17

JUMAINE

None of it added up. Roscano had nearly blown us up in North Haven as either a warning or punishment for going rogue with a bank job. And then he’d sent Baxter to blow up the Rusty Bucket as further punishment?

Neither Rocello nor Slade bought it.

I didn’t buy it, either.

A real punishment would have been for Roscano to have his goons beat the shit out of us. To break our jaws and some ribs. This would have been a proper lesson. It would serve as a reminder for us to never do anything without asking him first. Remembering our pain would prevent us from considering robbing banks or stealing from his friends.

He didn’t do that.

The question was why.

Didn’t he think his goons would have been able to give us a real beating? Maybe. He had six of those. They were big bastards, but they didn’t have what we did.

A ton of experience.

We’d been on the street since his new guys were in high school. Before that, we had to survive in foster families. This meant a lot of fighting, mainly for Rocello. He was our protector, until Slade and I were strong enough to fend for ourselves. So, in case Roscano used those goons to beat us up, they’d probably end up in hospital. He wasn’t a fool. I was sure he knew that.

Rocello’s opinion was rather different. Roscano could have hired more goons, if his real purpose had been to teach us a lesson. I didn’t agree with that. Nick had always been a cheap motherfucker. Spending money actually hurt him. The dollar was the love of his life. He would have hated to pay a bunch of strangers money, just to rough us up.

In any case, I had another theory.

There had to have been something special about The Rusty Bucket. Something that led Roscano to hire Baxter to blow it up. And there was just one person who knew that place inside out: Margo Owens. She had spent more time in there than Rocello, Slade and I combined. If anyone knew its secrets, that would definitely be her.

So that’s why I headed over there around noon, after a morning spent making the rounds, doing my job. Busting some heads when needed, but all in all, it had been a fairly quiet morning. Which gave me more time to think.

I pulled up outside The Rusty Bucket on a silver Harley. It had been languishing in the corner of the parking garage at my building for some time now, but after my car got totaled in the blast, I’d spent a little time fixing it up.

Easing off my helmet, I took in the little bar. The last time I was here, I beat the crap out of Baxter and stuffed him with a bomb in his car.

Hopefully this time would be less eventful.

I squinted as I crossed the seat. It looked like a few of the windows in front had been replaced. They looked about a thousand years newer than the other ones. It took a minute for my eyes to adjust to the dim lighting in the bar, but then I spotted Margo setting glass beer steins into rows behind the bar.

“Hey,” I said, approaching the counter. “I see you got the place fixed.”

“Once the police let us back in here.” She sounded bitter, which was understandable. She’d probably lost at least a day or two of wages. “It sucks working at a crime scene.” She gave me a very direct look that I couldn’t quite interpret.

“I’m sure it does. But at least the place is open now. That Beamer was across the street, not right outside.”

“How did you know?” she whispered.

I frowned, but I knew I was on solid ground. “I saw the crater in the street.”

Margo’s dark pupils were huge as she stared up at me. “How did you know that it was a BMW?”

“I heard it in the news.”

“No, you didn’t. They didn’t say the make of the car.”

Shit. “Sure they did. They always do.”

“No, there was a police officer; he kept coming in here to talk to me, and he told me they weren’t releasing that information.”

“He came back here to talk to you?” I knew I was focusing on the wrong information, but a sudden spike of jealousy flashed through me. Not hard to imagine a rookie cop drooling after Margo and telling her tidbits to impress her.

She ignored that. “He said it might be a way to find out who planted the bomb. Looks like he was right.” She tossed a dish towel on the counter and walked away, heading down a dark hallway.

“Margo…” I caught up with her. “Margo, listen—”

“Save it.” She whirled around to face me. “It shouldn’t come as a surprise. I know what you guys do. And you should leave. I’ve got a lot of work to do.”

Shit, fuck, damn. “I’ll leave after you hear me out.”

“I’ve heard enough,” she said stubbornly.

“No, you haven’t.” I grabbed her arm and pulled her down to the end of the hall. The noise from the bar seemed distant here. “You want to know who blew up that car and why?”

“I’m not sure I do. Like I said, you should—”

“It was me,” I said, out of options. She clearly thought we were just a gang of mindless thugs, bent on maximum destruction. The truth was a lot more complicated. “The driver had the bomb, and he was outside. Heading here. If I hadn’t stopped him, this place would’ve had a lot more damage than a few broken windows. People would’ve gotten hurt—maybe killed.”

“What?” Her mouth gaped open, and she seemed at a loss for words. “He wanted to bomb the bar?”

Shock turned her face white, and I regretted that she had to hear this. But we still didn’t know Baxter and Roscano’s real motive—which meant they might not be finished.

“I had to do it,” I said quietly. “Or else you might not be here right now.”

Her tongue darted out over those full, red lips. It took her two tries to speak. “Why didn’t you just call the cops?”

My eyes narrowed. “Like the one who kept coming back here to pant over you?”

“He didn’t—” Her response was automatic, but then she stopped. Margo wasn’t a fool. She was a beautiful woman who worked in a bar. She had to know when someone wanted a shot with her.

Like me.

“If you say you know about us, then you know that calling the police isn’t the answer.” There was a lot more I could’ve said on that topic, but I wanted her to stay away from the underworld, not take a course on it.

“This is a lot to take in,” she said finally.

“I bet. Look, I can’t tell you much, but the order came from a mafia boss. You can believe anything you want about them, but they don’t do jack shit without a reason. Is anyone in this place involved in something they shouldn’t be?”

“Probably,” she said, which wasn’t much of a surprise. “But I don’t know of anything specific.”

“What about the owner? Does he have a problem with drugs? Prostitutes? Gambling?”

She leaned against the wall, lost in thought. “Not that I know of. I don’t see him much, just the manager. She seems okay.”

“Someone here is hiding something,” I said, feeling frustrated. On the one hand, I was glad that Margo didn’t seem to know much about the dark world I inhabited. On the other, it was annoying how naïve she sounded. ”I’m going to find out what it is.”

“And if you do, you won’t tell me.”

I put a finger under her chin, lifting her head to make her meet my eyes. “No, I won’t. You already know too much.”

Her eyes widened. “Is that a threat?”

“No,” I said simply. “It’s a regret.”

The flash of alarm faded from her face, and I realized that she wasn’t scared. Not of me, anyway. Even though she’d just heard that I blew up a man right outside of her bar.

She was naïve, that was for sure. But there were other words for that. Like innocent and pure. And when you found those qualities in a person, you knew they were a person worth protecting.

“I’m sorry you had to find this out.”

She shook her head. “It doesn’t do me any good to be in the dark.”

“It does. About some things,” I countered.

She blinked rapidly, and I thought I saw a line of moisture on lashes. “My mom kept me in the dark. About her cancer. She didn’t tell me for a long time.”

Fuck. How could someone look so sad and so beautiful at the same time? “I’m sorry.”

“It’s better to know,” she said quietly. “Even if it’s something bad.”

She looked so damn upset. It made me want to do something—anything—to wipe that look off her face.

And so I did.

I reached out and ran my fingers through her glossy black hair. Then I fisted it, tilting her head upwards. Her eyes closed, her dark lashes brushing against her damp cheeks, as I leaned in.

Her lips were warm and plump. As if they’d been waiting for mine. And maybe they had. She sighed as I pressed my mouth against hers. Slowly, her hands slid up my chest, linking behind my neck.

That was more like it. I explored her mouth slowly and patiently. As far as I was concerned, I had all the time in the world. A world that we were rapidly leaving behind. It was like no one else existed except for me and this gorgeous woman.

As I deepened the kiss, I put my hands around her slim waist and lifted her up. Her legs wrapped around my waist as I pressed her against the wall. Now our heads were almost level, and I continued to slowly devour her mouth.

She moaned, a sound that went straight to my hard cock. God, the way she kissed… the way she clung to me… it was hard to believe that this amazing woman was in my arms. Especially not after what she’d just learned about me.

My hands ached to undo her pants. To pull them off and bury myself between her legs. But then someone called her name, someone from out in the bar. Possibly another waitress. I hoped I never found out who, because right now, I could’ve easily decked them.

Margo groaned as she swung her legs down. I didn’t let go of her until she was steady on her feet. She stared up at me, her lips swollen in a way that made me want to repeat the kiss all over again.

“I’ve been wanting to do that since the night we showed up on your friend’s doorstep,” I said quietly.

Margo stared at me for a moment longer, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. Then she turned to go, her movements a bit dazed. When she was several feet away, I heard her speak.

“Me, too.”