All. Only. E-Book

Scarlett Finn

• Herausgeber: Moriona Press
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2022

Beschreibung

Jobless and homeless, Shyla Bellamy needs a miracle.

Trouble is, she doesn't make the best first impression. With no work history and no education beyond her high school diploma, she's not exactly a catch.
While failing to impress her interviewer for a position that could solve all her problems, Shyla gets a break. The boss decides to take a chance on her. Why? She has no idea.

Just grateful to have her miracle, she throws herself into her new life… maybe with a little too much enthusiasm.

By the time she learns who she's working for, there's no going back. Turns out, the man who took a chance on her is the estranged son of the country's biggest crime boss. Why is he estranged? Because his own brother set him up for murder.

Score McDade walked away from his life, from his past, from his family. But a man used to being in charge, being feared, can't walk away from who he is. As his orders become more personal, more intimate, Shyla has to decide if she's ready to take on some extracurricular responsibilities.

Should she refuse Score's orders or give herself over to his command?

Warning: Contains explicit language and imagery. Suitable only for ages 18 and over.

Leseprobe

Copyright © 2020 Scarlett Finn

Published by Moriona Press 2020

All rights reserved.

The moral right of the author has been asserted.

First published in 2020

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by an electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review. It may not be used to train AI software or for the creation of AI works.

All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

www.scarlettfinn.com

FORBIDDEN PREQUEL DUET

All. Only.

Only Yours.

Read them in order for maximized reading pleasure.

For other titles from Scarlett Finn, please read on after the story.

Click here if you’d like to leave a message for Scarlett.

Enjoy!

CONTENTS

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

11

12

13

14

15

16

17

18

19

20

21

22

23

24

25

26

27

28

29

30

31

32

1

Until that week, Shyla Bellamy had never been to a single job interview.

At that moment, she was on her way to her third. Her baptism of fire would continue until she acquired a job. Tough as it was to be optimistic, she had to keep going. Without work, she wouldn’t be able to secure an apartment or pay her bills. She’d be homeless and destitute. She had to keep going.

As pep talks went, that wasn’t the most inspiring. Every interview had been a bust, so believing the next would be any different wasn’t easy. But there was no alternative. Anyone who’d agree to see her was a potential employer. All it took was one person willing to take a chance. Just one.

Shyla didn’t make the best first impression. Knowing that didn’t do much for her anxiety. If anything, that made it worse. At that moment, relaxing was all the more difficult because she was on her way to interview for the role she wanted most.

Walking through the entrance into the glass lobby and seeing the valet parking intimidated the hell out of her. While travelling up in the elevator, she reminded herself not to be nervous. Nerves meant rambling and that was unprofessional. She would nail this. Nothing but potential. Nobody rewarded a quitter.

With few vocational skills, and no formal education beyond high school, Shyla wasn’t a catch for any employer. But time was of the essence, she needed a job and had to believe that it would happen. Succeeding in the next interview would put an end to her problems. That was easier to focus on than the opposite.

Losing her job and home had happened almost overnight. Caring for the elderly could be that way. Three years ago, her grandfather’s sudden death hit her hard. One minute he was there, the next he was gone. Adjusting to being without him took time, she’d been caring for him since her teen years.

The person responsible for getting her through that loss was her grandfather’s best friend, Stanley Sedgwick. Caring for him and her grandfather, Bernard, had given her purpose. The three of them had lived together in Stanley’s home. If it wasn’t for Stanley, Shyla wouldn’t have known what to do with herself after her grandfather died. In the years since, Stanley had been her crutch. They’d leaned on each other.

Five days ago, Stanley passed in his sleep. Life as she’d known it was over. Shyla was out in the world on her own, really for the first time.

While in the midst of grief over losing the only person she could count as a friend, Shyla was also coping with being evicted. Stanley’s good-for-nothing son wasted no time in storming into the house to announce that he was selling. Being a generous type, he’d given her a week to vacate.

There were three days left on the clock.

The elevator didn’t ding, it just came to a stop. After a moment of anticipatory silence, which Shyla speculated may have been programmed in for maximum suspense, the gleaming silver doors opened.

As the view was revealed, it took her breath away.

On the opposite side of the room, a glorious vision of the gleaming blue ocean was laid out before her. It wasn’t like she’d never seen the ocean before, but at this elevation, she got a real sense of its vastness.

She stood there dumbfounded for so long that the elevator doors began to close. Inhaling her panic, Shyla grabbed one to hold it in place while bounding out onto the gray ash floor that spread through the sleek modern space. One wall, to the right, was smoked mirror. The wall on the left was a warmer brown color. A low marble shelf, around knee height, ran along that wall and around the corner.

Between her and the view that had first captured her eye was a large square lobby area with a dining table beyond and a terrace on the other side of the full height windows.

The residence was incredible. The ad for a housekeeper said the job included room and board. It said nothing about the room being in an amazing condo. Jumping to conclusions could lead to disappointment. Maybe she was wrong and wouldn’t be living there at all. Shyla didn’t want to get her hopes up. It could just be a business premises used for interviews. They might be miles from the location of the job.

She tiptoed forward to take in more of the open plan space. The living space opened out to stretch far to the left. The terrace wrapped all the way around, as far as the eye could see.

Her mouth dried.

The gleaming white marble kitchen next to the dining table was separated from a hallway by a wall. Contemplating where that hallway might lead, she peeked at the light glowing from the end and wondered if the terrace wrapped around that side of the apartment too.

“Miss Bellamy?”

Caught in her pondering, she whipped around, her anxiety cresting again. Someone appeared at the other end of the apartment. Figuring there had to be another hallway or room down there, she was sure no one had been sitting in either of the two separate seating areas of the living space.

“Yes,” she said to the well-groomed, if somewhat frantic, suited man hurrying toward her. “Sorry, I wasn’t sure where to wait.”

It was a sad state of affairs. At twenty-nine, she was less experienced than most nineteen year olds in how to conduct herself at interviews.

“No, my fault; I was using the restroom. It’s been an insane day, I have to apologize,” he said, coming toward her, his hand outstretched.

Hoping that he hadn’t been too rushed to forget washing his hands, Shyla shook his hand because it was the polite thing to do. She didn’t expect him to tug her toward the closest seating area, guiding her in his haste. More than once, she almost lost her footing. Face-planting hadn’t featured in her interview experience… yet. That would be a brand new low.

Winding around the end of the couch that had its back to the dining table, he let her go and spun around. “Will you sit down,” the businessman said, gesturing to one end of the couch as he sat at the other. “Please.”

Sitting on the edge of the couch with her knees tight together, Shyla clutched her purse in her lap. The heavy chess board in the middle of the central glass coffee table snagged her attention. The pieces appeared to be hand-carved wood. Shyla was impressed. Bernard, her grandfather would be elated to see such craftsmanship.

Frantic Man shifted an inch closer and opened his hand. “Do you have your resume?”

This was the part of the interview process that she hated. Not that she’d found an enjoyable part yet. Most online vacancies required her to attach a copy of her resume. So far, not one of those employers had got back to her.

Opening the front pocket of her purse, Shyla slid out a folded document that she handed over. “Uh… sort of.”

He unfolded it and began to read. Just as she expected, his optimism began to fade fast. “This is…” He turned it around to show her what she’d given him. “Your birth certificate.”

“Yes,” she said, trying to make her smile seem genuine. No matter how hard she tried, her anxiety must have been obvious. She pushed her interlinked fingers together and raised her hands, pulling and twisting at her fingers as she did. “It is… I… I did try to make up a resume, but after I got past name and date of birth, well… things get a little… sparse.”

“Did you graduate high school?”

Shyla grinned. “Yes!” Nodding, she squeezed her twined fingers around each other. “Yes, I did that. I did graduate high school.”

“Okay,” he said, nodding too like they were making progress. “That’s good, that’s… something. College?” Wincing, Shyla kept working her fingers and shook her head. He sort of cringed, but was polite enough to try to hide his reaction by glancing down at her birth certificate. “According to this you’re… twenty-nine.”

“Yes,” she said, showing her teeth in more of a grimace than a grin. “I am twenty-nine. I did graduate high school. I didn’t go to college… and I’ve never had a real job.”

“Let me guess,” he said, folding her birth certificate and handing it back to her. “Knocked up by your high school boyfriend, married young, pushed out a couple of kids, and now he’s split… probably dumped you for another teenager.”

“No!” she exclaimed, pointing her index fingers to the ceiling in firm disagreement. “No, I have never been married. I don’t have any kids.”

The businessman frowned at her. “So what the hell have you been doing for the past decade?”

Inhaling, Shyla held her breath for a minute. She shouldn’t be disappointed, it wasn’t like the interview had ever been on course to go well.

“Caring for my grandfather and his best friend,” she said. “He just died last week.”

“Your grandfather?”

“His best friend… My grandfather died three years ago. He raised me,” she said, twisting and squeezing her digits again. “And my brother…” Her next admission had a tendency to cause her to hyperventilate. “Who’s in prison…” Taking a shot at laughing it off was her go-to maneuver. As always, she got nothing from the blank person seated in front of her. No one ever reacted well to that part. Her desperate, last-ditch effort was begging. “I can cook, and clean, and sew… I know how to get red wine out of soft furnishings and blood out of bedsheets…” Rubbing her lips together, Shyla kept working her fingers and raised her shoulders. “I work hard. I work long. I can do anything that’s required of me. Anything… All I need is a safe place to sleep, that’s it… and maybe an allowance for food and medical. I can take care of everything. I live frugally. I don’t drive, so there’s no expenses there. I don’t smoke or do drugs. I don’t have any addictions… I…” The guy hadn’t stirred, even his expression was static. “I’m not getting through, am I?”

She sighed, coming to terms with the truth. The interview was another waste of everyone’s time. All she needed was for someone to give her a chance, but she didn’t blame anyone for being hesitant. Anxiety was not her friend. When she was fidgety and rambling, she might not give herself one.

“Hire her.”

The deep voice came suddenly from the recesses of the apartment.

It was so unexpected that even the man opposite her jumped. “Jesus, Score, do you have to loiter like that?”

Twisting around, Shyla didn’t see anyone. Only a slight movement in the mouth of the hall she’d been peering down earlier proved there was someone there. The wall between the kitchen and that passage created an angle of shadow. This Score had used that cover to his advantage.

With his arms still folded, he moved into the light at the end of the hall, and propped a shoulder on the wall. Shyla was stunned by the picture he presented. Her wide eyes couldn’t remember how to blink. The view of him didn’t even compare to that of the ocean. She forgot about the watery dullness in a flash.

At least six foot four or five inches tall, the broad man was wearing jeans and a tee-shirt that didn’t seem to know how to contain his biceps. His hair was thicker on top than at the sides, and he had stubble across his jaw. Nothing about him appeared forced; nothing about his look or manner gave the impression he’d made any effort at all.

Shyla kept her lips clamped shut to ensure her tongue didn’t roll from her mouth. How could a guy look so mean and dangerous just standing there, leaning on a wall?

“Where’s your brother at?” Score asked, his expression registering nothing.

He was talking to her; he’d asked a direct question. His eyes weren’t wide like hers, but Shyla guessed he was looking at her too.

After a couple of false starts, Shyla got her tongue to respond and forced her reluctant mouth to open. “Raiford,” she inhaled the word in a desperate breath.

“Florida State.”

“Haven’t had the pleasure, have you, Score?” the businessman opposite her asked.

Staring was rude, but Shyla couldn’t tear her attention away from the man at the end of the hallway. So tall and dominating, so powerful and so… unlike any man she’d ever seen in real life. Though real life for more than a decade had featured men enjoying their retirement.

“No,” Score said, though she didn’t see his lips move.

His response was more like a sound than a word.

Amusement bled into the businessman’s words. “Of all the things she said, how come the only word you heard was prison? Her brother could be a rapist, you know? A kiddie fiddler. Don’t other inmates pound on guys like that? You want to cut some slack to the sister of a pedophile?”

“Oh no,” Shyla gasped, turning back around to address the businessman. “It’s nothing like that. He would never… It was just burglary, he got a seven year sentence and…”

Twisting to ensure Score could hear her too, she stopped talking when she discovered he’d vanished.

The businessman sighed. “Okay, well, I guess you’re in…” Suffering whiplash, Shyla was still trying to orient herself and barely registered his false smile. “I’m Amos Beeks, Score’s lawyer…” He continued by muttering, “Among other things.” Before Shyla could react, he returned to his smile. “Everyone just calls me Beeks, so Beeks will do… What do we call you?”

“My… my name is Shyla Bellamy.”

“Well, I suppose, that’s, uh… what we’ll call you then.”

Which he would know because he’d read her birth certificate; Shyla wanted to kick herself. He was asking about nicknames and preferences. She’d done what she always did and said a stupid thing by opening her mouth without thinking first.

With Bernard and Stan, it hadn’t mattered if she’d spoken without thinking. Even if she said something shocking or ridiculous, the pair laughed it off. Shyla had lived quite a closeted life; she knew that. Being on call required her to be at home night and day in case either of the elderly men needed her. They came first. Shyla’s primary responsibility was to them.

That meant no social life. No nightclubs. No boyfriends or lunches with friends. Shyla had dedicated herself to caring for the men who’d always been there for her. Stan had been like an uncle, and had been there as often as her grandfather for school shows or life events. Losing him was going to be a difficult thing to get over.

“Miss Bellamy?”

Beeks leaned closer, giving her a whiff of his cologne.

Only then did Shyla realize she’d lost herself in her thoughts. “I’m sorry, were you saying something?”

Already he’d be regretting the decision to hire her. After promising to be a hard worker, she’d zoned out only seconds into the job.

“I asked if you have many things to move in? We have a storage area on one of the lower floors if you have larger items. All of your bedroom furniture and linens will be provided… unless you have special requirements.”

“No, I don’t have any special requirements or large items,” she said, shaking her head, almost unable to believe this was actually happening. “Is this where I’ll be living?”

Beeks retrieved a phone from his pocket. “Yes. You’ll be on call twenty-four seven for whatever is required. You will have to do the cooking and cleaning. All of the errands, including grocery shopping, etc. We’ll give you a credit card… Just keep your receipts for anything household related, I’ll collect them whenever I’m around.” He was typing into his phone. “There won’t be anything too strenuous, the building has maintenance for household repairs. You can dial the concierge from any phone or intercom.”

“Concierge?” she asked.

Beeks looked up from his typing. “Yes,” he said, lowering his phone to his knee. “There are ten units in the building, one on each floor. We’ll have your fingerprint added to the system so you can use the elevators, and access the apartment from either of the two stairwells. There’s a pool and lounge area downstairs, as well as a bar and a restaurant too. We have valet—”

“Oh, I don’t drive.”

“Okay, well, there’s a gym. You’ll have full access to that… Everything you need is right here.”

“Laundry?”

He pointed to where Score had been. “Laundry room’s second right in the hall. This place has all the mod cons, built in coffee machine in the kitchen, everything you could need. We can control all of it from the smart panels dotted around.”

Standing up, he seemed more at ease when he put his phone back in his pocket. “Come on, I’ll show you around.”

The apartment was breathtaking.

Shyla learned there was a second hallway at the far end of the living space. From there, they had access to one stairwell, a powder room, and a third bedroom. Oh, and it turned out that the terrace did sweep around every side of the apartment.

The trash chute was first on the right of the longer hallway. A small offshoot after that led to the second stairwell as well as their full-stocked laundry room. Beeks took it all in his stride, but she was overwhelmed.

At the end of the longer hallway, two doors faced each other. Two bedroom doors. To the left, the master suite. Beeks didn’t take her in there; she supposed because Score was home. If she was going to be looking after the whole place, she’d have to go in there sometime. Stripping the beds and cleaning the bathroom would be tough if she wasn’t allowed in the master’s bedroom.

Beeks took her through the door opposite Score’s and revealed that bedroom was hers. The view from everywhere in the apartment was amazing and her bedroom didn’t disappoint. It had the same full height windows that she’d seen everywhere else. They even slid open to allow her access to the terrace.

The bed was huge with a black padded headboard taller than her. It contrasted to the crisp, sumptuous white linens. Amazed, it was almost unbelievable, shocking even, that she was going to live in such a gorgeous place.

Shyla stood at the window for the longest time, gaping at the view and wondering if she should be thanking karma for placing her so gently on her feet.

When she didn’t return to the living area, Beeks came back to usher her through. He sat her at the dining table and they started to go through paperwork and contracts. The man’s ability to multitask was impressive. Without missing a beat, he asked her to fill in various details and sign dotted lines all while he typed furiously on his phone.

Once they were done with documents, Beeks gave her instructions for the following day. Shyla was to pack whatever she needed and be ready for noon. He took down her current address and told her that someone called Russell Tench, who everyone apparently called “Fish” would come to pick her up. He asserted that all her moving in should be done that weekend. Obviously, he didn’t understand that she didn’t own much.

Beeks gave her a cellphone and added her fingerprint to the system at the smart panel in the kitchen. It was official. She had a job. She had a home. She was going to be okay.

2

Shyla spent the night filling bags and suitcases with clothes and knickknacks. Stan’s son, Mick, wouldn’t let her take any items from the house. Being the sentimental type, the odd ornament or picture would’ve been appreciated. As it was, she was relegated to pack only things from her bedroom.

It was sort of pathetic that her whole life could be reduced to half a dozen suitcases, gym bags, and trash bags. But that was it. Her life in a heap by the door.

Before moving in with Stan, her grandfather rented a furnished house. They didn’t have any precious heirlooms. The picture of the three of them on her nightstand would have to serve as enough of a memento.

To her, it didn’t seem right that a man who’d done so little for his father in life got to dictate so much of his death. Even the funeral wasn’t being held until it was convenient for Mick. So, Stan’s friends and family were on pause, waiting for Mick to authorize the man’s burial.

Shyla was kneeling on her bedroom floor sorting through the stack of letters she’d been telling herself to deal with for months. Figuring out if there was anything worth keeping was the last thing on her to-do list. She’d just finished when a car horn blared outside.

The whole street was residential and occupied by the elderly. There wasn’t a lot of noise or hubbub, so even a car horn would stir attention. Leaping to her feet, she read the time on her wall clock: ten after noon.

Guessing Tench was responsible for the horn, Shyla grabbed her heaviest case and pulled it out of her bedroom and down the stairs. When she got to the first floor, Mick came running down the hallway from the kitchen.

“Hey! Hey! Hey!” he called out. “You have to open that up.”

Just the question felt like a violation. Shyla didn’t have anything to hide but didn’t want Michael Sedgewick rooting through her underwear and private possessions either.

“I have to… what?”

“I have to make sure you didn’t take anything that belongs to the house.”

“I didn’t,” she said, certain her face was flaming.

Her first reaction wasn’t offense, it was embarrassment. That anyone could think she was capable of stealing was upsetting in the first place. But someone believing she could steal from the man she’d cared for and loved like a second grandfather devastated her.

“I won’t know unless you show me,” Mick said, gesturing at the case and taking a short step back. “Open it up.”

Shyla liked to think she could get along with most people. Although gregarious wasn’t a word that could be used to describe her, she could talk to people when their paths crossed—as long as she didn’t have to ask them for anything… like a job. But “people” didn’t tend to make invasive requests. Despite her discomfort, she wasn’t sure that she even knew how to object.

As she was about to acquiesce, the doorbell rang. Both she and Mick turned to look at the oval glass panel in the front door. On the other side was a young man with dirty blonde hair. He cupped a hand against his face to peer through the non-distorted part of the etched glass.

Just seeing his disarming smile brought one to her face too. When he waved, she almost laughed. Shyla had never seen him before in her life but could tell that she liked him already.

“Who is that?” Mick demanded, stamping the few steps to the door to pull it open. “Who are you?”

“Russell,” the guy said, thrusting a hand toward Mick.

At six foot tall, the guy was no slouch; even though he’d been hunched over when they first saw him. Without the door in the way, Shyla could see his impressive physique beneath his pristine white tee-shirt.

“We’re not buying anything,” Mick barked and tried to close the door.

Fish, as she was supposed to call him, slapped a defined forearm flat on the door to prevent it from closing. He maintained his smile, in spite of startling Mick with his abrupt action. Picking his wraparound shades from his floppy hair, he dropped them over his eyes.

“I’m not selling,” Fish said, patting his front pockets. “I’m not carrying…” He pointed at her. “I’m Shyla’s friend…” His head tilted in her direction, away from Mick. “Right?”

Her smile grew as she nodded. “Yes… Yes, this is my friend.”

“Your friend?” Mick spat out the words, but was too stunned—and probably too scared—to object when Fish stepped up into the entryway.

Just by moving forward, Fish managed to get Mick out his way without ever touching the guy. “This to go?” he asked, pointing at her suitcase.

Shyla’s smile faltered. Her fingers slid between each other, a sure sign of her anxiety. “Uh… yes, but—”

“I have to check that before it leaves,” Mick said.

Holding the top handle of the case, Fish rocked the suitcase back at an angle to look at it. “Check it for what? Looks secure to me.”

“I need to check inside,” Mick said and tried to edge closer.

Fish stepped between him and the suitcase, blocking his way. “Does it belong to you?” he asked. Mick was too dumbfounded to respond. At only five foot eight, and without having seen a gym maybe ever in his entire life, Shyla doubted that he wanted to take Fish on. “Does anything inside it belong to you?”

“That’s what I have to check.”

“Oh,” Fish said and looked to her. “Everything in this suitcase belong to you?” She nodded, so he grinned again. “Great! Problem solved.”

Picking up the case like it weighed as much as a pillow, he started for the door.

Mick hurried after him. “I can’t take her word for it,” he protested. “I have to check.”

Fish put the suitcase down, then lifted his glasses back onto the top of his head. “You got a warrant?”

“A… a what?”

“A search warrant,” Fish said. “I’ve got this friend. Beeks. He tells me to always read the warrant and to, you know, only let folks search what it says on the paper… If there’s a warrant, I should go along with it he says, you know, and he’ll fix the problems they find later. So…”

Opening a hand to Mick, Fish was patient about waiting for the paperwork.

Given that it didn’t exist, Mick began to bluster. “I… don’t have a search warrant. I’m not a police officer.”

“Oh,” Fish said, slapping his shoulder in a friendly, but firm, gesture before returning his glasses to his face. “If it’s not a legal problem, then Beeks’ rules don’t count, Score’s do.”

“I… What does that mean?”

Fish raised both shoulders in a contrite shrug. “It means you don’t got no rights over me or Miss Bellamy.” Attempting to take another step, Fish stopped when Mick had the audacity to grab his elbow. Her protector’s gaze moved slowly down to the point of contact and then up to the man at his side. “You don’t wanna do that, man. Score’s rules in non-legal situations are pretty much the same as Beeks’ in legal ones. I do what I’ve gotta do in the present… He’ll take care of the problems later… You don’t want Score coming all the way over here to take care of you… Trust me, you don’t… But it’s your call… are you gonna be a problem?”

Mick’s hand fell away, so Fish strode out with the suitcase, down the path to the pick-up he had parked on the curb.

“Did he just threaten me?” Mick demanded. “If he threatened me, I’m calling the police… I had no idea my father’s carer associated with criminals!”

To be honest, neither did she. Well, other than the one she was related to who was doing his time in prison. Although Shyla was still in shock over Fish’s cool and capable approach, she did wonder at Mick’s attitude.

Mick’s mother had divorced Stan when their son was a child. After that, Mick lived with her. Stan hadn’t seen much of him. Shyla spent more time with him and knew him better than his own son. Still, there had been enough contact that Mick wasn’t ignorant to the care needs of his father. Despite knowing for years that Stan needed care, he hadn’t increased his visits or sent any aid.

So, in that time, Shyla could’ve turned the building into a whorehouse or a crack den. Mick wasn’t around enough to have noticed.

Fish came bounding in before she could respond to Mick. “Where’s the rest of your stuff?”

“Upstairs,” she answered, stepping back to get out of his way. “First bedroom on the right.”

Mick rushed over, but stopped at the bottom of the stairs Fish was vaulting up. “He can’t go up there.”

“I’m sorry about your father, Mick,” Shyla said, picking up his hand to stroke the back. “He was a good man. I cared a lot about him… I know that you’re hurting. I feel the same way… I can’t quite believe that he’s gone.”

Fish came lumbering down the stairs laden with the rest of her things. Somehow, he managed to carry everything at once. She would’ve needed a bunch of trips. Her new friend was a blessing. The quicker they could get away from Mick, the better.

Shyla hurried out of Fish’s path. As she went forward, Mick was forced to leap back, which gave Fish a clear shot out the front door. Although it hadn’t been her intention to circumvent Mick, she couldn’t deny being happy that he wasn’t going to search her things.

“If I find anything missing, you will be hearing from me,” Mick said, going to the door, probably to watch Fish.

Opening the closet at the bottom of the stairs, Shyla slipped her feet into the only shoes left in there that were hers. It was sort of sad to take her cropped denim jacket from its hook for the last time. As she put it on moisture dripped from her lashes to her cheek.

The building had been her home for almost a decade. After she walked out, there would be no reason for her to come back. Taking the long strap of her hippie purse, she slung it over her head and straightened it between her breasts before turning around, closing the closet door as she went.

Scanning the stairway and the hall, through to the living room, she closed her eyes and let herself breathe the air for another few seconds.

“I will need a forwarding address,” Mick barked, breaking her reverie.

Fish was on the porch, waiting for her, wearing a smile.

Dipping a hand into her purse, Shyla flicked open her sunglasses case and retrieved her oversized shades to cover her eyes. The last thing she wanted was for either of the men to see her crying over something as silly as moving out.

“If she’s forgotten anything, we’ll come back,” Fish said.

Going to the door, Mick acted as a barrier between her and the exit. “I’ll need one anyway.”

Something about Fish’s ease relaxed her. Shyla’s new friend extended an arm to offer a hand. With that arm, Fish pushed the door further open, away from Mick, giving her a narrow space to reach for the proffered hand.

As soon as he had her in his grip, Fish gave her a tug, pulling her past Mick who was forced back.

“We’ll check with Score, get back to you,” Fish said, guiding her across the porch. “Later, man!”

Dragging her down the path, Fish lifted her into the truck and then ran around to get in his own side. Even after they got on the road, Fish maintained his smile. He caught one look at her and then another.

“So, you’re Russell Tench?”

“Fish,” he said, offering her a hand so they could shake. “And you’re Shyla… Just Shyla?” She nodded wondering what people expected her to say instead. Did everyone in the world have a nickname except her? “Would you prefer Miss Bellamy? Beeks told me to be respectful like.”

“Shyla is acceptable,” she said, smoothing her skirt down her thighs. “You’re young.”

“Twenty-three. Not that young.”

“And you’re friends with Score?”

Amusement sparkled from behind his smile. He caught another glance at her. Shyla wasn’t sure about Score’s age, but he’d seemed older than twenty-three, maybe she was wrong, she’d only seen him for a brief minute.

“I don’t think I’m friends with him,” Fish said. “But I’m working on it… Beeks is my friend. Well, he’s my lawyer, and I guess we’re tight. I trust him, you know? When he found out Score was coming down here and needed someone to have his back, he called me… Guess you could call me Score’s assistant. I do his running around. His flunky.”

“I’m sure he doesn’t call you that.”

“Could call me worse,” Fish said, his smile still broad. “So, I guess you and me will have to get used to each other. I do all his business running around and you’re going to do all the household stuff. Some of the personal will overlap, Beeks said. We’ve to not get under each other’s feet.”

“I have no interest in starting on the wrong foot,” she said and slid closer. “We could exchange numbers… maybe we could be friends.”

His smile widened. “Really?” She nodded. “Man, I don’t have a lot of pretty friends, you know?”

That was flattering enough to make her lips curl too. “You think I’m pretty?”

“Are you kidding? You’re flat out hot,” he said. “Is that how you got the job?”

That was funny. Fish was being sweet, so Shyla didn’t want to laugh in case she offended him. “Score told Beeks to hire me… Beeks implied it was something to do with my brother being in prison.”

His smile became something more serious as he bobbed his head in understanding. “Score knows it’s tough to get a fair shake when you’ve got connections like that. Folks are quick to judge, that’s why us ex-cons have got to stick together.”

“You… did time in prison?”

He nodded and showed her a tattoo on his forearm that meant nothing to her. “Sure did, last stretch was three years. Went in just before Score got out. We were in the same pod a few weeks together, didn’t get close or nothing… He had a rep…obviously. Not many could get close to him… He was on death row two years before Beeks got him down to life without parole…” When he next glanced her way, something, probably her lack of response, made him push his sunglasses to the top of his head. Although she was gaping in the direction of the windshield, she caught that he was frowning. “You do know who he is… don’t you? Are you close to your brother?”

“No,” she said. “Not since we were kids…” Shaking herself out of her shock, Shyla twisted to face him. “I don’t understand, who is he?”

“Phoenix McDade,” Fish said like it should mean something to her, but she was at a loss. “You’ve gotta have heard of the McDades.”

The name was familiar, but she couldn’t place it until… Shyla gasped when she recalled a documentary Stan made her watch a couple of years ago. He was into a lot of crime stuff and watched all those cop shows and re-enactment things. Shyla usually only half watched or went to her room to read when he was engrossed in the TV. But the McDade documentary had stuck with her.

“The East Coast McDades?”

His smile was joined by a nod. “Yeah! That’s it. Irish. They control half the import and export of knock off goods. Have interests in every drug sold on the streets and run a countrywide prostitution racket. If it’s illegal, and profitable, they’re making money.”

The documentary went into details of the family’s crimes and their wealth. The three main Irish families battled against each other for a piece of the illegal-turnover-pie that was somewhere in the hundreds of millions. The speculative figure was likely higher these days. It also didn’t account for what the families made from their apparently legitimate businesses.

“Score is the second of Burl McDade’s four sons; Burl’s the head of the family.” Yes, Shyla had a vague recollection that Burl McDade was the father and that the boys’ mother was dead… if she remembered it right. “Parker McDade is the oldest, he runs some of the company now, Burl relies on him. Zaiden McDade, Razer, he and Score were tight. He probably visited prison the most, I guess. Doran, the youngest, he’s snorting and riding his way through life last I heard; there’s nine years between him and Score.”

“Why do they call him Score?”

“‘Cause settling scores is his bag. Street calls Parker The Biz, ‘cause he was always into running things. If there was a mess or someone disrespected the family, Biz called in Score and it was dealt with. Was the same in prison. Even on death row, if you could get word to Score that someone had fucked you over, he’d find a way to even the score. Hearing his name scared the shit out of people, but you’d rather him be on your tail than Razer… Razer’s an actual psychopath… that’s what they say. Never met him. Would be cool though, right?”

To meet a psychopath? Shyla wasn’t sure she agreed with that. Razer was less her concern than the man she’d be expected to live with.

The documentary had mentioned one of the McDade sons being in prison, but Shyla couldn’t remember the details. “How did he go from being on death row to being free?”

Fish laughed. “How can you not know this? I thought everyone did. Guess it’s all about the circles you run in,” he said and took a big breath. “Score was in Texas, running with a girl he’d been tagged with for a while. Don’t know much about that, ‘til one day she goes missing and next thing you know, there’s a hotel manager claiming he saw Score beating on the girl and dumping her in his trunk. But there’s no body see. Still the cops are trying hard to pin something on him, then there’s a fire and they find some corpse that matches her dental records.” He took his hands from the wheel to clap them together so loud that she jumped. “So they got him.”

“Their theory is he beat on his girlfriend, took her to someplace else and then set her on fire?”

“They said he kidnapped her and fuck knows what else, I don’t know,” he said. “But here’s the thing…” Fish hunched his shoulders and lowered his volume, like they were discussing salacious gossip. “Score sits in jail for a year and a half or something while they build the case. He’s sentenced to death, sits on death row a couple of years, Beeks gets it down to life without parole ‘cause, you know, I guess there’s no proof he really kidnapped her or something. Beeks has connections, you know? So, Score does another three years just living the life, you know?”

Shyla didn’t really, but she nodded anyway. Life in prison wasn’t something she needed a run down on to understand it wasn’t a barrel of laughs.

But Fish didn’t elaborate. Shyla prompted him on. “So…” He glanced her way. “How did he get out?” She gasped and straightened. “He’s not on the run, is he?”

“Man, you’ve gotta open a newspaper once in a while. So, he’s been in prison for like six and a half years until, boom, who walks into the police station with a story to tell?” One glance, then another, Shyla just raised her brows in expectation. “Siobhan Kelly! The woman he’s supposed to have killed. She wasn’t dead at all!”

“Oh my God!” Just trying to wrap her head around the idea was almost impossible. With wide eyes, she stared out at the road ahead. “Oh my God! But who was the woman in the fire?”

He shrugged. “They never bothered to do DNA, because the dental records matched. I mean, who thinks that the murder victim isn’t the murder victim, you know? They had a body, a witness, a suspect… They did the DNA after Siobhan showed up. Turned out she was some co-ed who’d OD’d and been buried the week before, same build as Siobhan. They screwed with her teeth, but yeah, total accidental death.”

“But wait,” Shyla said, turning to him again. “That’s no accident.”

The co-ed’s death might have been accidental, but setting Score up hadn’t been. Someone had to match the dental records and support Siobhan who must have been in hiding.

Shaking his head, Fish looked so proud of himself. He might think she’d been living under a rock, but he was definitely pleased to be telling the story. “It’s all intrigue, right? That’s what Beeks says… turns out Biz paid Siobhan to fuck off to some place south of the border. He set the whole thing up. Siobhan was pissed Score wasn’t putting a ring on her finger, and wanted the whole gangsta life, you know? Biz just wanted his brother out the way, so their dad couldn’t, you know, decide he liked him better or something… So, Score went to prison for a crime he never committed, not even that he didn’t commit, but that never even happened. The media was all over it. They awarded Score like a record figure in compensation or something. I don’t know, he doesn’t talk to me about money…” Closing his mouth, Fish puffed out his cheeks before parting his lips to let the breath out. “He doesn’t really talk to anyone… ‘cept maybe Beeks.”

“What about his family? His dad? His brothers?”

Fish caught a glimpse at her, but shook his head. “He cut all ties. He didn’t hear hardly nothing from his dad while he was in prison. Think Razer kept in touch. Doran, Score’s youngest brother, only went to see him a few times in the later years. That’s all Beeks said… Don’t think Score likes to talk about it.”

“He must be okay talking about it if he told you.”

Fish snickered. “He doesn’t tell me shit. I knew ‘cause everyone knows. Death row, man, that’s no fucking joke… He had a rep before he went inside, now he’s not only mean and dangerous, but he’s bitter too, got something to prove… I know all this stuff ‘cause it was all over the news, and Beeks told me some when he set me up to work for Score… But I don’t push Score on nothing. No one does.”

“Have you been working for him long?”

Checking the junction at a stop sign, Fish was a careful driver and she appreciated that he took the time to obey the rules even though the streets were quiet. “A week,” he said. “He’s opening a club, we’re getting the place ready. It’s a lot of responsibility. It’s a big deal.”

“I can imagine.”

At least she had a better idea who she was working for, though she didn’t know what to make of the whole mess. If Shyla had been told that her employer spent time on death row without knowing the surrounding story, she might have been reluctant to work for him. But after learning the truth, her heart broke for him.

If this Siobhan had been upset in their relationship, she could’ve ended it. Instead, she’d conspired with Score’s own brother, another person who was supposed to care for him, and ruined his life.

Death row must have been terrifying. Prison in general was probably terrifying. Score had lost six or seven years just wasting away for something he didn’t do.

She must have been thinking about it for a while. By the time Shyla snapped out of her reflection, they were approaching Score’s building.

“I have to check out this other club tonight,” Fish said. “Score wants me to get the skinny on the competition… Want to come with?”

“A… a nightclub?” Her mouth opened as she shook her head. “I… I’ve never been to a nightclub.”

While trying to determine if it was a good idea, they pulled up to the valet. Fish got out to give the guy his keys. Her things were in the back, she assumed they’d have to unload them. But Fish’s question had left her two steps behind. Shyla was still trying to decide whether or not to accept the invitation when Fish startled her by opening her door.