Bane (Sinners of Saint Book 5) Page 17

  “Nothing’s up.” Other than my cock every time Jesse breathed in my direction. Naturally, I chose to omit that from my answer. Mamul and I were close. But not, thank God, that close.

  “Is everything okay?” She patted the corners of her mouth with a napkin.

  “That’s another version of ‘What’s going on?’ I’m still fine.”

  “I’m just wondering why you took me out for lunch,” Mamul said honestly, pushing her half-full plate toward me and patting an invisible bump in her flat belly. She took another sip of her wine. I was about to tell her just what it was about, when she added, “Oh, Roman. Please tell me you didn’t get anyone pregnant.”

  “Fuck, Mamul, are you ever gonna stop asking that?”

  “Don’t curse.”

  “Don’t be insane, then.”

  “You still haven’t answered my question.” The entire conversation was in Russian. At least I had this going for me. My mom didn’t know my dick was for hire—or, if she did, she hadn’t said anything—but she was always worried I’d end up getting people pregnant. I was half-tempted to tell her I needed to buy shares at Durex I was being so safe. I finished the last bite off my plate and took whatever she’d left. I could hoover two more plates without batting an eyelash. I washed the food down with my beer.

  “I didn’t get anyone pregnant.” Although it should be said that coming on Jesse’s stomach and watching my cum drip right down her slit wasn’t exactly Family Planning 101.

  “What is it, then?”

  The waiter emerged with the bill, and I took the opportunity to tuck my credit card in and stall. Normally, I had designated my Friday evenings for takeout with Mom. It was the one evening where I didn’t entertain anyone and focused on pursuing the heart of the one woman I actually gave a fuck about. It was easier to chill at home and watch one of her weird Russian shows than to book a place and see all the desperate wannabes of Todos Santos flocking to the local restaurants and bars. Her crack was the Russian version of Big Brother. That shit was crazier than a condomless party at an unlicensed brothel. Every five minutes, a huge fight would break out. My mom would tsk in horror, but I knew she secretly enjoyed it. And I enjoyed watching her enjoy it. Anyway, we rarely hung out in public together, so her suspicion wasn’t completely unwarranted.

  We stood up, and I laced her arm in mine. “I need help.”

  “Is it drugs?” She gasped, going for the next-best-thing after surprise pregnancy. I let my jaw tick without snapping at her last comment. Yes, I was a saint. And yes, she was forgiven.

  “Actually, I need help choosing a gift, but thank you for the vote of confidence.”

  “A gift for who?”

  “That girl I told you about. It’s her birthday.”

  “The rape victim?”

  The word almost made me flinch. I hated that Jesse was reduced to this. Least of all by my mother. A flashback of that scar zinged through my mind. The bastards were going to pay. It wasn’t a promise, but a simple fact.

  “Yeah. Her.”

  “Do you have an idea what she likes? Where to start?”

  I did, and that worried the hell out of me.

  We went to Vicious’ fancy-ass mall and browsed the stores, which, any man could tell you, is the equivalent of throwing your time down the shitter after kissing it goodbye. I’d never shopped for a gift before. I mean, I had. I wasn’t a crappy boyfriend. I got Edie gifts all the time. But I always did the usual thing of getting her gear or a new surfboard whenever it was time to celebrate whatever shit date society deemed as important. With Jesse, it was different. I didn’t want to give her something she needed; I wanted to give her something that would show her that she didn’t need anyone but herself.

  Jesus, what?

  By the time I escorted Mom back to her car, she looked like she needed a two-week vacation on a Caribbean island. I may have taken the task a little too seriously, but since I couldn’t exactly show Jesse how I felt about her with my dick, I figured a gift was a good place to start.

  “You chose the perfect present.” Mom swiveled to face me, flattening her palm over my chest and smiling up at me. Her sensible Prius was parked behind her, ready to take her back to the office building where she accepted clients as a star child therapist. “I’m so proud of you, my sun.”

  “Damn straight you are. You thought I was a drug-addicted, deadbeat dad just an hour ago. Bet you’re feeling pretty awful about yourself right now.”

  She swatted my chest and laughed. “Does that mean I get to meet her soon?”

  I gave it a second of thought. “She is not big on people. I’ll ask.”

  “Neither are you. Maybe that’s why you like each other so much.”

  “Maybe.”

  Maybe it’s because I promised to like her, didn’t understand just how much I would, and now I’m in too deep.

  “By the way, how’s the hotel going? And the surf park? Are you going to bid on that?” Mamul fished her sunglasses from her handbag, her hand already on the door handle of her car. I very rarely talked business with my mom. First of all, she didn’t particularly care for the specifics. She was just happy I owned something that was not a contagious STD or a lengthy criminal record at the age of twenty-five. Second of all, I dreaded the day my mom would ask me how, exactly, I funded all of my business adventures, because the answer was less than impressive. I shoved my hand inside my pocket, fingering the joint I knew I was going to smoke the minute she turned around. I’d fucking earned it, gift-shopping for a chick I hadn’t even slept with.

  But you came close, asshole. And also: all over her stomach.

  “It’s going well. I’m refurbishing the hotel and will probably put an offer on the land when it’s available for auction. Why’re you asking?”

  “Now who’s the skeptical one between us?” Her smile stroked my cheek. I swear it did. “Just wanted to see how you are doing.”

  “Are you going to see Luna Rexroth today?” Luna was Edie’s stepdaughter. Edie was crazy about her. Luna had come to my mom twice a week since she was practically a baby. She’d decided the whole talking gig wasn’t for her early on, but it was my understanding that she was talking to Edie, Trent, and my mom. Only a handful of words, so I guessed she still classified as a basket case at her school. Poor kid.

  “Be good to your girlfriend.” Mom smoothed my wrinkled shirt, tucking my shark-tooth necklace into it. The doctor-patient privilege did not extend to the therapist’s son, apparently.

  “She’s not my girlfriend,” I spat, watching her slipping into her car and sliding her sunglasses on with a smile.

  She looked up to the sun, pointed at it and said, “Sometimes the sun is a liar. Sometimes it’s out, even though it is cold.”

  I opened my mouth to say something, but nothing came out.

  Later that day, I headed to the beach to train Beck.

  I’d like to say it was solely for the purpose of preparing him for the looming competition I was sponsoring, but I was trying the whole honesty thing to better myself and such, so I should probably mention I knew that Hale was going to be there, and I had some unfinished business with the fucker. Namely: Jesse.

  I found Beck, Hale, and Edie sitting outside Breakline, her surf shop. She was waxing her surfboard on the sand in a little white bikini, and from afar, I could see the uncanny bulge peeking above her bikini line. Pregnant.

  Every now and again I asked myself how come Gidget wasn’t knocked up yet, and honestly, I was surprised they’d lasted seven years before deciding to give Luna a sibling. Edie was a nurturer by nature. Either way, I was happy for her. I knew she hadn’t said anything to anyone, because I would be the first person outside her immediate family she’d tell, so I kept my mouth shut. Hale was painting old surfboards shirtless, and Beck was already in his wetsuit, reading something on his phone—it better had been his competitors’ stats, because the asshole was too chill, and I’d put some big money on his gig.

  “Douchebags, Dudette,” I
greeted, dumping my surfboard on the sand next to Beck’s Firewire. He had the sickest surfboards, but that came with the territory of spending his entire paycheck on them.

  Edie looked up from her board and smiled, squinting her eyes under the sun. “What’s in the bag?”

  I was dangling the bag with Jesse’s present in my hand absentmindedly and hadn’t even noticed. Damn. “The necessary tools to castrate Hale.”

  Beck and Edie laughed. Hale didn’t. He knew exactly why I was pissed at him. I cocked my head sideways, my smirk sending an arrow of venom all the way across to him.

  “A word,” I said.

  “I have a feeling I’ll be hearing a lot more than one, and none of them will be to my liking,” Hale groaned, but followed me into the store. I sauntered to the mini fridge behind Edie’s counter and took out a beer. He fell into a donut-shaped beanbag, flicking dirt from his fingernails and looking skyward, as if I was a melodramatic cheerleader who’d just found out he’d liked some other chick’s photo on Instagram. I placed Jesse’s present on the counter carefully and turned to face him.

  “Have you texted her yet?”

  “Texted who?”

  “Don’t fuck with me. I fuck harder. Comes with the territory of doing it for a living.”

  “I’m not fucking with you. I’m genuinely wondering what you are talking about.” He blinked, still playing coy. I didn’t know why Hale wanted to get a rise out of me, or people in general. It was my personal suspicion that he was bored out of his mind and looking to antagonize people because the two people he wanted so badly to piss off—his own parents—controlled his every move, including his future. He wanted to become an entrepreneur and spend his days bumming around, but it so happened he couldn’t have what I had—his hand was twisted into becoming a professor like his dad—so that’s what he was going to be.

  “What do you think I’m talking about?” Okay, now I was beginning to sound like a cheerleader. What did you do to me, Jesse? I want my balls back.

  He made a show of rubbing the back of his neck, exhaling loudly. “I don’t know. I collected all the protection money a day early. I’m helping Gidget with her shop. I’m just a nice guy doing nice things.” He flashed me a toothy, wolfish smirk I wanted to wipe off his face with my boot. “Guess you’ll have to enlighten me.”

  “Jesse Carter.” I splashed my fingers over the counter, standing behind it so I wouldn’t launch myself at Hale accidentally. Or not so accidentally.

  “Hmm. Your new barista, right? Fuck hot.” He whistled then proceeded to bite his fist. I wanted to kill him. But in a mean way. Not a clean bullet to the head. Maybe choke him or throw him into a pit of snakes.

  “Have you texted her yet?” I asked.

  “I have.”

  Where am I going to find so many snakes? “And what did you say?”

  “I asked her if she wanted to grab a coffee later. Not at Café Diem, obviously. Somewhere cool.” His voice was calm and calculated, as if pissing me off was his mission in life. Did he have any idea what he was messing with? Who he was messing with? No. Of course not. I’d never been half as possessive of any woman in my life. Even with Edie, whom I very much liked, I didn’t particularly care. I’d let her slip through my fingers right into Trent’s arms without a fight, knowing they’d needed each other, and that I didn’t need anyone. Whenever men hit on her, I’d watched with a mixture of pity and amusement. Not in Jesse’s case. This felt personal.

  “Did she answer?” I never asked questions, let alone that many, but I couldn’t stop myself, and that was a problem.

  “Not yet.”

  “She won’t,” I deadpanned, tossing the beer to the trash without even touching it. “Delete her number from your contacts and never talk to her again.”

  “What?!” He laughed.

  “Did I fucking stutter?” My jaw stiffened, and I kicked a can of fresh paint sideways, ready to march over to him and plant a fist in his face.

  “Says who?” His smile evaporated.

  “Says me.”

  “And you are…?”

  “Are you having an amnesia episode? I’m your fucking boss.”

  Hale shook his head. “What I mean is, what are you to her? What gives you the right to warn me off? Are you her boyfriend? Brother? Daddy?”

  Let the record show that he asked for it.

  I rounded the counter toward him, fisted the collar of his shirt, and yanked him so that we were nose-to-nose.

  “She’s mine.”

  “Does she know that?” He searched my eyes, his expression tranquil.

  “Yeah.” Told you I was a liar.

  “Guess I’ll have to hear it from her, then.”

  I released him, letting his body drop like a stone on the beanbag. “Drop it.”

  “Or what?”

  “Or I’m kicking you out of the business, and your game would be over. No more Mr. Tough Guy, and back to folding shirts at the Gap. Of course, cutting ties with me would mean less pussy and surfing time, but at least you’ll get a fifty percent employee discount and can finally stop wearing these fucking Hawaiian shirts.”

  Yes. I went there. I insulted his clothes. I was officially a chick.

  Hale narrowed his eyes, the gravity of my threat sinking in. “You can’t do that.”

  I grabbed his phone next to him and punched in his code—his ex-girlfriend’s birthday he was too lazy to change—looking for Jesse’s contact as I spoke. “Newsflash: I can do whatever I want. People come and go. It was Edie in your shoes seven years ago. Then she married a millionaire, and I took Robbie on. Then he moved, and I employed Ashford. There’s always a Hale in the background—an errand boy I split my money with to make sure everything’s in check. Don’t be fooled by my generosity. I don’t need you, and the minute I drop you, you’re done here. Stay away from Jesse Carter. I’ll ask again—am. I. Clear?” I threw his phone onto his chest after I was done removing her number from his memory.

  His jaw locked, and he got up from the beanbag, zigzagging his way back outside. He was blind with rage. I looked up to see Gidget and Beck standing there, looking less than impressed. I’d always been harsh on Hale, but I never went as far as threatening to fuck him over. But things were beginning to change, and not only because of Jesse.

  “Was that really necessary?” Beck crossed his arms over his chest, shaking his head.

  I ignored him. “Get your surfboard. Time to kill some waves.”

  When I got out, Edie pulled me by the arm to a corner behind her shack-like shop, and I let her, even though I knew she was going to annoy the crap out of me with whatever was going to fall out of her mouth.

  “Is this about Jesse?” She was so annoyed, her nostrils were as wide as her eyes.

  “Why?”

  “Because you act all weird about her. I’ve seen you with her, Bane. I’m not blind. And I’m wondering…” She licked her lips, staring up at me in a way I couldn’t decode. Hopeful? Yeah. She looked kind of hopeful.

  “Go on. That’s not technically a fucking sentence,” I grumbled.

  “I was wondering if she knew about your job.”

  Oh.

  Oh.

  “She knows,” I said. And she did. She also hated it. That was why Hale had her number in the first place.

  “Don’t be dramatic. Everything is under control.” Wasn’t that what people whose lives were a big, hot mess said? I shook my arm away, flashing a confident smile I couldn’t feel, let alone believe. I knew I had no fucking right blocking other guys from dating her when I couldn’t do it myself. Nonetheless, I just couldn’t stop myself.

  “Hale should stay away from Jesse if he wants to keep his dick intact. Actually, feel free to pass this message on to the rest of the male population in this town. By the way”—I leaned down, my mouth on her cheek—“you’re showing. Congratulations.”

  Later that evening, I stared at myself in my bathroom mirror, trying not to flinch.

  I gripped the sink to a point
of white knuckles, asking myself if I had it in me to do what I supposed I should have done a long time ago.

  To let go of the bad shit.

  I looked down. Clutched the scissors next to the faucet.

  Looked back up.

  You’re not the bastard who raped your mom, Jesse had said to me this week. But Jesse didn’t know all there was to know about me, so really, did her opinion count for shit?

  I grabbed the bun on top of my head and cut it, throwing it to the sink and turning on the water with the elastic band still on.

  Looked back up. Didn’t flinch.

  Proceeded with the rest of my task.

  Looked up.

  Flinched.

  THERE’S AN EVOLUTION TO BIRTHDAYS. The older you got, the less eager you were to celebrate them. In my case, The Incident had aged me a dozen decades. For the past couple years, I’d tried to act like it didn’t exist. Like I didn’t exist. It was easier to pretend nothing was happening, because if life happened, I had to take control of it, and I didn’t have it in me to do it.

  Not until now.

  Three years ago, Pam had gotten me a bow bracelet from Tiffany’s for my seventeenth birthday and Darren had shelled out the big bucks for a weekend on a yacht for my friends and me. I invited fifty kids to the party, and some of their parents attended as chaperones, too. “For mingling and networking purposes, although making sure no one gets pregnant is also a priority”—Pam had giggled plastically, feeling blue-blooded like the people of Todos Santos for a hot minute. I was dating Emery back then, and I remember how triumphant she’d felt. She even went back to letting me calling her Mom.

  It was the year when, for the first time, I skipped visiting my dad’s grave and placing the Kit Kat we used to share every morning on his tombstone.

  It was the first and last year I truly felt normal, accepted, and popular.

  Now, for my twentieth birthday, I decided to go back to the basics and celebrate by munching on a Kit Kat bar in my room, reading a book that Mrs. B had loaned me.