Little Dove (Black Resorts #1)

Chapter One

Our White Castle

Juliet

“ G ET IN.”

“What?” I asked, taking rapid shuffling steps to keep up as my father gripped my shoulders and propelled me backward. I stumbled, nearly falling, but he didn’t stop.

Throwing open the small pantry door, he shoved me inside. “Don’t come out no matter what you hear. Got it?”

I had no idea what was happening, but I knew better than to question Shamus McMillon, especially when he was in a state .

His graying red hair was in disarray and his wild eyes kept darting to the side. Each breath he huffed my way smelled like cheap whiskey and a keg of Guinness.

So instead of the fifty-billion questions that danced on my tongue, I said, “Okay.”

“I mean it, Jule-bug. Don’t open the door until I say so.” He scanned my face, his expression tense and anxious. With a sigh, he closed the door, leaving me in darkness with stale crackers, canned Spam, and likely a mouse or two.

I’d just gotten home from errands and grocery shopping when Dad had dragged his butt off the couch to raid the food. His eyes had gone toward the front window before he’d dropped the peanut butter jar to the ground in order to push me into the pantry.

I had no clue what he’d seen that’d freaked him out. We lived at the end of the long dirt road behind Dad’s gym and the only visitors we got were his buddies.

If anyone should be freaked by that, it was me. His friends were assholes who gave me the creeps.

Whatever this is, I hope it’s fast. I splurged on ice cream, and Vegas doesn’t seem to understand February is winter. My precious cookies and cream goodness is probably melting right now.

Maybe it’s dinner delivery and I don’t have to cook for once. Or maybe it’s the few people I like from the gym bringing cake to go with my ice cream. Maybe, just maybe, my father didn’t actually forget my seventeenth birthday and is trying to surprise me.

And maybe I’ll find a rainbow in the box of stale, store brand Lucky Charms and ride it to a pot of gold.

I knew better than fanciful dreams. It wasn’t the first time my dad had forgotten my birthday. The fact it was on Valentine’s Day should’ve taken the guesswork out of it, but he’d still have to care enough to remember.

He never did.

There was a pounding on the front door before it opened so hard, it banged into the wall.

“Boys!” Dad greeted, his voice traveling easily through the paper-thin walls. “What brings you to my castle?”

I barely held in a snort.

If this is a castle, it’s owned by the Burger King.

And his Dairy Queen.

It’s their humble White Castle.

I’m so hungry.

“If ya wanna book me,” Dad said, “ya gotta call my girl. She schedules my fights.”

I rolled my eyes. He always gave that line, like he had some big-time agent or manager handling his fight bookings.

I was his girl. Just me and a tattered desk calendar in the backroom of the training gym he owned.

“We had a meeting today,” a deep voice rumbled—calm, cool, and collected.

Whereas my dad sounded nervous, jittery, and forced. “Oh! Was that today? Must’ve slipped my mind. What’d you need?”

“Rough loss on Saturday,” whoever said.

Wait. I thought he won.

He hadn’t said as much, but he also hadn’t gotten blackout drunk—or worse—like he always did after a loss.

“Yeah, that sp—kid,” he said, catching himself before he used the slur, “has a helluva right hook.”

There was a lot to despise about Shamus McMillon, and his casual racism was high on the list.

“That’s funny,” the mystery man said in a tone that made it clear there was nothing humorous about it. “‘Cause I talked to Jose’s trainer. He said his right hook is weak. Not only that, but he sets his left foot. Everyone knows about it. He’s trying to break him of the habit.”

“Must’ve missed it. I’m gettin’ old, not as sharp as I used to be.”

“That so?”

“Yeah, I’ve actually been tossing around the idea of hangin’ up my gloves and focusing on training the young guns at the gym.”

That was news to me.

Dad gave a chuckle. “But if you’re interested in booking my grand finale fight, Max, I’ll—”

“Maximo,” the voice rumbled.

“Huh?”

“My name is Maximo. Not Max.”

The name didn’t sound familiar. Knowing who my dad associated with, I could just picture the wannabe hotshot with a pot belly and greasy face who thought he was one of the Rat Pack.

I just hoped, whoever Maximo was, he hurried up and said what he needed to say. I had to eat, and after being on the go all day, my feet were killing me.

“Right, right, Maximo,” Dad said. “I’ll get you my girl’s number, and she can help you out.”

As if my dad hadn’t spoken, Maximo continued. “After I talked to Jose’s trainer, I went to see someone else.”

“Who?”

“Carmichael. He had a lot to say about you, Shamus.”

“Yeah?” A pitch of nerves hit Dad’s voice. “We’re old friends. Haven’t seen him in a while. Probably about a year or so.”

That was a lie. Mugsy Carmichael was one of the wannabe gangsters Dad liked to run with. He came by the gym all the time and totally creeped me out. He’d just been there earlier that week.

“You know what I hate, Ash?” the man—Maximo—asked.

“What, boss?” a new voice answered.

“Liars. Fucking hate them.”

Something slammed against the wall, making me jump.

“You took the fall,” Maximo bit out, his volume low, though he might as well have been shouting. There was a bass rumble to it that I could almost feel.

“I’d never—” Dad started, but based on the sound of flesh hitting flesh—the soundtrack to my life—someone punched him before he could finish.

“Don’t lie to me again,” Maximo said. “You took the fall after you bet on Jose.”

My dad was a lot of things. A drunk. A gambler. A racist. A crap father.

And greedy.

I hadn’t thought he was a cheat, though. His name, title, and reputation in the boxing world were the most important things he had. He valued them above all else—including his only daughter.

“Your loss cost people a shit-ton of money, Shamus. People who are not happy. People who are accusing me of running crooked fights. I don’t like liars or cheats, and I sure as fuck don’t like being accused of either.”

“I didn’t fall,” Dad claimed.

But it was a lie.

And the sound of punches meant they knew it.

I reached out and gripped the doorknob before hesitating.

It wasn’t the first time someone had come to rough Dad up. He had his share of enemies. In the fight world. In the casinos. All across the US.

I wouldn’t be surprised if the sisters at Mother Mary’s in New York spit when they heard his name.

At least whoever was out there had gone straight to Dad instead of roughing me up in his place. It wouldn’t have been the first time that’d happened, either.

Dad was a professional boxer. He could take care of himself. There was nothing I could do except put myself in danger for nothing.

I let my hand drop from the knob.

“I can make it right!” Dad shouted, and the commotion died down.

“I think you’re underestimating how pissed people are. They want their money back.”

“I just need a little time, but I’ll pay.” Dad’s panic was growing, and he didn’t try to hide it. “I’ll find a way. Sell the gym. Do something.”

Oh, Dad. What’d you get yourself into this time?

“Pit me against one of your new guys,” Dad pleaded, “and I’ll do whatever. Win or throw the match, whatever you want. I’ll make it believable so no one knows.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Maximo roared, the sound rattling in my ears. “What part of ‘I hate liars’ does he not get?”

“No clue, boss,” whoever said.

“Let’s get this over with.”

“Whoa, fellas. Max…imo. Maximo, man, sir. Come on.” Dad lowered his voice until I had to press my ear against the shared wall to hear him. “The gym, the car, everything . You can have it. Take it.”

“I don’t want your shit, Shamus. It’s as worthless as you are.”

“C’mon, man, seriously, I get it. I fucked up. I’ll find a way to pay and then I’ll retire. I’ll steer clear of the tables. But if you kill me, you’ll be out the money. Dead men can’t pay.”

Kill?

Did he just say kill?

I threw open the door and launched myself into our small kitchen. I turned toward the entryway to the living room just as a boom filled the tiny house. Filled my head. It bounced around, leaving a ringing in my ears.

But I barely noticed the echo it left behind.

Because my focus—the entirety of it—was on my father.

My dead father with the hole in his head and his brains splattered on our crappy couch.

I’m never going to get that stain out.

I’d thought my words were in my head, but I must’ve spoken them out loud because every set of eyes shot to me.

Well, every set except Dad’s.

Vomit lodged in my throat.

“Shit,” a black-haired man bit out.

The man to his left lifted his gun and pointed it at me.

Right.

At.

Me.

I had nowhere to go. There was no way I was getting through three goons and a monster of a man. The old backdoor behind me didn’t open anymore. If I jetted down the hall, I might be able to break one of the painted-shut windows, but it was more likely I’d be shot in the back.

If I’m dying, running will not be the last thing I do on this earth.

Trapped like a defenseless mouse surrounded by vicious predators, I stayed where I was. I steeled my spine and raised my chin.

I waited for death.

“Wait,” the black-haired man said, pushing the other man’s arm down. He studied me with dark eyes, running a tattooed hand through his hair and then across his stubbled jaw. Seeming to reach a conclusion, he gave a single nod. “She comes with us.”

Oh no.

At that, I did turn and run.

There were fates worse than death.

And if that was what I was facing, I’d take a bullet in the back instead.

I took them by surprise and gained some distance, but my short legs were no match for the goon’s much longer ones.

Thick arms wrapped around my waist, and I thrashed. I screamed. I bit. I kicked and punched and clawed.

I’d fight.

I’d die.

But I’d never go with them.

“Fucking hell,” the man cursed, squeezing me like I was the rabbit Lennie pet too hard.

I caught him with a lucky kick to the junk. His hold loosened enough for me to wiggle free and punch him in the throat.

I started to turn to take on whatever was behind me, but before I could, everything shifted. The world went sideways.

And then it went black.