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I rush through my shower and wrap myself in a towel. After inspecting the wound on my foot, I conclude that my mom was right. The cut is pretty deep. But I still can’t afford to go to the doctor. I’ll have to stop at the pharmacy on my way to work and see how to manage it myself. I bandage my foot and look at it for a moment. I won’t be able to shove it in a boot. So I forgo the shoes and pull on warm fuzzy socks and slides. With the weather slowly changing to spring, the air outside is still a bit nippy first thing in the morning, so I opt for a pair of fleece leggings and an oversized cardigan. Lastly, I pull my damp hair into a braid and grab my phone and purse before heading to the kitchen.
I park my car in front of the hardware store and climb out. Billy, the owner, smiles at me when I walk through the door. Unlike most people in town, Billy has always been kind. Everyone thought Billy would close the doors on this old place and go into retirement after what happened with his nephew, Brandon. Last year, Brandon kidnapped Sage after he formed some crazy obsession with her. Ultimately, he was killed when Salem and the club rescued her. The bright side is the club holds no malice toward Billy, and he doesn’t blame them for what they had to do to save Sage.
“Good morning, Sukie.”
“Morning, Billy.” I give him a small smile.
“What can I help you with today?”
I step up to the counter. “I need to put in an order for a new window.”
Billy’s lips thin, and his jaw clenches. He is all too familiar with my request. I haven’t come out and told him why I always need to replace windows in my house, but I get the feeling he knows.
“Sure thing, darlin’. I’ll put a rush on it.”
“I appreciate it, Billy.”
He nods and puts the specs in for the order on the computer. “How’s your mom been?” he asks.
“She’s doing okay. Keeping busy in the greenhouse.” I order all our greenhouse supplies from Billy, so he knows all about it.
“All set.” He hands me a slip of paper with the order number. “Should be in by the end of the week.”
“Thanks.” I’m tucking the paper away in my purse when the bell over the door chimes, alerting a new customer.
“Mornin’, Billy.”
My head snaps up at the sound of Salem’s voice. When I look his way, all I see is the back of his head over the top of the aisle as he makes his way toward the opposite end of the store. My breath catches in my throat when I see who is with him. Harlem. And like he has some hyper-awareness of my presence, he stops dead in his tracks before turning his head and looking directly at me. His face gives nothing away as his stare holds me hostage, and I can’t break the connection.
3
HARLEM
I’m awakened by the warmth of the sun’s rays filtering through the curtain of my bedroom window. I glance at the clock on the bedside table, shocked that I slept until nearly 6:00 a.m. Most days, I’m awake before dawn. I rise from my bed, stretching my limbs, trying to work out the tension in my body.
I stroll into the bathroom, flip the light, and turn the shower on. I glance in the mirror and stare at my reflection, a cold reminder of who I am because I look just like my father.
From a very young age, I knew my family was different. My father wasn’t the kind of man to take me to the ballpark or pat me on the back when I got a good grade. I was being raised to one day step into his shoes. He expected obedience and respect. He wanted a soldier. And that’s what I was crafted into, despite my mother’s constant disapproval.
I think about my mother, who died when I was ten. My father said she died because she was weak. The truth is, she just wasn’t strong enough to keep withstanding my father’s constant betrayal. My father broke her heart and her spirit. The pills she swallowed gave her the peace she sought, but in return, she left me behind and alone. I hated her for it. Her leaving was selfish, and I resented her for doing what she did. She was the only source of love I had growing up. She wanted more for me than crime and power. But she was met with my father’s iron fist whenever she attempted to give me a sense of normalcy. And because of the violence I witnessed inside and outside my home, I learned to keep my mouth shut until spoken to.
In my family, disobedience resulted in severe consequences. It simply was how life was, and I accepted it. My father trained me early in self-defense and weapons. My Uncle Giorgio, whom everyone called Big Joe, gave me my first lesson. I was twelve at the time, tall and gangly. I hadn’t grown into my body yet or developed muscle tone. I was big but soft, and my uncle didn’t hold back. He beat me like I was a grown man.
“Weak men get no respect.” His voice still echoes in my head. “DeSantis men bow to no one.”
Over time, I became the machine I was born to be, and I became the man standing over my uncle, feeding him the same motto. I was earning my father’s respect, which meant something to me.
At fifteen, I became more involved in the inner workings of the criminal underworld. It didn’t take long for many of the perks of being a DeSantis to go to my head. I could walk into any bar and get VIP treatment, not to mention all the top-notch pussy a young man could handle. Then I was tasked with collecting debt and carrying out hits.
I killed my first man at eighteen. I became known as the Debt Collector. I was in deep. Life was fucking good. So I thought.
I watch my reflection fade as steam fogs the mirror. Not much has changed except my allegiance. One truth will always remain. Blood stains my hands, and violence seeps through my pores.
Not having any clothes to shed, I step into the shower. As the water cascades over my head, I close my eyes and deeply breathe. The warmth of the water slowly washes away the stress and tension that has been building up for days. Work is kicking my ass. There’s a small biker rally being held in Salem. It’s a five-day event, and today is the final day. I’ve had back-to-back clients all week, and today is no different. I’m bitching, but the money is good, and the bikers getting inked always tip well.
After getting dressed, I stop in the living room and turn on the TV. Once in the kitchen, I brew coffee, take some eggs and a cut of steak from the fridge, and begin cooking myself breakfast.
“A prominent businessman, Robbie Martin, who was once a person of interest in a human trafficking case, was found dead in his home late last night. A call was placed by the deceased himself, confessing to being involved in criminal activities. Reports say he gave authorities the names of several men who were also involved, including a sitting judge, before disconnecting the call. When police arrived, they found Robbie Martin dead. The men he listed were in the home with him, bound to chairs. They also found eight women, who had been reported missing in the past few weeks, in another room. The women are receiving medical care and being reunited with their families.”
