Hack, page 25
“Fuck off. She’s not my girlfriend.” I slammed the passenger door.
He crossed his arms and rolled his warm, brown eyes. “You know why I love Lisa?”
I was pretty sure he was going to tell me, so I raised my eyebrows to signal that his lecture could begin but also let him know I didn’t want it.
“She knew exactly who I was and what I did. She accepted me and J.J. without batting a blonde eyelash. I may want to change, I may hope for a better life by working with Frank and Leo, but where I come from? I can’t change that, and it requires a lot of fucking work to hide it.”
“Sounds like a fairytale.” I sneered. His point was obvious. It was also what had kept me up half the night. So she’d fucked up. There was no guarantee I wouldn’t one day. There was no guarantee I wouldn’t that day. I might have been a pretty boy muscle head, but I was no fucking catch. For fuck’s sake, Marigold’s mother had sized me up with one fucking glance.
And yet that day, Marigold had walked away with me.
I rubbed my eyes.
“There’s more. She had a side hustle. A big side hustle.”
“And?” Jackson tucked his chin and opened his arms. “How many times you skim a little off the top or tell Anton you stole a grand but it was really two?”
“Not a lot.” But I had. Jackson fucking knew it. I’d confessed to him on more than one occasion. And even as I spoke the feeble defense, it crumbled.
“So,” he said in a far too bored and annoyed tone, “you’re pissed she didn’t tell you, which is downright adorable, Goldie.” He shook his head. “Your love spat ends in you shooting her. I should have guessed it.”
“I’m not having a love spat, Jax. She had me fucking arrested. She was spying on Jimmy, hacking her fucking brains out and not telling me, and she was going to fly away to fucking fuck knows where.”
He laughed. That motherfucker laughed. Hard. “And so you fucking shot her.” He wiped a tear from his eye.
“Fuck off.”
His chuckle tapered off and his tone switched to somber. “Look… Anton’s mom won’t let him step foot Uptown again. Unless you want to take over—which I know you don’t. You hate dealing as much as I do—Covington is over for us. Scooter sent Callie’s sister to get her and they’re moving away. The crew is done.”
I stared at him for a beat then forward at the van in front of us. That had been the other thing that had kept me up all night. My future. Jackson had confirmed what I’d feared. Without Anton, there was no more ‘us’.
“But you said he’s stable, right? Gonna pull through.” The hope in my voice was pointless, even if Anton had been nicked by a bullet, his overprotective mother wasn’t going to let him keep playing gang leader anymore. We were done.
“He’s going to live, just under his mother’s roof for eternity.”
“Sounds like hell.”
Jackson frowned. “Tell me about it. That woman is scary as fuck.”
“She was ‘Satan’ in his phone.” I grinned for the first time in twenty-four hours. The honesty I could have with Jackson was like no other. I hadn’t realized how much I’d needed and missed it since he’d left.
I sighed. “So what do I do now?”
“Stop shooting your girlfriend.” His sarcastic side-eye could fuck off.
“So when Lisa pisses you off, you just forgive her? Just like that?”
He closed an eye. “Lisa doesn’t piss me off. I piss her off then she goes all fucking silent, I realize I’m a jack-ass, then I beg for forgiveness. I’m not risking J.J.’s or my overall happiness with my pride.”
“And she forgives you?”
“That’s how love works, bro. Now get out of this car and stop making me talk about feelings and shit. Ms. Myers says you can have the apartment until M is a hundred percent. Then you’re on your own.”
Just like that, I was cut loose. Working for Leo and his brother was out of the question. My sticky fingers would never be able to resist the diamonds and gold they protected. They knew it and so did I. I was what I was and somehow, M loved me for it. And fucking hell, I loved her.
I reached for the handle and stopped before pulling. “I shot my girlfriend.”
“Go say sorry like a good boy and send me a postcard from wherever the hell she was planning on stealing you away to.”
I nodded and climbed out of the car then watched him drive away. I walked down to the deli and bought a bacon and egg sandwich and a coffee the way M liked it. In the elevator ride up, I gathered my courage. Forgiving Marigold meant severing a loyalty to Anton, but as it turned out, I didn’t need that bond anymore. In truth, it had been more disposable than I’d ever imagined.
I opened the door to find Marigold red-eyed and hopping on her good leg to the bathroom. She froze, and I realized she’d been crying.
“I was sure you’d left.” The shock in her voice stung—not because I’d hurt her, but because I was a coward to have ever thought of skittering away to a life without her. I closed the door and set the drink and grease-stained paper bag on the coffee table.
“Let me help you.” I grabbed her crutches and handed them to her. She disappeared in the bathroom and I sat on the couch.
“Do you bring all the girls you shoot breakfast the next day?” She made her way over to the couch and sat next to me with a tentative smile.
“You’re the only person I’ve ever shot.” I handed her the bag and shrugged.
“Lucky me.”
She was playing it safe to test the water, but we needed to jump in. No more dipping in toes to check the temperature.
“I am pissed that you spied on Jimmy and didn’t tell me. I am pissed that you kept stealing without me. I am pissed that you made a plan without consulting me. And I am really fucking pissed you had me arrested.” My volume rose with every word. I hadn’t realized how liberating it was to scream at her.
She finished chewing and said, “All completely justified. I am the smartest and stupidest person I know.”
“No shit. And FYI, I shot you to keep you alive. Leo told us to imagine every fucking scenario before we went downtown. Guess who I never thought would walk in that door? You. I was sure you were sipping margaritas on a beach, flipping me the bird in a bikini. But noooo…. You get yourself abducted by Jefferson. Do you know what they would have done to you?”
She kept eating and I didn’t wait for her response. The release of my worries could not be contained.
“Since the minute you walked into Covington, I have worried about your safety. You have no fucking street smarts. Zero.” I made a circle with my hand so she could understand how little I was talking about. “Why the ever-living fuck would you keep the fact that Jimmy was working with Jefferson a secret?”
She picked a piece of crispy bacon out of her sandwich. “I was afraid that if I told you, you would try to kill him on the spot. That you would put Covington before your own safety.”
That was probably true, but my rant could not be stopped. I needed to get out my rage. “Having me arrested? That was your plan? So utterly stupid, M.”
“Not as stupid as me sending your passport to Juliana. Pretty sure that was what tipped off Jefferson.” Too calm… There was too much calm in her voice.
I dropped my head back then turned to stare at her. Maybe my eye daggers would help her realize how careless she’d been. Instead, she popped the last bite of her sandwich into her lovely little mouth.
“It was the only address I had.”
I closed my eyes. “You are not allowed out of the house.”
“What does that mean?” Her tone had flipped to serious.
The struggle of loving her was my own. Maybe if I’d shown her sooner, admitted my stupid feelings, she wouldn’t have needed to plan shit behind my back. And while I was officially no longer part of a crew, I did still have her. But the biggest realization over the previous twenty-four hours had been how fucking much I hated the idea of losing her. I’d wanted—needed—her in my life since the moment I’d laid eyes on her. Hell, maybe even before.
I let out a breath. Deep end, Goldie. “It means you have to say you’re sorry one more time. Then I will forgive you and we move on.”
She twisted her lips. “Okay. But only if you say you’re sorry for shooting me.”
I sat up. “I’m not sorry for shooting you.”
Her scrunched frown made her look like I’d asked her to eat a vegetable, but it fell from her face as quickly as she’d concocted it. Her pretty eyes fluttered, and in a small voice, she said, “I’m sorry.”
“I forgive you.” Holy shit, I do. Fucking Jackson was right.
She smiled. “Same.”
I opened my mouth to object. I hadn’t apologized for anything. Then it hit me what she was really saying.
“Same.”
I loved her, too.
Epilogue
Six months later
Marigold
The in and out of the tide had replaced the honks and sirens of the city. I’d convinced Rafa to sell our used laptops instead of throwing them in the ocean and wondered if my mother might be proud.
After some serious mental arm wrestling, my boyfriend had also persuaded me to give a portion of my fortune to Anton as a forgiveness package. I hated letting go of the money but I needed the man I loved in my life more than a bigger house on the beach. We still hacked, but we lived below the radar. No more online tutorials from me, and we only used a malware program once before deleting all traces of it.
It was a simple life, a quiet life. Oddly, it suited us. I’d shaven off my colorful locks and wore my hair in a dark pixie cut that Rafa trimmed whenever it got too long. His own hair was barely a centimeter all over. We were both tanned, relaxed and content. No one from Covington Heights would have even recognized us.
The screen door rattled and I leaned around my computer at the small kitchen table to see who it was. But instead of the local who delivered the fruits and vegetables that Rafa managed to get me to eat—life in seclusion required compromises— a gray puppy nosed its way inside.
My heart fluttered and I grinned from ear to ear. There was no coincidence that it looked identical to Spock. I went over and knelt down, my long flowy skirt puddling around my feet. When I offered the back of my hand, the puppy licked it.
I picked it up, did a quick check to see it was a girl and kissed her soft head. The puppy smell immediately intoxicated me and I fell in love with her in one heartbeat.
“You like?” The amber eyes that kept me grounded and in check stared at me from behind the screen.
“Where did you manage to find a blue pit bull in the middle of nowhere?” I tucked my new dog under my arm and met Rafael on the front porch. The puppy licked my chin before I sat her down in the shade. She sniffed around with her tail wagging and we sat on the steps.
“She wasn’t easy to get, but the guy we buy eggs from has a cousin.” Rafa winked at me and I nuzzled into his arm.
“We’re going to call her T’Pau, right?” I asked but was pretty sure our Star Trek logic wouldn’t allow for anything else.
“On one condition.”
The puppy chased a bug and tried to trap it with her paws without success. Her ears flopped and I couldn’t wait for her to fall asleep and snuggle up between us.
“What’s that?” My gaze stayed on the dog, and a warm breeze passed over my skin.
“She has to be our flower girl.”
I whipped around. “Rafael Santos, I thought we said no mushy shit.”
He pulled me into his lap. “Yeah. But you love me, and I love you. No one will ever understand or accept me like you do. And no one will ever tolerate you like I do. So you have no choice, really.”
I smiled. He was right. The complete honesty we had between us bonded us, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.
“I’d be honored to be your wife. But you know, it won’t be legal.” I blinked a few times. We’d traveled on illegal visas with fake passports and on separate flights with different connections. One could never be too safe.
“M, nothing we do is legal. Why would we start now?”
An excellent point. “I love you.”
“Same.”
Want to see more from this author? Here’s a taster for you to enjoy!
Luca’s Lessons
Deana Birch & Amelia Foster
Excerpt
A silver foil wrapper tumbled down the stone walkway along the Limmat River, and Luca stepped to the side, his arms crossed. A giggling young couple with too many piercings for his personal preference hurried by, unaware of the menacing, forgotten paper. In his dark suit, crisp white shirt and matching silk navy tie, he waited.
The improperly disposed-of litter flopped one more time, trapped itself at the edge of the stone wall and, away from the light breeze, rested. Satisfied by his small conquest—surely it was his will that had brought its journey to an end—Luca smirked. He walked over, picked it up and secured its fate in a wire bin. A pestering thought of germs poked at his side, but he brushed his hands together at a job well done and continued on his path to the private bank.
While the inconvenience had been a distraction, it had been welcomed. Early and eager were two qualities he admired, but not in himself. He reached for the door of the gray, historic building at exactly seven minutes past his scheduled appointment. Perfetto.
After a brief check through security, including a confirmation of his identity, he climbed the two flights of stairs to the private bank of Steinmetz and Favre.
The heavy wooden doors of the suite opened to sleek metal-and-cream marble that created a stark contrast to the building’s dated exterior. But the interior did not surprise Luca. He’d already seen the clean, powerful reception in the magazine article about the youngest woman entrepreneur in the history of private banking.
And it was no mistake he’d sought out Claire Favre. Young, driven and on-the-rise was exactly the kind of mind he wanted handling his soon-to-be-acquired secret business. The piece about her and her partner in the weekly publication inserted into the Sunday paper had done more than pique his interest. Fortunately, Luca’s reputation and family history had provided enough of a motivation that he’d obtained an appointment without too much delay.
He gave his name to the young, just-above-cheap-suited man behind the massive desk and took a seat in the black leather club chair. Magazines in four different languages were fanned on the iron table next to him. He aligned the one on top to sync with the others and the rhythmed echo of high heels ricocheting off the hallowed walls made him look up.
Madonna mia.
The picture had done her no justice. Claire Favre’s sharp hip bones pointed behind the fabric of her tight black skirt and they swayed in a hypnotizing motion as she drew nearer. The formfitting blazer matched the skirt, and a pink silk blouse formed a deep V below. Different from the photo, where her blonde locks had been loose and casual as she’d smiled, her hair was now pulled back into a low, tight bun and her lips remained firmly locked together.
Luca stood, happy his height put him at an advantage, and buttoned his jacket at the waist. The momentary shock of her in-person beauty sank into his gut. It had no business in his throat or chest.
“Herr Bernardi.” She extended her small, manicured hand but barely smiled.
“English, please.” Luca ignored the slight jump in his heart rate as they touched.
“As you wish.” Her light shrug remained formal.
Surely a coincidence.
He narrowed his eyes.
Ms. Favre’s smile grew tighter and she spun around. “My office is just down the hall.”
Luca followed the banker and stared at the back of her exposed neck. He would not check out her ass, not in a professional setting where the woman deserved respect. He would not.
He did. He most certainly did. And damn it all to hell and back if his palm didn’t twitch with desire.
When the penance of being a gentleman and walking behind a woman to whom he owed respect—not ogling—had finished, he squared his shoulders at the threshold of her office and renewed his purpose—business.
Ms. Favre ushered him to a cubed leather chair opposite her desk and he reached for the button of his jacket while she floated to the other side of the impressive oak plank.
A quick glance of her surroundings revealed nothing—no framed photos of her and the late husband the article had referred to or children it had not hinted at. Truly nothing. This woman was clean, uncomplicated and professional—everything Luca desired in a banker…and perhaps other things.
“Please,” she said and motioned to the seat behind him. With a quick brush on the back of her skirt—is hand jealousy a thing?—she gracefully sat. “Tell me what brings you here, Mr. Bernardi.”
Where to begin? The long and challenging path of fully respecting and refining one’s own needs? The obvious motivation of a man-made success? Best to start with the not-so-shocking. One never knows.
In the warmest, most casual tone he could muster he said, “I am in negotiations to buy a business. A private club, actually. And I was hoping to keep said investment separate from my others.”
Her blue-gray gaze pierced him and she drew her light, thin eyebrows together. “You have a business you’d like to hide, and you want to use my bank to do so?”
“No.” Convincing her was going to take some massaging, especially since the bulk of his wealth would not be coming along for the ride. “I have a business I’d like to keep to myself, but I’d like you to handle investing and growing the worth of the account.”
Claire crossed her fingers on the desk and circled a thumb slowly into the opposite palm.
“Is it an illegal business?” she asked.
“No, but it is private, much like your bank.” Luca flattened his lips and fought a smile. The woman calmed herself with touch. He admired and recognized the gesture. In a cold room full of stark decorations, her softness slammed into him.
He blinked. Business. And the need to hide his new project.
