Chapter 4
Chapter four
Lila
Even though I was exhausted, I couldn’t bring myself to go back to my apartment. It would be too empty, too quiet. And my mind wouldn’t shut up enough to fall asleep anyway. I had to figure out this mess with Sweeney first.
I knew I needed the Reckless Order to back me up. There was no getting around that. It was bad enough that I had to swallow my pride and ask for help in the first place. But now, it was a thousand times worse, knowing that Pretty Boy would be the one I had to appeal to.
God, I could just imagine the shit-eating grin on his face when I told him everything. The way he would hold it over my head. The way he would rub it in for the rest of my life. I could practically hear his voice already.
Well, well, well. It looks like hell has finally frozen over if you’re asking me for help.
I made a noise of disgust as I parked in the driveway of my dad’s house. Marching up the steps, I used my spare key to unlock the front door and dumped my purse on the kitchen table with a sigh.
Rubbing my temples, I closed my eyes and leaned back against the counter. The comforting, earthy scent of Dad’s favorite cigars lingered faintly in the air, mingling with whiskey and barbecue.
Even though I moved out and got my own apartment years ago, I still loved visiting Dad’s house. It was like being wrapped up in his hugs—warm, masculine, and smelling just like him.
I raided the fridge for a beer, sorting through containers of leftovers and takeout, tossing the old, sour stuff. When Dad got back from the hospital, I didn’t want him worrying about anything—no dishes, no groceries, no bills.
After cleaning and organizing the fridge, I moved onto the freezer. Then I started working on the kitchen, scrubbing the dishes in the sink, emptying the trash.
I was so wrapped up in what I was doing that I didn’t hear the rumble of the motorcycle in the driveway, or the footsteps on the porch.
Then Pretty Boy cleared his throat and rapped his knuckles against the door frame as he entered the house.
“Knock, knock, is anybody home?”
I practically jumped ten feet in the air with surprise.
“Damn it, Pretty Boy! Don’t sneak up on me like that. Did you follow me?”
He raised his eyebrows.
“I wasn’t aware I was sneaking anywhere. Besides, you’re always saying that I sound like a pack of elephants. Shouldn’t you appreciate it that I’m walking a little lightfooted?”
I huffed and waved the soapy sponge at him, flicking suds in his direction.
“Don’t be a smartass. I’m not in the mood.”
“I hate to tell you this, sweetheart, but smartass is the only setting I operate on.”
“There has to be a shut up button somewhere,” I replied. “And you still haven’t answered my question. You followed me, didn’t you?”
He hedged with a shrug.
“I…might have taken the same road that you did. But that’s not a crime. Why are you washing dishes at your dad’s house, Lila? You should go home. Get some sleep. You’ve had one hell of a long day.”
I turned my back on him, furiously scrubbing at a plate that was already clean.
But there were no more dishes in the sink and I wasn’t ready to surrender to the realization that I had nothing left to do.
Pretty Boy’s fussing over me felt strange, too.
I preferred the Pretty Boy who was ready to verbally spar with me at any moment, teasing, flirting.
I had no clue what to do with this version of Pretty Boy—caring and considerate, thoughtful, probing to talk about my feelings.
“Just because you’re President now doesn’t mean that you can butt in whenever you want,” I said.
“Acting President,” he corrected, fully stepping into the kitchen. He came up beside me and started drying dishes.
“I didn’t ask you to do that,” I sniped.
Pretty Boy slid a sideways glance at me, unfazed by my prickliness. My stomach flipped when I met his hazel eyes and I quickly looked away.
“What’s got you all jumpy?” he asked in a surprisingly soft voice. “You’ve had nerves of steel for as long as I’ve known you.”
“I’m fine,” I insisted.
“Lila,” Pretty Boy said, bordering on a growl that sent butterflies whirling in my unsettled stomach.
I couldn’t do this—I couldn’t be in such close proximity to him when his voice, his eyes, the heat of his presence, was tying me up in knots.
Grabbing a kitchen towel to dry my hands, I pushed away from the sink and moved to the other side of the room. I scooped up my beer from the table and drained the last of it dry.
“Did Dad say anything to you about his financial situation?” I asked.
Pretty Boy frowned, confused at my sudden change of subject.
“No. Why?”
“I got a call,” I said.
Pretty Boy didn’t even blink and his expression remained completely unchanged, almost as if he…he had expected I would say that.
“Fuck, you knew already,” I hissed.
“Ironside noticed that you seemed rattled and he mentioned it to me,” Pretty Boy replied.
I sighed, balled up the kitchen towel, and tossed it on the table.
“You’re all a bunch of goddamn busy bodies. Little old church ladies don’t even gossip as much as you boys do.”
The corner of Pretty Boy’s mouth twitched with an almost-smile and his eyes gleamed. I pointed at him.
“Don’t you dare laugh. This isn’t funny.”
He held up his hands.
“I didn’t say anything. But it really shouldn’t surprise you that secrets don’t last long around here.”
I pulled out a chair at the table and dropped into it.
“Dad had a secret. And from what I can tell, he kept it from everyone.”
Pretty Boy’s amusement died instantly. He took the chair across from me and propped his elbows on the table.
“What happened?”
I blew out a breath and pinched the bridge of my nose.
“Dad borrowed three hundred thousand dollars from Edgar fucking Sweeney, and now he needs to pay it back. In full. Cash. In forty-eight hours.”
Pretty Boy’s eyes darkened.
“What the hell? Why would he—?”
“I asked the exact same question,” I replied. “Sweeney wouldn’t tell me. And don’t go pestering Dad about this. I want to get it cleared up before he checks himself out of the hospital.”
Pretty Boy scrubbed a hand over his mouth.
“That’s a lot of money, Lila.”
“I know. I don’t have it. And I’m pretty sure Dad doesn’t either.” I scratched at the label on my beer bottle with my thumb. “I…I was going to talk to the club about it.”
His eyebrows flicked up.
“I bet that was excruciating for you to admit, wasn’t it?”
“Yes,” I bit out through gritted teeth. “Don’t gloat. It’s not attractive.”
He hummed, dragging his thumb along his lower lip.
“So, you’re saying that I am attractive otherwise.”
I grumbled and slouched in my chair, crossing my arms.
“You’re unbelievable. That’s what you’re taking away from this situation right now? This asshole is breathing down my dad’s neck if he doesn’t shell out a shit load of money he doesn’t have, and you’re preening over the fact that I called you attractive?”
A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.
“Your words, not mine.”
I groaned and pushed away from the table. Pretty Boy laughed and caught my wrist.
“Hold on, hold on,” he said. “Let me call Ironside. If anyone knows anything about this fucked up mess, it will be him, all right?”
I hated how my skin burned at his touch. I hated the way I could feel the heat of his fingertips, pressing against my pulse, warm and strong on the sensitive skin of my inner wrist.
One innocent touch like that should not have felt as erotic as it did.
I brushed him off and moved to the opposite side of the kitchen, putting distance between us. Pretty Boy pulled his phone from the pocket of his cut. Ironside picked up on the first ring.
“Hey, Ironside, you’re on speaker,” Pretty Boy replied. “Lila is here with me. We need to talk.”
“Oh, that can’t be good,” Ironside mumbled. “Go on. I’m listening.”
I leaned forward, bracing my hands on the table.
“Did you know Dad was in debt to Edgar Sweeney?”
A long pause echoed over the phone. I was almost beginning to think that the call had dropped off when Ironside finally heaved a sigh, swearing under his breath.
“I didn’t know. But I had a feeling he was having money trouble.”
That wasn’t the answer I wanted to hear.
“Why? For what?”
Ironside took another minute or two as he deliberated his answer.
“Getting old sucks, Lila. Your dad was slowing down. He couldn’t keep up with the club anymore, and he knew that. So, he…he started gambling. It was a desperate grab to do something he was good at, something that didn’t require keeping up with younger men.”
I closed my eyes and bowed my head. Dad was usually so diligent with his vices. He never did anything to excess. He claimed it was part of being President, that he couldn’t afford to slip up when his club needed him to be strong around the clock.
As a result, he was never drunk and he never gambled more than whatever spare change he had in his pocket at the time.
But three hundred thousand dollars of gambling debt was far more than pocket money.
“That doesn’t make sense,” Pretty Boy said. “Why would he do that? Prez doesn’t even bet more than twenty bucks at poker. How did he end up that deep in the hole? And why would he go to Sweeney for cash? If he kept it in the club, we would have happily loaned him the money.”
“That’s exactly the issue,” Ironside replied. “He wouldn’t put that kind of debt on the club. It was his mistake, his problem. He already felt like he was slowing us down as he got older. Do you really think he would bum a few grand off any of us?”
“No,” I relented in a rough voice. “He’s too stubborn for that.”
A beat of silence filled the air as none of us spoke, letting the reality of the moment sink in.
“Dad’s heart is under too much stress already,” I said at last, breaking the silence. “This could kill him.”
“Agreed,” Ironside replied grimly. “How much time does Hillbilly have to pay back the loan?”
“Forty-eight hours,” I said.
He swore softly. Pretty Boy met my gaze across the table.
“Did Sweeney say what he would do if he didn’t get his money?”
I chewed the inside of my cheek.
“Not exactly, but it’s the mafia. It won’t be a slap on the wrist.”
Pretty Boy’s eyes darkened and his pupils narrowed, like a wolf locked onto its prey.
“What did he say, Lila?”
I sighed, pressing my lips together.
Be a good girl and get me my money, or I’ll have to hurt that pretty, perfect body of yours.
Telling Ironside and Pretty Boy any of that would go over like a lead brick.
“If Dad can’t pay off his debt,” I said. “It falls to me. That was part of their agreement. And Sweeney didn’t get specific, but if he doesn’t get cash, he’ll take blood instead. And then he'll squeeze my mom and my stepsisters for the money."
“Well, that’s a threat if I ever heard one,” Ironside said in a dry tone.
“I want protection for Lila,” Pretty Boy said immediately.
“Done,” Ironside replied.
“Absolutely not,” I protested. “No one is babysitting me. Look.”
I grabbed my purse from the counter and pulled out the pistol my father gave me for my eighteenth birthday.
“I can shoot just as well as any of you on the firing range, and you know it,” I said.
“Not the point,” Ironside put in.
“I’m with Ironside on this one,” Pretty Boy said. “That means you’re outvoted.”
I jutted my chin out and jammed my purse on the table.
“I’m not some princess that you lock away in a tower.”
“No one said anything about locking you up,” Pretty Boy shot back. “You can go all over town…as long as you have someone with you for protection.”
I clenched my teeth. Pretty Boy spread his hands.
“Fight me all you want, sweetheart. This is non-negotiable. You are the President’s daughter and that fucking bastard, Sweeney, threatened you.
That means we have to keep both you and your dad safe.
As for your mom and your stepsisters, we can't really do much except prevent this whole thing from getting to them in the first place.”
“If you throw a tantrum for too long,” Ironside said. “It wastes precious time we could be putting toward getting that debt off Hillbilly’s back.”
“I am not throwing a tantrum,” I said.
“Well, you are sulking a little bit,” Pretty Boy countered.
I glared at him. He just grinned, knowing he had the upperhand.
“Fine,” I grumbled.
Pretty Boy rose to his feet, eyes gleaming with amusement as he stepped closer, pressing his lips to my cheek.
“Thank you for playing nice, just this once,” he murmured.
My mouth went dry and my skin tingled where he’d kissed me. I resisted the urge to reach up and touch the phantom heat of his lips still lingering there like a hot brand.