11. Bay
ELEVEN
bay
Standing on the bar top at The Stowaway, an establishment that I work at on weekends, I messily pour shots of tequila into raised empty glasses as “Ocean Avenue” by Yellowcard blasts from the speakers.
I rev myself up for the chorus, bending over and letting my long dark hair fall over my face, swinging it back and forth. My hips sway along in my tight black shorts before straightening up my spine and raising the bottle of Jose Cuervo up in the air to sing with my customers.
“If I could find you nowwww, things would get better! We could leave this town and run foreverrrr! Let your waves crash down on me and take me away-eh-yeah-yeah-yeah.”
The crowd underneath me—mostly millennials who lived during the glory days of this song—jump up and down, tipping their shots down their throats and continuing through the rest of the lyrics.
If it’s one thing I’m amazing at, it’s hyping the crowd of any age group. Earlier, when there were plenty of middle-aged groups in here, it was 80s hits and hair bands. Now that it’s past midnight, they’ve scattered back home, but the few who can hang for the late-night folks are still here watching.
Pivoting around the slippery surface, Jack, the owner, holds out a large hand to help me down. “You’re lucky you do what you do,” he pipes in, peppered hair plastered to his sweaty forehead. “If I get a call on some kid workin’ at my bar that I pay under the table, I’m gonna lose more than my ass.”
“And it’s such a great ass,” I compliment, pulling a hanging wineglass from overhead and searching for the bottle of merlot I need.
“Bay, your young ass better be careful. I can’t afford to surrender this place.”
I glimpse over my shoulder to smile at him. “I got my excuse all down if something happens.” His worried expression doesn’t falter. Jack’s kindness has gotten food in my sisters’ mouths when my parents were struggling with bills and he knew right off the bat I was under eighteen. “I’ll be careful, I promise. You’re still my alleged uncle, right?” He nods. “Perfect. Don’t forget, or you’ll blow the story.”
Jack gives me a curt nod, satisfied for now that he’s not going to fire me, then walks back along the far side of the bar to handle the customers that way.
Finding the red wine I need, I pour a glass and serve it up to my female regular. A real estate agent from around here who’s been having a hard time selling anything in this town because it’s full of violence and poverty.
I wipe down the countertop and put away some dirty glasses, when a male voice sounds in front of me, requesting a bourbon straight.
I glance up to find a man in a gray windowpane suit, the jacket unbuttoned to reveal a white dress shirt with the collar popped up and the top button undone. His hands are folded over the bar as he looks blatantly at me through jagged blue eyes. The faint stubble to his jawline and upper lips doesn’t make him a day over fifty.
However, I’m curious as to how he showed up here, of all places, because he’s definitely lost. Men in plaid and dirty jeans fill up this joint on a daily basis and I’ve never seen someone so done up walk in here.
“You’re new here,” I vouch, plucking up a clean glass and keeping his unabandoned stare. “Just come back from a funeral or something?” I point at his suit, and he gives me a small shake of his head.
“Surprisingly no,” he replies before scanning over the crowd and uncovering a silver Rolex watch around his left wrist. “This is…a nice place.”
The last part undeniably seems forced, but I push through it anyway.
“What can I get you?”
“Shot of bourbon, the best you have, with a splash of lime juice.”
Gross.
“Do you want ice?” He holds up two fingers, but says nothing more, before I follow his specific drink order.
I make quick work and gently plant it in front of him on top of a napkin, about to pivot to ring him up, because I highly doubt he’ll be hanging out here for long. Tyga starts bumping off every surface when his next comment collides in a head-on collision with me.
“You’re Paisley Astor’s oldest daughter, aren’t you?”
My whole body freezes at the mention of my mother’s name. The woman who literally couldn’t stand me within an inch of her life. I never understood what I did to her, and the older I got, the more I steered clear while she loved up on my sisters like they were princesses and I was the red-headed stepchild.
But moneybags over here…let’s just say, we didn’t hang out with the rich and the famous over here in South Shore. And what’s not so fucking funny is that this is the third man who’s been sniffing around me for my name.
Hesitantly, I turn back to the man in the suit that costs more than the mortgage on our house and shake my head, pushing my lip out with, “Don’t know her.”
He watches me with a burning intensity over the rim of his glass, melting his claim into my brain to make it true. The faint wrinkles around his eyes pose no bullshit, but I’d have to admit to his truths to hold them as genuine, right?
He brings his whiskey to his mouth again and takes a small sip, licking at his bottom lip after he does. I appear nothing like my mother. “Sorry to hear about your dad.”
Alright, that’s two parents of mine he’s familiar with in under thirty seconds.
My blue eyes slice to Bubba, one of the bouncers in the bar, and notice that he’s not that far for me to flag down.
I’m already done with this asshole.
“You’re handling all his medical bills?”
The fuck?
“You have the wrong girl,” I retort sharply with a tapered slit to my gaze, cutting an end to this conversation. “Enjoy your drink. It’s on the house.”
The pad of his index fingers traces along the edge of his glass, and he’s not done, because as he speaks again, he grounds me to my spot. “I know what you look like, Bay.”
I’ve never inwardly cringed at someone saying my name before. And, in turn, it only waves more of those flashy red flags at me.
I really don’t resemble my mom, number one.
And number two, it’s time for Bubba.
I raise my hand in the air, my sole focus pinned on our big-ass bouncer, when rich prick cuts into my escape plan.
“Put your hand down, Miss Astor. You’re not gonna want to start any bullshit with me.”
“And who the fuck are you?” I sneer, slicing my attention back to him. Meanwhile, he’s too busy taking another long and generous sip of his drink and eyeing me like I’m fucked.
Apparently, I might be.
How he’s aware of who I am and what I look like—I might still be able to pull off the I don’t know what you’re talking about card. My mom had beautiful golden blonde hair and green eyes. A trim and skinny figure that she could pull off no bra and go shopping—probably the only time I was ever jealous of her.
If Mom would’ve stayed on the straight and narrow and stopped poppin’ pills, she could’ve been a model. Me, I have an ass for days and my tits are decent, except I wouldn’t cut the modeling business, because I enjoy junk food too much and I’d end up punching half the bitches for being cunts.
Tack on that my natural hair color is as black as my soul—as my mother so sweetly pointed out when I was thirteen—and sporting blue eyes that are currently boring daggers into the man’s forehead in front of me, and you have no one who could remind anyone of my mother.
My jaw ticks as I place both of my palms on the curve of the bar, extending my arms as I glower back at Mr. Moneybags. “What do you want? Did my mom love you and promise you forever? Did she tell you she was going to call?”
“No. I’m here to settle my debts.”
I cock my head to the side. “You're what now?”
“Your mother…she left me you when she died.” Warning goosebumps prickle at my skin as I steel my face against Giorgio Armani.
She left me you when she died. What am I, a pet?
I sniff indifferently through my nose and grab a glass, needing something to do with my hands before I lose my shit on this guy and get Jack in trouble. “That’s unfortunate. She’s dead. And I have a daddy, but thanks for the offer.”
“I don’t think you understand what I’m?—”
“Unless you want this glass shoved up your ass”—I hold it up to drive in my point—“stop talking. There’s no money, dude. You’re screwed. I don’t know what she told you, but it was obviously a lie. I’m not handling her estate, nor her issues. I got enough of my own. I’m checked out for therapy sessions this week.”
Giorgio Armani leans back against his high-backed chair and fiddles with his thumb and index finger, rubbing them together, as if this conversation isn’t just as weird as it is. “You obviously don’t know who I am, Miss Astor.”
Apparently, I don’t know any-fucking-one lately.
Mainly, it’s because I keep my ass in South Shore. All the other places are either mutual settings, where I’ll run out with Levi and the boys, but the rest is butt buddied up with The Landings.
“Obviously,” I vouch. “But I’m quickly learning you wouldn’t mind something up your ass.”
He mindlessly drops his glass to the wooden countertop, some of the liquid almost escaping and spilling on the surface. I hit a nerve—oops.
“You got that mouth from your mother.” I shrug because I really don’t care to talk about her right now. “How about you press your lips together and listen to what I have to say before you utter another smartass word?”
“Impossible.” He fixes me with a stern glower that any older adult would give to the generation underneath them. “What are you going to do? Choke me with your Rolex?”
A ghost of a smirk illuminates his face before it quickly disappears. “Nah, I’ll have your illegal little street races shut down. Also, I know that you’re one of many of South Shore’s runners who slide through my streets at night, delivering your weed. I’m allied with the county sheriff, after all.”
I bob my head, as if that’s the best he can do. I’m friends with the sheriff’s son. How does he think I’ve gotten away with it this long?
He leans forward and clasps his hands together once more. “I’m Emilio Wildes, darling. I’m sure you’ve heard of me.”
Fuck. My. Entire. Life.
Of all the people my mom would have looked at, spoken to, dealt with, or made any sort of alleged agreement with, she couldn’t pick anybody worse than this grimy prick.
AKA Torin’s father.
Not only that, but I’ve met all the Wildes men in less than a week and I’ve had my fill.
For the rest of my life.
“You got a lot of nerve coming in here,” I leer. “All I gotta say is your name.”
His lips curl into an amused smirk. “Do you want more visits at night, Miss Astor, or was one enough?” His words send a cold chill and reminder down my spine, and I can’t stop the shiver that racks my body. This is why you don’t judge a book by its cover. “I might be a rich bastard, but no ghetto-ass teenager is gonna fuck with mine. There’s a meaning to why I’m here, in enemy territory, searching for you.”
“Does it involve you tying yourself to a boat anchor and sinking to the bottom of the ocean outside?” I can’t help but ask. He just rocked my world in an entirely different way than I’ve ever wanted someone to. I don’t want that kind of heat in my life right now. I’m on his radar and it’s not a good thing. He knows about my family, he broke into my house, and he’s aware of what I do to put money in my pocket and pay the bills.
Is there another way to say I’m fucked ? Because I am.
“Not quite yet.” He picks up his bourbon again and swirls the golden-brown liquid in his glass. It’s a scare tactic. He’s trying to wreck my nerves and is doing one hell of a time with it. “Your sisters…Ellie and, what was the youngest one’s name? Molly, Marie…”
Mae.
What did you do, Mom?
Fury boils in my veins as I stare back at the man who claims to be the bane of my whole town’s existence. He’s obviously seen time. The dark hair on his head is turning slightly gray at the roots, but it’s his eyes that freak me out.
They’re exactly like mine.
Which doesn’t mean a fucking thing.
“You see, your mother was in the same financial situation you’re in, except I’m sure her credit score was more jacked than yours.” My nostrils flare because he doesn’t know a thing about me, and yet he’s a judgy asshole. “She also didn’t have the same drive or pride as you do. I highly doubt you’d seek anyone for help, but Paisley showed up at my door with information that I’ve been searching for decades.”
I want to ask what Mom could possibly have that would be of any interest to him, but I refrain. Anything this man says to me, I don’t buy. He couldn’t even sell me a pack of gum.
“I was missing a daughter, Bay,” he continues, cradling my attention with ease. “I found her.”
My chest tightens as sky blues openly stare back at me. My next inhale halts in anticipation.
No.
No.
I rapidly blink, trying to scan his whole face, but not wanting to look like I am. “Still don’t know…what that has to do with me.”
Emilio doesn’t break hold of the vice currently squeezing my insides. “I believe you do.”
“Listen,” I leer, almost gasping as I try to control my breathing. My palms sweat underneath the bottle of whiskey I’m still holding as I ball the other into a fist. It roughly feels like I’m veering back on the path of a panic attack, and I refuse to have two of those in one week. It’s just not happening. “If you think you’re gonna walk in here and tell me that you’re taking my sisters…you got me fucked up.”
One of his brows perks to the wooden ceiling. “I didn’t take you as slow with your quick-witted responses, Bay. What part was confusing?”
“The whole fucking thing,” I deadpan.
He unhurriedly picks at the edge of his white bar napkin. “My daughter, Haven Wildes, was taken away from me when she was three.” His heavy and unwanted gaze flicks up to me. “That resonate for you?”
“No.”
“You’re my daughter?—”
“You’re such a fucking liar,” I ground out through a sprinting heartbeat. “If this is your game to gain South Shore, you’ve picked the wrong chess piece.”
“I don’t need you to gain South Shore. Especially some little brat who steals my guns and believes she’s going to get away with it.”
“I didn’t steal anything.”
“Well, the description fits perfectly. My son described you to a tee, Haven.”
“It’s Bay .”
“Whatever you want to be called, it doesn’t change the DNA test nor the facts.”
“Get out of my bar.”
He doesn’t move or even break a sweat when he says, “You’ll come home. You don’t, I crush South Shore. You keep running your mouth, I’ll have your fake father paid another visit. You don’t follow along with what I say…” He allows the air between us to thicken until it begins to squeeze my throat with his suffocating ultimatums. “I’ll kill everyone you’ve ever known. Starting with that Levi Wallace you like so much. Then I’ll take Ellie and Mae and sell them for a fortune. Young girls, virgin adolescents, go for a pretty penny, Bay. Don’t test the lengths I will go to make sure I have my daughter back. You admire them…and I love you. I’ve searched for you for decades, and I started to believe that maybe you were dead.”
I don’t answer him, mulling over escape routes and how I’m going to get out of this. How I’m going to keep my best friend from being targeted by a man who has a load of power backing him up? To come up with a way to ensure my sisters are safe from harm.
“So, again…I want you home. I wish for us to get to know each other.”
“You don’t want me that close to you, trust me,” I ground out through my teeth. I’ve killed before; I didn’t like how I felt afterward, but it’s there. And now that he’s just laid all his cards out when it has to do with my youngest sister, I’ll do it again and deal with how I feel later.
“I’ll be the judge and jury on that.” He reaches inside his coat pocket and pulls out a plastic bag before chucking it on the wooden bar top. “Hair samples. Feel free to do your own DNA test.”
“I don’t have money for that—” A wad of hundred-dollar bills lands on the bag next.
“When you get the results back, call me.” He slides a white business card like a knife across my dying nerves. “We have a lot to discuss.”
“How do I know you won’t hack into them and?—”
“Do you think I like to spend my time harassing little girls?” His expression skews, as if I’m some dumbass who thinks too highly of myself. “I don’t chase after female lookalikes who could be my daughter.” Emilio’s face darkens, baring his straight teeth at me. “I already have two sons who could become my heirs.”
“Then why even bother with me, when we both know if this is all true…I’m never flipping sides?”
“Because they are my stepchildren. You are my biological child.” He seems to relax, leaning into the high-backed stool, and finally averting his determined regard from me. “I’ve built an empire for an heir…someone I could hand off all my hard work to. I had constantly hoped…that I’d see you again.”
“I’m not getting involved with anything that has to do with you, even if I was your so-called daughter, which I’m not. Your name is like a plague, Mr. Wildes. Anyone who gets entangled with you obviously doesn’t land themselves in a good spot.”
He fixes me with a look I can’t pin down, as either exasperated or impressed, clearly not accepting it. “Again, I’ll decide that.”
“Not when you tried to have my family killed.”
“If I wanted your fake family killed, they would be. It wasn’t hard to get into South Shore.”
I don’t like the confidence he eludes. I’m also not a fan of how he’s not emitting that he’s kidding.
He’s kidding.
Roger is my father. He raised me, he loved me, and he always looked out for me. He’s the one thing that’s always been rock-solid in my life.
Emilio slides off his stool, nice and slow, maybe calculating his chances of getting out of here alive. If someone noticed him, which I’m not sure how he and I are still standing here without that happening, he’s dead.
“I’ll expect a call in about a week. I’m sure Travis Muncy can get those results back for you as quickly as possible.”
My blood boils, because he seems to know everything and everyone around me. “Don’t let the door hit your ass on the way out.”
Another hundred-dollar bill is tossed to the wooden countertop and he doesn’t bother bullshitting me with a second glance.
If anything he’s saying is true, my mom…she sold me out to the devil.
And Dad…he lied.