Chapter 17
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
RAVEN
T hat did not happen. Nope. Not at all.
Did I kiss my boss?
Yes.
Did I expect his brother, whom I kissed yesterday on my front porch, to walk in?
Absolutely fucking not.
Do I regret it?
Jury’s still out on that one.
Enjoying my time in Mystic River has not been a priority, and it should stay that way. Distractions are just that. Distracting.
I busy myself, wiping down the counter while I gain my composure.
That kiss, if it could even be called that, was something else.
I’ve never experienced that kind of raw lust. My panties are uncomfortably wet, and the more I think about what happened in the stockroom, the wetter I’ll get.
If I can avoid the discomfort of wet panties for the rest of my shift, that would be great.
Scanning the tables, I check to see if anyone needs help. Everyone seems content for now, and thankfully, Mrs. Queen Bee and her posse have vacated the bar and left cash on their table to cover their bill.
Benny is dutifully on his stool, staring at the TV behind me.
I look over my shoulder and find the reporter Sherry Jenkins on the screen.
Something about her aggravates me, but I can’t tell what it is.
She sits poised behind a table in her finely pressed navy-blue suit.
Her blonde bob frames her face in a way that’s flattering, but I can’t help but notice how even as she looks at the camera head-on, it’s almost like her nose is turned up at the audience.
I snatch the remote and turn up the volume.
“Another woman was found dead in her apartment this morning in Chelsea. Authorities are unwilling to comment at this time on what has been found on scene…”
Don’t say Dahlia. Don’t say Dahlia.
“But sources say the state in which Lena Hill’s body was found is eerily similar to murders that occurred over a decade ago. John Bartlett, also known as the serial killer John the Baptist, is currently serving life in prison without the possibility of parole.”
Thank God.
“With the discovery of this body, we have to ask ourselves, ‘Is this the work of a copycat? Or did the police arrest and convict the wrong man?’”
Me: What’s this I’m seeing about a John the Baptist copycat?
Dahlia: Don’t worry, Mom. I’m being safe.
Me: I’m serious. The original went after prostitutes.
Dahlia: I’m not a prostitute.
Me: I know that, but who knows if a serial killer will care?
Dahlia: I promise I’ll be safe and lock my door at night.
Me: You’re not locking your door at night?!
Dahlia: Kidding! Like Declan would ever let me leave my door unlocked at any time.
Me: Does that mean he’s been sleeping over?
Dahlia: New subject. How’s the double dick going?
Me: Nice try, but I got the hint. I’ll talk to you later. Love you, babe. Please be safe.
Dahlia: I will. Love you too.
That woman is going to put me in an early grave just from worrying about her.
The channel changes to sports analysts debating football plays and who is the better quarterback. I turn to find Benny setting the remote down on the wood between us.
I give him a questioning look, to which he answers, “Got tired of hearing that shit.” Then he goes back to nursing his drink.
Odd how he always seems to be drinking but never actually shows signs of being drunk…
Spotting a few empty glasses, I make my rounds refilling drinks and closing out checks.
I’m resetting the balls on one of the pool tables when Griffin and Knox finally come out of the stockroom.
Their eyes immediately find me, and I freeze.
One set of forest greens; the other set golden brown.
Each filled with a heat that causes a stirring in my stomach.
If I thought I was drenched before, I was so wrong.
My motto is to expect the worst and hope for the best. I expected them to yell or throw a couple of punches, and I hoped they would shake hands and call it good. Whatever they discussed in there, it didn’t dampen the heat in their eyes. If anything, they look more determined.
My gulp is audible, and I squeeze my legs together, drawing their attention to the apex of my thighs.
Our moment is broken when Camden exits the kitchen with a tray full of food. Griffin takes a direct route to the kitchen while Knox strides right by me for his office. With both of them gone and the lunch rush over, I return to my safe space behind the bar.
Benny lifts his glass to his lips, pausing before taking a drink. “You’re in deep shit.”
A sigh mixed with a laugh escapes me. “And don’t I know it.”
I’m learning quickly that when The Wandering Raven is busy, it’s busy . But when it’s slow, it’s dead.
When everything slowed down, Griffin disappeared down the hall behind Knox. Benny asked for a refill one time, then I got everything ready for the nighttime rush. But now, it’s crickets.
When I took this job, I was hoping I’d be able to get insider information from some of the locals. I’m well aware of how loose-lipped drunk people can be. Benny clearly isn’t drunk, but he’ll have to do.
Bending to rest my elbows on the bartop, I sigh. “Tell me something about yourself, Benny.”
He raises a brow.
Letting out another sigh, I shrug my shoulders. “I’m bored.”
Benny lifts one shoulder, brushing me off and returning his attention to the TV.
“Is your real name Benny? Or is that a nickname?”
The crickets have formed a damn choir.
“What is there to do around here?”
Benny crosses his arms and places them on the bar, leaning only a couple of inches toward me. “Why don’t you just tell me what you’re fishing for so I can finish watching the debate on whether or not Tom Brady is a better quarterback than Brett Favre.”
One side of my mouth lifts. “What makes you think I’m fishing?”
He scoffs. “Oh, please. You’ve practically got your bait on the hook and are miserably waiting for a bite.”
“I don’t even know what you just said.” My nose wrinkles.
His look turns deadpan. “I wasn’t born yesterday, Raven.”
Our gazes fix intently on each other, assessing.
I’m about ready to cave when the front door flies open and bounces off the wall with a bang.
The sound sends a jolt to my entire being.
I have to physically stop myself from diving onto the floor.
Benny just sat up straighter, and his hand disappeared under the bartop like he was grabbing something.
A whistle of appreciation comes from the doorway as the sunshine is cut off and we are once again swathed in a dusk-like glow. Two men are strolling toward me. The same two men I met at Mystic Beans.
The one with the world tattoo on his throat speaks up first. “There you are, sweetheart. I was starting to think you were avoiding us.” His teasing tone is in juxtaposition with his powerful walk. A man like this doesn’t doubt himself. He makes hard choices and sticks with them.
Finally. An asshole I can deal with.
“To avoid you, I’d have to care where you are first.” I rest a hand on my hip and pop the other out.
His hands come together and cover the left side of his chest. “Straight through the heart. Give a man a break.”
“What do you want, Atlas?” Benny snaps.
The other man stands slightly behind Atlas. He’s just as big and scary-looking as Atlas, but he lacks the jocular air that Atlas throws out like free candy.
Atlas lifts his hand, and hot damn, even his fingers are tattooed. I finally notice the duffle bag. “Delivery. Bas and I wanted to bring it personally.”
My eyes bounce from the bag to Benny’s hidden hand to the bulges at the other men’s hips and back to the bag.
Shit .
“You just wanted an excuse to harass Kat,” Benny accuses.
“What we do could hardly be categorized as harassment.”
“I’m sure Kat would beg to differ,” Benny shoots back.
Atlas’s smile turns fierce. “Kat will beg, alright.”
“Ugh! My ears!” I interrupt and make a gagging sound, easily breaking the tension.
Atlas crosses his arms. “I didn’t take you for a prude, sweetheart.”
Raising a brow, I respond, “Hardly. But the talk of sex in relation to you? Ew. No.”
“Aw, come on. We could have some fun together.”
I open my mouth to refute his claim, but a shout cuts me off. “The fuck you will!” Heavy footsteps pound across the bar. A peek over my shoulder shows me Griffin and Knox with thunderous looks on their faces and aiming them right at Atlas and Bas.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” Knox spits out at them.
Atlas lifts the bag again. “You asked us to.”
Griffin narrows his gaze. “Where’s Hermes?”
“Busy,” Bas answers, speaking for the first time. His voice is gravelly and warm.
Griffin and Knox keep untrusting looks on their faces, but Knox’s leans more toward rage.
“In the office,” Griffin directs and turns on his heel, expecting to be followed. Knox steps aside and waits until Atlas and Bas have passed him to trail behind.
Not once do they glance my way. Not once do they seem worried about me. I’m not sure if I should take their lack of concern as a compliment or an insult. Maybe they think I’m capable of taking care of myself, or maybe they knew Benny had it handled.
Once they’ve disappeared down the hall, Benny relaxes his shoulders a fraction, but not completely. Both hands come back to the bartop, and he resumes watching the TV.
I open my mouth, but Benny interjects, “Not now.”
Rolling my eyes, I decide to join Benny in watching the boring-as-hell show.
That was hardly the first drug deal I’ve witnessed, and clearly, it’s not going to be the last either.
I shouldn’t ask questions because I don’t need anyone asking questions about me either. But I can’t stop curiosity from trapping me in her tangled web.
Jumping up from my relaxed position, I announce, “I’m going to see if there’s anything to snack on in the kitchen.”
Benny grunts, his eyes never straying from the screen.
On light feet, I walk to the kitchen door but turn and head for the back hall at the last minute. Fingers crossed Benny doesn’t notice. But when I step into the shadows of the poorly lit hallway, I swear I hear Benny let out a sigh.
Gliding my back against the wall, I tiptoe to the office door. Hostile voices fall from the room along with a single stream of light. The door is open barely an inch. When I’m right next to the door, I crouch down and listen intently.
“We weren’t due for an order for another week,” Griffin says plainly.
“Well, I can’t let the good people of Mystic River go without,” Atlas jokes.
“Our supply is fine,” Knox informs curtly.
There’s a small creak, like someone took a step or leaned in a chair. “Have you been buying from another supplier?” And that’s the second time I hear Bas’s voice. I take it he’s not a talker.
Griffin’s voice is adamant. “Absolutely not. Our word is as good as gold. We told you that you would be our exclusive source, and we’ve stuck to that.”
“Then what seems to be the problem?” Atlas asks.
“We’ve run into some…competition.”
“What kind of competition? Our bud is top of the line. You shouldn’t have any competition.” Atlas sounds slightly insulted but mostly annoyed.
So, Griffin and Knox buy weed and sell it.
Thank God.
I was worried it was something like fentanyl.
Griffin sighs. “A new player is offering a different product, and it’s getting people hooked quick and bad. Once a customer goes to the new dealer, they don’t come back to us.”
Now that guy is the one with shit like fentanyl.
“I see,” Atlas grumbles.
“We’re working on it,” Griffin assures him.
Atlas offers, “Let me know if you need help dealing with it.”
There’s a scraping of chairs, and I take that as my cue to leave.