an equally wrecked JB came up behind her, cocked his leg back, and slammed it full force into the back of her head.
Out.
She was out.
And I didn't give a flying fuck about any of his men still possibly around.
My body flew upward, arm raising, finger going to the trigger.
And I fucking peppered his body with every bullet I had left, taking a sick sort of satisfaction in the whack of his dead body hitting the ground as I rushed forward, dropping down next to Liv's body, pulling her up into my arms, cradling her too still frame to my chest, taking a long moment to make sure she was breathing before lifting her up, turning.
It was only then that I realized there was silence all around.
That Astrid and Cam had laid waste to what was left of JB's men.
"We need to go," Astrid said, unnecessarily, as sirens drew closer.
I held Liv to my chest.
And we all ran.
It wasn't until we were in the car and out of the neighborhood that any of us seemed capable of drawing a breath.
"Is she okay?"
"I think she's alright. Just unconscious," I said, flicking on the overhead light, draping her body across my lap so I could lift her shirt, check for any other injuries. There was a smattering of red near her ribs, but not alarming enough to make me think anything was busted, pressing into a lung. There were bruises starting up her belly, her arms, her chest. Her hands were torn up. Her lip was split. And the blood in her mouth was likely from a knocked out tooth.
But okay.
She was going to be okay.
"We need to get her home," I said even though, clearly, that was what was on all our minds as Cam seemed to have to focus on doing the speed limit so we didn't get pulled over.
It felt like it took hours before we pulled up to their building, until we could get from the car to the loft, laying a slightly stirring Liv across the foot of her bed, pressing cold compresses to the back, mopping up the blood, swishing witch hazel over all the cuts.
It wasn't until her eyes opened, scanning us like she was seeing us for the first time that I even thought of anyone else in the room.
"You're hit," she said, voice croaking, making me turn to find Cam's shirt slowly soaking through near his side.
"Fuck," I hissed, moving to go toward him when he lifted his shirt to show the small chunk of flesh missing, seeming to try to make me see that it was clean-through, that it wasn't going to kill him.
And it was right then that I started to understand how his girls could decipher his silence. Because he did manage to get a lot across without saying anything.
"Come on, Cam," Astrid said, voice a little shaky as the adrenaline wore off. "Let's get you cleaned up. Roderick can take care of Liv."
With that, we were alone.
"No," I demanded softly when she tried to sit up. "Don't move. Just stay there for a minute. How is your vision?" I asked, watching as she looked around.
"I think it's okay. Why does my head hurt so bad?" she asked, pain clear in her eyes.
"That fuck kicked you in the back of the head, knocking you out."
"Was that before or after I hallucinated Astrid coming in with an AK-47?"
"That wasn't a hallucination, mami. But let's not think about that now, okay? She's okay. Cam's going to be okay. Let's focus on getting you okay."
So that was what we did.