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MINKA
Aubree and I sit in the dark bar that’s situated right next to my four-floor walk-up apartment. The overhead lights are already dimmed, so every patron’s eyes are shadowed, and bodies gyrate, despite it still being early in the evening.
Tim—the establishment’s owner, Archer’s brother, and Aubree’s every sex fantasy—works the bar, slinging drinks and tossing out burgers as orders come in. And all the while, in spite of Aubree’s awkward gazing, he doesn’t see her in return. He doesn’t slow to acknowledge her existence beyond pouring our drinks… and that might be the saddest thing of all.
“This is Tiffany Hewitt, on the scene of what appears to be a horrific murder-suicide.”The television screen bleats behind the bar, and though the volume is low and I only make out every third or fourth word, the subtitles are on and playing catch-up to the story the reporter rapidly delivers.
Surprisingly, she’s not at Paul McGregor’s home, but another scene. Another murder, a different set of homicide cops working the case.
“Benson Rogers and his wife Tracey were found inside their vehicle in the early hours of this morning, with fatal bullet wounds.”Tiffany presses her fingers to the device lodged in her ear and works hard to hear whatever information is pumped through the piece.“It’s believed Benson and Tracey’s marriage was rocky at best, and preliminary reports that have reached Channel Nine indicate Mr. Rogers fatally shot his wife before turning the weapon on himself.”
“What a waste.” Grumbling, Aubree cups a glass of soda in her hand and plays with the straw to make bubbles fizzle to the top. “Douchebag was suicidal, but instead of restricting the fallout to himself, he decided to take her down on the way out.”
“Yes, well… men tend to suck in general.” I bring my own soda up and take a small sip. “They’re all stupid.”
Snickering, Aubree watches Tim work and settles on a nod of agreement. “Kinda glad the Rogerses aren’t ours. I don’t relish the idea of piecing together an asshole’s brain. And I don’t want to tell the woman’s next of kin that she’s dead because men suck.”
“Not that those are the words we’d use when informing her family.”
I cast my gaze along the bar as Tiffany chatters on the television, and Tim smiles for a customer who wears a particularly busty top.
He looks a lot like his brother; same lips, same eyes, same jawline, though Tim’s is hidden beneath a sexy beard. Both men boast broad chests and muscular shoulders. Both wear jeans and shirts that show off the dips and planes of their torsos. Both enjoy watching me when I wish they wouldn’t, and when I wish they would, they’re off talking to someone else.
“Why do you want to love him, Aubs?” I bring my attention back around and study her forlorn expression. “Why? He doesn’t reciprocate. He doesn’t spoil you. He does nothing but feed you sometimes, and act grumpy whenever you step out of the neat lines he’s drawn up for you. That’s not love. It’s control.”
Silence hangs between us while she stares and Tim laughs at whatever Boobs says to him. He throws his head back in one of those extra-big laughs, and when he finishes pouring her drink, he sets it down with a smile and a wink thatmusthurt Aubree to witness.
“My mom and daddy have been married for thirty-two years this coming July.” Slowly, she turns away from Tim and brings her attention back to me. “They’ve known each other for thirty-two years.”
“So they married fast?”
“They knew right away,” she presses. “They knew they were in love, and they refused to waste time before acting on it. They stuck it out and created a family with love, and not once in all those years did they question what was real—even when the realities of melding two lives together sometimes created difficulties.”
Attention and voice distant, she runs the tip of her finger around the lip of her glass. “They knew. And my grandparents knew. And my siblings—those who’ve met theirOne—knew. Emeris know.” Glancing back to Tim, she rests her elbow on the bar and exhales a devastated sigh when, twenty feet away, Tim leans forward and presses an indecent, tongue-filled kiss on Boobs’ plumped lips. “Emeris are victims of their own hearts.”
“Fuck that asshole.” Disgusted with how easily the Malone men hurt the women stupid enough to love them, I push up to stand, and grab Aubree’s sleeve when all she does is stare. Like a horror movie she can’t look away from, she watches her man make out with some other bitch, and in the process, she tears out her own heart. “Let’s go.”
“No, Minka. It’s—”
“We’re leaving.”
I don’t set money on the bar, since the Malones annoy me, but my movement, my hissed intake of air as I place uneven weight on my knee, makes Tim break his kiss with a slurp and bring his attention to us.
Aubree has no clue he’s a mafia heir. She has no clue the man she longs for has killed people—just as she has no clue that I, her boss and friend, have killed people.
I guess, on that front, Tim and I agree, as we both choose to protect her from the truth before it has a chance to jump up and hurt her.
But that doesn’t give him a free pass to be a douchebag and break her heart by hooking up with women right in front of her.
Flipping off the oldest Malone, since this back-and-forth with Archer has left me feeling petty and immature, I scowl and look away when Tim only frowns. Then I snag my glass of soda and start across the bar.
“We’re going back to my apartment,” I tell Aubree. “We’re gonna order Chinese, then we can watch that stupid show you like.”
“Love Paradise?”
She keeps up on my left, until Archer steps through the doorway and blocks the exit; then she crashes into my back because I stop abruptly and unintentionally bar her way.
With an immediate huff of impatience and a protective streak thatalmostmakes me smile, she places her hand on my arm and tugs me to the left. “We’re leaving.” She repeats my words, and throws them in her friend’s face.
