THIRTEEN
Scotti
"Mark, what is that weird, floral..." I was saying as I walked down the stairs, tying up my long, wet hair. But then my foot met the bottom stair and I could see into the living room, and the rest of the sentence was cut off because the answer was staring me in the face. "Oh," was all I could seem to manage as I realized what he had done.
You want flowers, baby? I'll get you flowers.
That was what he had said back at the cabin.
And Mark, when he made a promise, he delivered.
Ten-fold.
Or maybe a thousand-fold.
Honestly, I wasn't sure exactly how many flowers there were in his living room. Because, quite frankly, they covered every single spare inch of it. They were across the back of the couch, the cushions, the coffee table, the floor, the windowsill. Literally, the only space left was a small walkway that led to the kitchen, like they were motioning me toward it.
There was no stopping the huge, mushy, awestruck grin that threatened to split my face as I stepped into the room, picking a random daisy out of a vase right by the base of the staircase. I brought it up, breathing deep, deciding that that very flower had to have that cheesy 'pressed between the pages' thing done to it. A gesture this grand, this sweet, it deserved to be immortalized forever.
They weren't all daisies.
They couldn't be.
There were too many.
It would have taken all the daisies in all the florist shops in Jersey to make up this display. Instead, there were flowers of every kind of color and variety. Pink roses here, lovely white lilies there, chrysanthemums in the corner.
I reached into my back pocket, pulled out a burner I had kept longer than I had ever kept a phone before, and snapped a picture. Even if I did have to toss the phone, I could email the picture to myself to have forever.
"Mark?" I called, hearing nothing as I followed the little path through my floral garden toward the kitchen.
Over the almost overpowering mix of different flower scents, I could smell the heady aroma of coffee, the promise of which had been the only thing to pull me out of bed half an hour before.
"This was am... oh." I stopped just inside the kitchen, finding it empty. There were a cup and spoon beside the coffee pot for me and a sheet of paper.
What kind of man did such a huge, grand gesture like that and didn't stick around to see your reaction to it?
I put the daisy down on the counter as I reached for the note.
S-
Told you I'd get you flowers.
Work until six.
Late dinner? On the town?
- M
PS: Look out back.
He left his cell too, and I plugged that in and sent him a thank-you text as I reached to pour myself coffee.
I had barely gotten the sugar in my cup before my phone was ringing. And, expecting him, I didn't even check the screen.
"Hello?"
"This fucking weeding thing is for the birds," Nixon greeted me, bringing a smile to my face. Sure, he was surly, as Nixon often was, but I hadn't seen him in almost two full days. I had literally never been away from them for so long before. I might have been enjoying some peace, some normalcy, some relaxation and fun. But I did actually miss them. It was going to be a slow transition, I think for all of us, to be able to live fully independent lives.
"You got in the dirt? I thought you would throw that all on King."
"Fucker is being stubborn about us all taking turns."
"Heaven forbid we do the fair thing, huh?"
"Yeah, you're off getting your jollies off, and we're stuck doing the work."
"Right because me doing it every other day..." I trailed off.
"Yeah yeah yeah," he cut me off, sounding like he was smiling. "Anyway, we're calling because we want to come down there and check out a few apartments. You gonna spare us a couple hours?"
I smiled down at my coffee, feeling a warmth move through my system.
Again, it just felt... right.
It felt right to be in Mark's kitchen, looking down at a note, breathing in the scent of flowers he bought me, living a life that didn't revolve around planning and running from crimes. It felt right to be talking to my brother about spending time, not our entire lives together. It felt right to know that they would be closer, would be moving forward with their own lives, would be soon feeling the kind of rightness I was feeling.
"What about the farm?" I asked, thinking of the chickens that would need to be let out, the eggs that would need collecting.
Which reminded me... where the hell was Nugget?
I froze, belly tightening, realizing he wasn't in the tub or the deep plastic container we used for him when we needed the shower.
"Atlas rigged up a cover for the garden with extra chicken wire left around. We figured since that closes them in completely, that we would be okay for one day to come down."
"Yeah, I don't see a problem with that," I said, only half paying attention as I moved around the house, looking in all the nooks and crannies, hoping the little trouble maker didn't get lost under all the flowers somewhere.
"Alright, so tomorrow at ten. Meet us near the shack."
"Sounds... okay then," I said to the dead end of the phone. Nixon wasn't one for being overly wordy. "Nugget. Nuggy-Nuggy-Nugget," I called into the house as I moved around.
It wasn't until I moved past the doors to the backyard and saw something odd that Mark's note came back to me.
He told me to check the back yard.
Why was that, you might wonder?
Because apparently, Mark was some freak who rose at like 5 AM and got right to work ordering flowers and then went out into the backyard and built me an epic chicken coop for Nugget.
And was it some cheap little rectangle stapled with chicken wire? No, it sure as hell was not. Because Mark Mallick, the loanshark enforcer, was also a contractor. As proven with his home, when he did things, he did them well.
So Nugget's new home was a five-star hotel for a chicken.
There were two parts to the coop. The first look like a mini little barn. It was red with windows, fake barn doors, and a pitched roof. The other part was a triangle-shaped run, half of it covered, the other half open, blocked with chicken wire.
Nugget was living large in space enough for ten chickens.
I could see him happily pecking around in the grass that looked to be littered with some kind of feed.
Mark had even set a couple of the pink roses from inside out front of it, another unbelievable little present that showed the undeniable sweetness that he had to offer.
And commitment, I realized as I walked over to see Nugget.
Why would he build a coop for my pet chick, let alone a huge, elaborate chicken coop, unless he had plans to keep me around for a while, right?
That realization, for reasons I was choosing not to analyze, made tears sting at the backs of my eyes. Maybe it was simply that he was proving so thoughtful. Or maybe it was because it was the first time in my life that I could be happy and excited about the future.
And if that future could maybe be with Mark Mallick, well, all the better.
So, feeling a little too caught up in it all, I went back inside, finished my coffee, got my shoes and wallet, and left the house, intent on finding an outfit for dinner later that night. Everything I packed was of the normal every-day variety. And after a display like he had given me that morning, I wanted something that showed just how thankful I was. Maybe some lingerie would be a nice touch as well.
--
"Jesus fuck," Mark groaned when he walked inside the house a quarter after six.
See, sometime between leaving the house and returning, I had come up with an idea that seemed to scream gratitude a lot more than a black dress and lace panties.
So I got what I needed and hauled ass back to his house, arranging the flowers throughout the house so we could actually move (or roll) through it at any time without worrying about breaking glass. I showered again, dressed, then, well, undressed.
Because we weren't going out to dinner.
And I wasn't wearing a little black dress.
But we would be eating.
And Mark's plate just so happened to be my naked body which was very, very carefully covered in food.
Was it maybe weird and uncomfortable to lay like that for twenty minutes waiting for him? Oh yeah.
But was it worth it to hear the shock in his voice and the desire in his eyes? Hells yes.
And was it the most erotic thing in the world to watch this amazing, thoughtful, handy, sexy, family-oriented, badass man slowly bite, suck, and lick food off of my neck, breasts, belly, thighs, and then finally, last but not least, my pussy?
Holy fucking shit, yes it was.
From there, well, you can guess where it led.
In one word, it was perfect.
--
"Exactly what are these women expecting him to say?" Atlas asked, brows drawn together. "I mean, guys are pretty basic..."
"Not according to Fee," I cut him off, shaking my head. "They deal with all kinds of, ah, interesting characters."
"Yeah, but the average guy just wants to hear that he's got a monster cock and that you want it to destroy your pussy until you come a thousand times," Nixon said, rolling his eyes.
"Women like dirty talk too," Rush said, shrugging, not able to look my way, something I was maybe grateful for since I wasn't overly comfortable with the topic either.
"So you're considering it?" I asked, almost cringing at the hopefulness in my own tone as we walked down the street out of the less-than-ideal area of Navesink Bank where we had crashed not even a month before.
"Gotta talk about the specifics, but I'm figuring it would be a good way to make some cash until I figure out what I want to be doing long-term."
"Good," I said, not caring about the relief in my voice. "What about you guys? Doing any thinking about your future?"
"You doing any thinking, or have you been too busy with your boyfriend?"
I couldn't help it; I cringed at that word.
What could I say, I had never had a boyfriend.
And it sort of felt like I was too old to have one right then.
But that's what brothers were for, right? To tease you.
He was right though too; I hadn't been doing any real thinking. Well, I had been doing plenty of thinking, but almost all of that had to do with Mark and how he fit into my life and what hopes I had for a possible future with him. All these crazy little things I could never have imagined in a million years I would be considering just a couple weeks before.
When I wasn't thinking I was, well, engaged in other activities that required little to no thinking and a lot of action.
He was right.
I couldn't question them if I wasn't considering my options as well. It wasn't emergent. We all had a fair amount of money stashed away. But we all knew it was prudent to use that money to get cars and apartments or houses or other important things like that, not to waste it away on hotel rooms for months and months.
Aside from retail, which I had worked, and every corner of it, I had no skills other than the kind that involved how to rip people off. You couldn't exactly put that on a resume.
They might fare better because some of them had skills that involved their hands. King especially could get a job in security. He had been doing that since he had moved out at eighteen. Just a little fudging on his resume and he was good to go.
Rush would likely do the deal with Fee, at least temporarily. She made it clear that if I really needed a good job, with easy hours, and benefits, that she would be happy to have me. But I didn't see myself being able to pull that off. It was one thing to be able to dirty talk in the heat of the moment. It was a complete other to do it in an office setting. Even if she did offer dental and vision.
I wasn't sure there would actually be any kind of future for me in any sort of gardening field, but I did need to at least look into that. Maybe I could arrange flowers or just work at a nursery at a local gardening supply store- get to know the ins and outs of things. Would I be rolling in the cash? No, but that was okay. Somehow, the idea of normal was much more appealing than the idea of rich. And rich was never our plan anyway. We had been living like squatters for a decade. We didn't acquire anything nice because there was always a chance of having to haul out and leave something behind. Or burn it.
It wouldn't be strange for me to live paycheck-to-paycheck. It wouldn't even be a hardship if I had peace and freedom to do all the things I had always wanted to do.
"Do you guys have any places picked out?" I asked as we kept walking.
"Yeah, we are checking out three different places today," Atlas said, shrugging. "We figure, if nothing else, we can all crash at one or two places until we have time to see more places. We can't keep doing that fucking drive from the cabin here. That shit is ridiculous."
"Yo," Nixon said, sounding serious suddenly, making my attention snap to him, finding his jaw tense, his brows furrowed.
"What?"
"Did anyone else notice that same cop car passing by twice since we've been walking?"
And right then, right that second, it was like everything within me crumbled. All the good that I had allowed to finally creep in and slowly fill up seemed to seep out through my feet, making me aware just how empty I had always been in one blinding moment of clarity.
Because I had allowed myself to live in a fantasy world where new beginnings could be fresh, where who we had been was not who we were. When, in reality, it was. We were armed robbers. We were criminals. We had been on the run from the law for a decade. No amount of wishful thinking could change that.
Normal people didn't get a knot in their stomach when they heard cops mentioned. Normal people didn't even notice that cop cars passed them, let alone took note of the number on the car so they could notice that the same cop car passed them multiple times. Normal people didn't hear that the cops were obviously trolling the area and figured they might be who they were looking for. Normal people didn't think 'they're on to us; we need to run.'
I would never be normal.
I would always be looking over my shoulder.
My eyes drifted over to my brothers.
And I saw identical looks of realization there.
Even if the cop car was just a chance thing. Even if they weren't looking for us. Even if it was perfectly innocent.
We could never feel that way.
That was why we had decided to leave, knowing even way back then that there was no way for us to ever truly be free if there was even the smallest of chances of getting locked up. And in the US, there always would be that chance.
"Scott," Kingston's voice called, sounding low, understanding, comforting. "Don't go doing..."
"That's three," Nixon cut him off, making my stomach drop seemingly to my feet.
One was chance.
Two was coincidence.
Three? Three seemed like design.
We knew the drill.
We had discussed it at length.
We knew what we had to do.
As we looked at one another, the reality of having to do it was gutting all of us simultaneously.
But there was no time for words said, no time for comforts, for possible goodbyes.
We watched until the car rounded the corner again, then we shared one last look, and we fucking booked it.
In different directions.
Because if the worst-case scenario was what might be happening, we knew that the best bet was to separate, not to allow us all to be rounded up at once.
Therein lay the gutting sensation.
Because even if you weren't caught, what if one of the others was? They wouldn't turn on the rest of us, of course, but they would possibly be offering over a decade or more of their life. There was no relief in freedom if someone you had spent every single day of your life with for the past decade was losing theirs.
But I did turn and run.
Because that was just what the plan was.
I tore down an alley then down the backs of the buildings, heading toward the closest way out of town- the train.
My heart was a slamming thing in my chest. As much as I maybe wanted to blame the run, I knew the reality had nothing to do with that. The reality was, it was hurting to run. Even as I purchased a ticket and waited for the next train out of the town, heading for NYC, I couldn't help but realize the main source of the rapid heartbeat wasn't necessarily the worry for my brothers - though that was absolutely a part of it - but it was the realization of what I was leaving behind.
Namely, Mark.
But also the chance for all the things I had let myself hope and believe that I could have.
I dropped down into my seat and turned to look out the window, for some reason wanting to torture myself, and watching as the train started moving and the world I had started to build was left behind.
Maybe we were wrong.
Maybe they weren't looking for us.
Wherever we each ended up, we would all do some research, try to find some information on what was going on in Navesink Bank on this particular day, if maybe there was an Amber Alert or some sort of local robbery or someone broke out of a jail or was in the middle of a killing spree in one of the surrounding states; all those things would cause a higher police presence on the streets.
But we needed to be sure.
"Scott," a voice said at my side, making my head jerk over to find Kingston looming over me from the aisle, looking down with dark, sad eyes.
And then the unthinkable happened.
I burst out in tears.
I was pretty sure, outside of during my mother's illness and then death, that I had never openly cried in front of any of my brothers.
Which was why it wasn't so unusual that King looked positively stricken when it happened. His body jerked backward; his eyes went almost comically huge; there was a good, long pause before he dropped into the seat beside me. Then it was another moment before I felt his wide palm pulling my hands away from my face. But it was just a second between then and when I felt myself hauled into his chest with his strong arms around me.
He didn't say anything.
There was nothing to say.
He just held me and let me soak through his shirt.
It was when we finally slowed down to wait to pull into Penn Station that cell reception picked back up and we both started ringing off the hook, making me pull away with a truly ugly sniffling sound as I raked my hands down my face to get rid of the leftover tears.
"Yeah," King answered, sounding distracted, and I could feel his gaze on me. "No. Yeah, she's with me. Where are you at?"
Sitting so close, I could hear Rush's voice telling King that he had gotten on the train behind ours which was leading out toward the shore instead of the city. Nixon and Atlas apparently got to the car and were heading back up toward the cabin.
No one seemed to be followed.
"False alarm?" I asked when King hung up and looked at the mess I was sure I looked like right in that moment.
"I dunno. That just seemed too unusual," he said objectively. "We had been in Navesink Bank for weeks and never saw anything like that. They were definitely looking for someone. And seeing as most of the bad guys in town have the cops paid-off, I think it was smart to get out of there until we know for sure. Probably being paranoid, but let's just make sure."
I nodded, unable to find any flaw in that logic. Some things weren't worth the risk.
Like jail time.
"Yeah. Are we going to meet at the cabin?"
"Figured we could just chill in the city since that's where we are headed anyway. Atlas and Nixon can go up to the cabin and pack up. We needed to clean and clear out of there soon anyway. Rush can hang near Navesink Bank and do some sniffing around."
"Sounds like a plan," I agreed, forcing a smile I didn't feel at all.
"Call him," King said, voice firm, but sweet at the same time.
"What?"
"Call Mark. Explain. Don't do this."
This.
This was what had to be done. This was the reality of the life I had chosen to live. This was not something he should have to deal with- the uncertainty, the possibility of me ending up in jail, or needing to run.
It wasn't fair to do that to him.
So this was me doing the only right thing.
I was ending it before things got too out of hand, before feelings got too intense, before I had to break not only my heart (which was just a pile of ash in my chest right then) but his as well.
I was saving him from my uncertain future before it became his as well.