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She heaved until there was nothing left of that poor scone and when she was certain nothing else was going to go flying from her mouth, she rose on shaky legs to get a glass of water. “That scone must be bad,” she said to Zoe who was watching her with alarm as she tossed the pastry into the trash with a shudder. “Maybe you ought to throw yours away, too.”
“There’s nothing wrong with mine,” Zoe said, frowning with concern. “Are you feeling okay?”
“Fine is a relative term wouldn’t you say?” Delainey retorted, gulping down the water to wash away the bitterness remaining in her mouth. “I just puked my guts out.” She paused and rubbed at her mouth, realizing, she hadn’t been feeling all that hot for the past week but she’d attributed her nausea to her wrecked emotional state. She felt the color drain from her face and she shook her head against the realization that her period was also late. No. No. No.
Zoe read her mind and grabbed her coat. “I’ll be right back. Don’t go anywhere. Maybe try to eat some crackers. That always seemed to help me…”
When I was pregnant, that’s what Zoe hadn’t said but Delainey heard loud and clear. She sat heavily in the chair and nodded numbly, unable to process what was staring at her in the face. Pregnant. The day at the lake, most likely. Such a beautiful, wondrous day…of course, it was all lies if she were to believe Bronx but she didn’t believe him. She didn’t believe him for a second. The coward loved her but was too chicken shit to admit it.
She didn’t even have a phone number for him. A hysterical bubble of laughter rose from her lips. She couldn’t even tell him he was going to be a father.
Worse…would he even care?
Zoe returned fifteen minutes later and two minutes later Delainey had peed on the little stick —and her hand, because damn, that was tricky — and the little test strip had confirmed what she’d already figured out: pregnant.
Zoe’s eyes filled with more concern and worry as Delainey just kept staring at the stick. “What are you going to do?”
Delainey glanced up and shrugged. “I have no clue. I guess…be a single mom?”
Zoe took a deep breath and asked, “Do you want Bronx to be a father to this child or do you want to do this on your own?”
She wanted Bronx. Her heart keened wildly but her lips seamed shut. She could do this on her own. Bronx left her. She wouldn’t allow him to use their child as an excuse that she’d trapped him into a relationship he’d never wanted. Pulling her shoulders back, Delainey met Zoe’s gaze and answered without flinching, “Bronx can go fuck himself. I’ll raise my baby by myself.”
Zoe’s eyes watered as she grasped Delainey’s hand, saying, “You’re not alone. We’ll be with you, every step of the way.”
And that was all Delainey needed.
Well, maybe if she kept telling herself that…it would make it true.
***
Bronx nursed his whiskey, business as usual in his back corner of The Rusty Chain and waited for Jaime Montavez to show. Pryo sat to his left, his back-up in case things went south, and just to be on the safe side, locked and loaded. Jaime, a wiry Mexican with short, cropped black hair and shark eyes joined them at the table as Bronx signaled Peaches to bring their guest a drink.
“What’ll it be,” Peaches asked Jaime, her sharp eyes missing nothing. “Got ourselves some south-of-the-border tequila if you’re hankering for a taste of home.”
Jaime grinned, sliding his hand down Peaches’ generous backside to slap her soundly. “Eh, mama, you bring me the good stuff, Si? None of that horse piss you serve to the rest of your gringos.”
Peaches flashed Bronx a look that said if Jaime wasn’t integral to this deal, she’d chop off his motherfucking hands and serve it to him with marinara but she smiled and went to grab the man his drink without a single peep. Bronx shared a short look with Pyro — yeah, they both knew Peaches was probably gonna add a little extra flavor to Jaime’s drink — and smothered a chuckle.
“Fifty-thousand is a lot of money,” Jaime said, going straight to the point. “How do I know your product is good? Maybe I offer you less because I’m taking a chance on you.”
“Maybe you pay as we agreed or I drop your body down a mine shaft and forget I ever saw you,” Bronx returned evenly, holding the man’s gaze.
Jaime chuckled. “Si, si, but I have amigos motherfucker…I disappear…more come and they come for you.”
“Let them come. I have plenty of friends, too.” He held Jaime’s stare for a long moment then leaned back in his chair, spreading his hands as if trying to facilitate a truce. “Look, we’re both businessmen…the guns are solid. I don’t care to have the headache of dealing with La Víbora on a bad deal for such a small amount of money.”
Peaches returned with another round, placing the tequila shot in front of Jaime with a smile that should’ve sent chills down the man’s back but he didn’t notice and downed the shot, finishing with a satisfied nod. “Si, si, is good, mama,” he told her with a wink, then went to pinch her ass but she’d already turned on her heel and left him in the dust. He sighed with disappointment then waggled his eyebrows at Bronx, saying, “The woman, reminds me of my wife in Guadalajara…her ass is big enough for two men, eh?”
Bronx ignored that and pushed forward. Peaches could handle herself. “Do we have a deal?”
“All business, no time for fun, eh?” Jaime sobered and finally nodded, sealing the deal. “Si, we have a deal. La Víbora welcomes you to the family.”
“Thanks but we have enough family right here. This is a one-time gig. Too much heat around here. The cops are watching us thanks to a botched deal last year. Do yourself a favor and find another distributor.”
“That’s too bad, I like it here,” Jaime said, sighing. “But we have no interest in attracting the attention of your federales.”
“I didn’t think so.” Bronx scribbled an address on a slip of paper and slid it to Jaime. “This is where you’ll find your shipment. I’ll expect the prearranged payment made to this bank account within one hour or I’ll consider our deal null and void and then I’m coming after you for payment.”
“Calm down, perrito, the money will be there, assuming the guns are good.” Jaime pocketed the paper and, with one last look Peaches’ way, he left the club.
It wasn’t until Jaime was gone that Bronx finally took a deep breath. He’d been so tense the entire time that he was surprised he hadn’t cracked a knuckle from clenching so hard beneath the table. “That went as well as can be expected,” he muttered. To Pyro he said as he rose from the table, “Monitor the account. Let me know the minute the money clears.”
“Will do. Heading home?”
“Yeah, I’m not good company tonight. Close up shop, will you?”
“No worries.” Pyro hesitated, then said, “You going home alone?”
Bronx saw Monica grinding against Grady’s leg, laughing as Grady squeezed her tits with a big-ass, dopey grin and he nodded, almost gratefully. He needed some peace and fucking quiet and one thing Monica was not, was quiet — ever.
“Keep your head on a swivel, bud,” Pyro advised. “Someone’s still out there.”
“Whoever it was is probably long gone at this point. It’s been all chill on the home front,” he said, swinging his jacket over his shoulders. “Take it easy, Pyro.”
Bronx should’ve been riding high with adrenalin right now but instead he felt drained. The deal had been smooth, the money would be there within the hour, and everything had gone to plan. So why did he feel as if he were spiraling down the toilet instead of enjoying the glory of a sealed deal? Because she was on his mind. All the time.
He couldn’t even bring himself to say her name because when he did, a vicious pain ripped through his heart. The way he’d treated her when he’d left…fuck, the memory was enough to cripple a man. That’s just it, wasn’t it? He hadn’t been a man, he’d been a bitch-ass punk. He’d hurt her on purpose because he hadn’t been able to handle the reality that he was falling
for her. He told himself a whole slew of lies, that he’d been doing it to protect her, that he was doing her a favor, but in the end, it was all for selfish reasons.
He’d been afraid. Afraid of what loving Delainey would mean. He didn’t know how to provide a life for her, a better life than what he had right now.
C’mon, Delainey wasn’t cut out for the lifestyle he was born into. She was soft and sweet; he was hard and jaded. The two just don’t mix.
