Mayhem: A Twisted Hearts Love Story Book 2 Page 6

  As Dante chats with two men, I’m about to give him an excuse, and leave in a hurry when I see Wheeler staring at us with callous eyes. Wheeler’s look goes unnoticed by Dante as he finishes his conversation. A shiver goes through me. “Cold?” Dante removes his jacket and places it around my shoulders without waiting for my response. “Better?”

  I nod at him as I steal another glance at Wheeler, who is still staring at us as Jay talks to him. I’m afraid Wheeler will approach me if he sees me walk away from Dante. I change my mind again. I will let him drive me home but that is all. Dante still doesn’t appear to notice Wheeler’s steely glare as he takes my hand in his and guides me to the door. Once outside, he helps me into the passenger seat of his luxury car. Coming around the front, he gets into the driver’s seat and turns to face me. His gaze is scorching, and for a minute, it makes me forget all of my worries.

  “Address?” Amusement dances in his eyes.

  “Huh?” My mind goes blank as I stare at his cleft. I feel drunk but I haven’t had a drink, I prattle off my address to him.

  His eyes widen. “Rough neighborhood.”

  I shift in my seat. “It’s what I can afford.” I leave out that I can’t even afford that at this point.

  He turns to face me. “Okay, here’s the thing. I feel like I’m your guardian angel since I saved you before, so it’s my responsibility to keep you safe.”

  “You don’t know me and I’m not your responsibility.” Turning toward the window, I tap my foot anxiously.

  I steal a quick glance and see his jaw muscle clenching. “An issue that I’m going to rectify,” he says before starting the car.

  We remain silent, lost in our own thoughts. I build up courage to ask the question that has been bothering me since I witnessed his encounter with Wheeler moments ago. “What’s your connection to Wheeler?” I blurt the question out and realize it came out harsher than I expected.

  He gazes at me from the corner of his eye, and laughs at my question. “You can say that he works for my boss.”

  He must be referring to Tony Delaney. I’ve heard about him but have never seen him. He was Ignacio’s half-brother from the rumors I’ve heard. Anything dealing with Ignacio or Tony can’t be good. “So you work for Tony Delaney?”

  Surprise appears on his face before he nods. “Yes. I’m his right-hand man.”

  “So that means ...” I leave these words lingering over us like a pendulum. My breath catches as I wait for his response.

  He pulls the car to the side of the road and turns off the ignition. Turning slightly in his seat, he gives me his full attention. “I’m not gonna bullshit you. It’s clear you’ve heard some things about Tony.” He waits for my response but I only give him the briefest of nods, and his features relax. “If you know Wheeler then I assume you heard of Ignacio or worked for him.”

  “I never worked for Ignacio. I met him a few times at the strip club. He and his boys were regulars.”

  “Okay. Then you know they’re a bad bunch. Tony is not like that.” He pauses and closes his eyes briefly and opens them again. “Only way to explain it is for me to say I’ve done some bad things, but for good reasons.” He waits and watches for my reaction. I put on my best poker face on. “Can you accept that for an answer?” He searches my eyes as he waits.

  I need to get away from men like him and Wheeler and not get caught deeper into their chaos. But the problem is, he isn’t like Wheeler. I can feel it. I relax into my seat as I return his stare. “Yes, I can accept that for an answer. I just don’t want to be caught in any crossfire.”

  He nods and starts the car again. Pulling onto the road, he chuckles lightly as he maneuvers through traffic. “I have pretty boring days at the office. Trust me, no crossfire coming your way.” He gives me a reassuring smile. We fall into a comfortable silence as the latest pop hit fills the car.

  Fidgeting in my seat, partly from the way he drives through Manhattan and the other part because of his words, I adjust my blouse, which has hiked up and has exposed my stomach a little, and cross my legs.

  “So, tell me about yourself. I want to know everything about you.” He glances in my direction every so often and I pray he doesn’t wreck the car.

  “Nothing to tell,” I huff and fold my arms across my chest. “I’m a stripper, as you know, and I also wait tables at the diner on 39th street.” My focus is once again out of the window as I watch buildings blur by us.

  He lets out a low whistle. “Two jobs?”

  I bristle at his comment. He doesn’t know my life and what I have to do to survive and provide for my daughter. “Well, living in New York is expensive. Not all of us get to drive around in a fully-loaded Mercedes E-class. Let me guess, this is your car during the week for work. You have a roadster to impress the ladies on the weekends?”

  Now it’s his turn to bristle. “Listen, I didn’t mean any harm by my remark.” He rubs his hand over his chin. “Besides I don’t have a roadster; I have a Ducati. And I do just fine with the ladies without the car or bike.”

  Ladies? “Speaking of which, do you have a lady in your life?” Why, oh why am I asking this question when there is no room for him in my life? But I want him to say no there isn’t. Somehow, it will make me feel better.

  His expression slackens and he remains silent for a long time before finally answering. “Guess you can say I’m free. You?”

  “Guess? You’re either free or not.” I’ve seen men like him before. Most of the girls at the club date men like him. Men who like to take dips in the cookie jar but don’t do the commitment thing.

  He smiles at me and turns back to the road. “My apologies. I’m free. No one who can lay claim to me.”

  I feel relieved in a way, even though I shouldn’t. Whether he is free or not is none of my business.

  “And you?”

  Oh, we are back to me. I try to think of a quick and simple response. “I’m a divorcee with a complicated life.” Even though it’s the truth, it feels like a lie coming out of my mouth. It is more. So much more. A daughter who is sick and possibly dying in the hospital, in debt up to my eyeballs with the worst man on the planet and I just shortened all of my problems to seven simple words. I lean my forehead on the window, feeling the coolness of the glass on my now throbbing temple.

  “What type of complications?”

  Exhaling loudly, I close my eyes. “None that I care to discuss.”

  “Guess we each have our own secrets,” he says under his breath. I’m not sure if he meant for me to hear him.

  He pulls in front of my building, and parks the car. He turns to face me, startling me with his next question. “How about dinner tomorrow?

  “I have to work tomorrow.” I want to tell him I work every night. My days are spent at the hospital with my daughter. I can’t remember my last day off.

  “Okay, I’ll work around your schedule. What time do you get off tomorrow? Or I can pick you up during the day.” He unbuckles his seatbelt and turns to completely face me. There is a softness in his eyes that touches me.

  “I work at the diner tomorrow. Not getting off till midnight. Days don’t work for me.” I take a steady breath because I feel my hands trembling as my mind goes to where I spend my days.

  “Fine, days don’t work. I really want to spend time with you. Can I pick you up at midnight then. Even if it is just a quick bite somewhere.”

  “No, that’s just not a good idea. I really can’t.” I stare at my hands in my lap as thoughts of my daughter and bills and paying the loan to Wheeler go through my head. There is just no way I can fit him into my chaotic life. I have to remain focused. Lifting my head, his expression makes me feel warm and tingly. “Thank you for the ride, Dante. Guess I’ll see you around,” I throw over my shoulder as I climb out.

  I’m still wearing his jacket. I pause at first, debating if I should turn back around and return his jacket. Knowing I wouldn’t be able to resist the pull I feel for him, I decide to stay on the path toward
my apartment. Once inside, I shower and change into my favorite T-shirt and sleep shorts. Crawling into my daughter’s bed with his jacket snuggled tightly to my chest, I close my eyes and deeply inhale his spice-scented cologne and dream of him.

  Chapter 8

  Can I Talk To You ~ Jodeci

  Tick

  I haven’t been able to get Cyma off my mind since I saw her last night at Wheeler’s bar. I haven’t felt this drawn to a woman since… since Kayla. My heart pangs at the thought of Kayla. I’m still not sure if I deserve any type of happiness when I’m alive and they’re not. I grimace at the flashbacks of the mangled wreck that was Kayla’s family car and Kayla lying on the ground covered in blood. I can still feel her hand in mind and smell the burnt rubber.

  “Tick!”

  I open my eyes at the sound of Tony’s voice, and see him staring.

  “Sorry. What did you just say?”

  Closing his laptop, he stands and pours us both a glass two fingers’ full of scotch. Placing mine in front of me, he sits behind his desk and waits. Tony and I have known each other long enough we can almost read each other’s mind.

  “What?” I shrug and take a sip of my drink.

  “What’s up? Thinking about Kayla?” His features soften as he waits.

  A lump forms in the back of my throat at the sound of her name. What’s the point of lying to him? He would just call bullshit on me. “Yeah.” I stand behind my chair, placing both hands on the back. “Shit, isn’t it supposed to get easier after a certain period of time?”

  “It does. You’ve come a long way.”

  “I suppose.” I shrug. “I have good days and bad.”

  “Today is a bad day?” He crosses his legs in front of him and waits for my response.

  “No.” I rub the back of my head. “Yes, I guess. It’s just that I met this woman.” The guilt of saying that I met a woman out loud hits me. How can I betray Kayla like this?

  His eyes widen and he sits up right in his chair, placing both hands on his desk. “Who is she?”

  “Someone I met last week. Saved her from getting mugged, but I ran into her again last night.”

  I want to be near Cyma but my guilt is eating at me. When she asked me if I was free, and I hesitated with my response and then told her I guessed I was. It bothered her as it should but I still feel like I’m attached to Kayla. If that accident didn’t happen we would still be together. But I got cheated. Cheated out of a happy life with her and my son.

  “Okay, so you feeling her?”

  Am I feeling her? Fuck yeah I am. But… I pause for a moment giving in to the pang in my chest. Swallowing hard, I finish. “The ten-year anniversary of their deaths was last week. How am I even thinking about a woman I just met?”

  Understanding appears on his face. “So you’re feeling guilty?”

  “Fuck! Guess so. Not sure if this is right or not. From the moment I saw her, I felt a connection. She reminded me of…” And it hits me again. The guilt. My muscles tense as I battle my warring emotions.

  His mouth forms an O. “Kayla.”

  “Yes. It’s not that she looks like Kayla. They’re as opposite as they can be. It’s just that something….” My mind drifts back to Cyma and her innocence. As quickly as the image appears in my head, it merges into a vision of Kayla with her hair matted with blood from the accident. A shudder goes through me and both images disappear.

  “I get it. I had that same connection with Angel when I first met her. I couldn’t put my finger on it either at first.” He stares past me as if he is remembering a time not that long ago.

  A hard knock startles us both. Tony yells, “Come in!”

  Manny steps in and plops on the couch. “Yo, I’m hungry. Let’s grab some dinner.”

  “I’m having dinner with Angel. You two assholes go and enjoy yourselves.”

  We say bye to Tony and hop in my car downstairs. Pulling onto the road, I know just the place to go for dinner. I park my car in front of the diner on 39th street.

  “What the fuck are we doing here? I was thinking more like Peter Luger’s.”

  “I heard they have great food.” I grin over at Manny and I know he sees the hunger in my eyes. He’s smart enough to know this hunger has nothing to do with food and everything to do with the woman inside waiting tables.

  I open the diner’s doors and when greeted, I ask for Cyma’s section. We’re seated immediately and it doesn’t take me long to locate her. Her dark hair that normally falls in curls around her shoulders is pinned up in a messy ponytail exposing a small mole on the back of her neck.

  Manny sees where my attention has fallen and leans across the table. “Ahh, so that’s what we’re doing here. That’s the same chick you ran off with last night.” A broad grin spreads across his face. I don’t bother to say anything because I can’t tear my eyes away from her.

  Cyma never looks up, as if she is on auto- pilot. She serves a customer and grabs her notepad, jotting down something as she walks to our table. “What can I get for you?”

  “Not sure, Cyma. What would you suggest?”

  Startled, she drops her notepad on the floor. Manny bends to pick it up and hands it to her. “If you’ll excuse me, I gotta take a leak. If you order, just get me what you get.” Manny gets up and leaves.

  “What are you doing here?” she whispers, shooting daggers at me from those pretty green eyes.

  “Having dinner.” I pick up the menu and start flipping through the pages. “What would you recommend?”

  “This is my job. Out of all the diners in New York, you chose this one?”

  I peer around the diner and back at her again. “Why not? Is the food bad here?”

  Folding her arms over her chest, she glares at me. “You know what I mean. You can’t be here.”

  “My friend and I are hungry. I remembered you worked here. So here I am.” Placing the menu back in place, I fold my arms on the table and glare right back at her.

  “I told you, my life is complicated.”

  “Yeah, you never did explain those complications.”

  “Hey, can we get some service over here,” a hipster a few seats down calls for her.

  Turning around to face him, she smiles at the customer as my fist clenches at his tone of voice toward her. “I’ll be right there.” She turns back to me again and I place my hands under the table. “I don’t have to explain anything to you.” She turns around and heads to the hipster’s table just as Manny takes a seat.

  “We staying or leaving?”

  “Leaving,” I say as I stare at her taking the customer’s order. She smiles at him and cracks a joke to lighten his mood. He is like putty in her hands now. And it has me wanting to break shit. My fists clench on top of the table as I pay close attention to her interaction with him.

  “Never seen you act crazy over a chick.”

  I turn to face him with my teeth bared and spit out, “She’s not a chick.” I’m already in a bad mood and him calling her that is not helping matters.

  “Fuck, man. I didn’t mean any harm. What is she to you?”

  The customer touches her arm and before I get a chance to react by wiping the floor with him, she turns him down gently. My heart is thumping so hard I can hear it in my eardrums. Before I set this place on fire, I stand to leave and head for the door with Manny in hot pursuit. “I need you to find out which strip club she works at.”

  “On it,” he says as we climb in my car. He knows better than to ask any questions about my motive behind it. He also knows that I need absolute silence at this time and I am thankful that he knows me so well.

  Chapter 9

  Doo Wop (That Thing) ~ Lauryn Hill

  Cyma

  I can’t believe Dante showed up at the diner a few nights ago. When I told Brenda about it, she thought I should be flattered and not annoyed. Even though she is my best friend, I don’t think she gets it. I can’t concentrate on a relationship with him when the rest of my life is in the shitter. What
man is going to want to deal with a woman with a sick daughter? Lelia’s own father didn’t want to be bothered, so I can’t imagine Dante wanting to take on the responsibility. And that is exactly what it is… responsibility. Lelia would always come before him. It’s just simpler to just shut down the possibility and save myself the heartache.

  My cellphone rings as I’m stepping out of the shower. “What’s up, Peter?” My relationship with the manager from the strip club where I work is somewhat friendly. He’s always been understanding of my needs with Lelia. For that I’m always grateful. Even though he is the one that convinced me to take out the loan through Wheeler, I know he thought it was my best option, so I don’t fault him at all for my predicament. But I also don’t trust him. He was in deep with Ignacio and his crew. I’m not familiar with all of the details but I do know that much.

  “Cyma, I need you to come in early. Pulse would like to hire some of our dancers for the night to put on a show for the customers.” Peter’s excitement at having some of his dancers at Pulse makes his falsetto voice climb even higher in pitch.

  “I thought Pulse has their own dancers.” My eyes widen at this request. Pulse is a high end club, known to cater to celebrities and the plutocrats. Why would they want to hire strippers from a second rate strip club when they could hire Playboy Bunnies.

  “They do. But they want to try something different for the night and see how it goes. They especially asked for you.” I can almost imagine him making this phone call from his office at the strip club. Sitting in his worn brown leather swivel chair with his feet dangling barely touching the ground.

  For me? Why would they…and then it hits me. Tony Delaney owns Pulse. Dante works for Tony. This just reeks of Dante. “Tell them I’m unable to make it. I’d rather do my regular shift.”

  Peter exhales loudly. “Listen, you need the money, don’t you?” He hisses the question out over the phone. For Peter, only dollars makes sense to him. A special request like that is bound to bring in more than his club earns in a month. He has always been about going to the highest bidder for whatever and if he feels this gig could derail by me not showing up, it wouldn’t be beneath him to remind me of my daughter.