Page 10

S arah

It feels like my heart got ripped out of my chest and now I’m just holding it in my hands.

That could have been me.

And nobody would have torn apart half of Russia to find me. Not even Lea. I doubt I would have even been important enough to mention on a podcast. Not one that people listen to.

“Boyd,” I whisper, my heart thundering in my hands, because everything inside me feels numb. “I… I should have reported it.”

“We’re a long way past that,” he grunts.

“If something happened to someone else because I just went home…” I feel tears welling up.

“Not your fault. You didn’t put anything in their drink. He did it,” he says, throwing away his cigarette and yanking the steering wheel toward an apartment complex. “We’re here. Stay in the car.”

“Wait,” I say, reaching for him, but he is gone as soon as my fingers feel his arm. “Boyd!”

I jump out of the SUV, rather than staying in it. I realize it’s a big mistake as soon as I see his glare, but I can’t stop myself from rushing toward him.

“Don’t do this. I’ll go talk to the cops right now. I’ll tell them what happened, and…” I get cut off by a shake of his head.

“No, this is how I handle things,” he says. “I don’t think you want to see this. That’s why I told you to stay in the car, but if you want to follow me, I’m not going to stop you.”

Boyd moves up the steps so fast I barely have a moment to blink before he’s cleared the first flight. I hurry behind him. He moves way faster than someone his size should be able to. Like a ninja that… bends metal stairs when he stomps them. Holy shit.

I can’t stop him. I’m not sure a bullet could stop him. I need to do more cardio, because I’m breathing hard when we get to the top. Boyd hasn’t broken a sweat. Those unfiltered cigarettes aren’t doing much to his stamina, but I’m certainly regretting my life choices.

Boyd gets to the end of the railing and…

of course, he puts his really big boot through the door.

It explodes into pieces and Boyd stomps them into splinters as he enters.

This is like following Batman into battle.

If I talk about this on my podcast, nobody is going to believe a word of it unless I tone it down some.

Especially if it ends with a dead guy missing part of his face. That part will get the PG-13 treatment.

“Bill Clark!” Boyd roars. “Get the fuck up, boy.”

I turn the corner into the apartment and Boyd is already on top of the kid. He really does look like a kid. Probably a college student. I would have turned him down politely, even if I was a little tipsy.

“Ah! Help! Somebody!” Bill screams.

“Nobody’s coming, Billy-boy,” Boyd snarls. “But I’m here. Right now. And so is she. Take a good look at my friend. Remember her?”

Boyd turns the guy’s head toward me, and necks don’t bend that way, but his head stays attached. Bill looks absolutely terrified. I would be too.

“No!” Bill screams louder.

“You drop shit in so many drinks you don’t remember them anymore?” Boyd yells and it feels like the floor shakes, but that’s probably just my knees.

“Oh, god! Oh, god! I’m sorry!” Bill sobs. “I remember her! I didn’t do anything! I didn’t even stop her when she went outside to wait for someone to pick her up!”

“You didn’t put anything in her drink?” Boyd leans closer and turns his head in the most terrifying way possible. I hear his neck pop a few times. “You’re denying it?”

“No! No! I did put something in her drink!” Bill cries. “But I chickened out!”

“And since then?” Boyd growls.

“I haven’t! Never! It was the first time, and I couldn’t go through with it!” Bill is racked with sobs. I almost feel sorry for him— almost .

Boyd looks up at me. His rage softens slightly. I’m not sure if it’s because he’s looking at me or because of what Bill said.

“I believe him,” Boyd says. “What about you?”

“Y-yeah,” I stammer.

Boyd wraps one hand around Bill’s throat, then squeezes until his eyes are bulging.

“Don’t ever try something like that again,” Boyd says angrily. “This is your one pass. Say yes, sir if you understand.”

“Y-yes… sir…” Bill chokes past Boyd’s enormous hand.

“Good boy,” Boyd hisses, then he releases the kid and stands up.

Boyd walks to the door and I get out of his way. I take one last look at the gasping Bill and hurry after the one who almost choked the life out of him.

That was impressive. I think I’m more impressed with his restraint than the rest of it. Especially after he told me what happened to his sister. I can’t even imagine.

We get to the vehicle, and Boyd is back on the strip in no time, driving carefully, like nothing happened at all.

It feels like my heart is back in my chest, but it’s still thundering. I take a few nervous puffs of my vape.

And I thought getting a spanking was going to be the craziest part of my day.

“Think that’s good enough for a podcast?” Boyd asks, glancing over at me.

“Yeah,” I whisper, still unsure if I will actually talk about this.

“Good, then I need a fucking drink,” he mutters.

I don’t point out the fact it’s not even noon yet, because I feel like I need one too. I feel like I’ve been on an emotional and physical roller coaster ride since I woke up to find Boyd standing at the foot of my bed.

That’s not a fun way to wake up.

What am I doing here? In Las Vegas. With my life. I talk about the Mafia on my podcast. I don’t ride around Las Vegas with Big Mafia Boyd .

But here I am. Coming down from the high of adrenaline laced with fear.

Nibbling my bottom lip. Stealing glances at the guy who just tore apart multiple doors because some guy dropped a roofie in my drink.

Put the fear of God, Cthulhu, and all the other deities who don’t answer my prayers into three young men who won’t forget the day they came face-to-face with… Boyd.

And it was rather exciting, even if it scared me. Maybe more exciting than I’d like to admit.

Boyd turns into a parking lot and I perk up, interested to see where he is taking me.

“Is this place even open?” I question, looking at a tattered sign that has a picture of some kind of flower.

“This is the Broken Lily,” Boyd answers. “They never close.”

Another part of Las Vegas I’ve never seen before. This looks like the side of town where tourists go to get stabbed. There is an old, rundown strip club across the street and working girls on the sidewalk. I guess you don’t have to go inside to get a show.

“Where are we, exactly?” I ask, looking around nervously while Boyd parks the SUV. “Looks like a rough part of town.”

“Most people call it The Gutter,” Boyd says. “I grew up here. Probably would have never left if Massimo hadn’t found me.”

Boyd opens my door and helps me out of the SUV. I follow him into a dimly lit bar and look around.

The Broken Lily is completely empty, except for the guy standing behind the counter. He’s got shaggy brown hair poking out from under a newsboy cap. He looks to be in his late fifties or early sixties. His weathered face lights up when he sees us.

“Boyd, lad! Been a while,” he says in a thick Scottish accent.

“It has,” Boyd admits. “Sarah, this is Freddy. Rowan’s dad. Freddy, meet Sarah. Boss lady’s best friend.”

“Boss lady? Aye, lad. Ye mean Massimo’s new bride!” he exclaims. “Pleasure to meet ye, lass. What’re the two of ye drinking?”

“You know what I want,” Boyd says, walking up, clearing some space, and straddling a stool. “She likes fruity drinks.”

“I know just the thing,” Freddy says, spinning around and limping toward the liquor selection.

Lea introduced Massimo’s best friend, Rowan, as the meanest motherfucker in a kilt. I guess that makes Freddy the meanest bartender in a kilt. I’m not sure if he’s mean. He seems rather pleasant.

I look around the Broken Lily while Freddy fixes our drinks.

It’s not what I’d call a dive, but it’s close.

There’s a jukebox to my right, next to a small kitchen area, but it looks closed.

There are some arcade games next to the kitchen, and a lot of tables for customers.

The bathrooms aren’t marked, but there’s a pair of red lacy panties nailed to one door and a big purple dildo nailed to the other one—an interesting way of identifying them.

“Did you spend a lot of time here when you were younger?” I ask, finally looking back at Boyd.

“Freddy, she wants to know if I spent a lot of time here when I was younger,” Boyd chuckles, motioning to the bartender.

“Aye, he did,” Freddy laughs. “Couldn’t get rid of the lad. Rowan, Massimo, Leo, and Boyd. The Four Musketeers! Sometimes it was five, when Emilio tagged along.”

“Wow, I didn’t realize you were so close with Massimo,” I remark.

“Used to be,” Boyd grunts. “We were kids back then, though. Things were never quite the same after Leo’s girlfriend died and he… lost it for a while.”

“Jessica, aye,” Freddy says, walking over with the drinks and putting them down. “Lovely lass. Such a shame.”

Boyd’s drink looks like whiskey, but I assume it’s scotch since that’s what he normally drinks. Mine is blue with a yellow umbrella. Not the kind of drink I expected in a place like this. I take a sip, tasting pineapple, coconut, and lemon lime soda. It’s really good—and strong.

“What happened to her?” I ask, glancing back and forth between them. “Or is it one of those things you can’t talk about?”

“She got sick,” Boyd says. “Went downhill really fast. One day Leo was talking about asking her to marry him, while all of us gave him shit about being too young to get married. The next, she was in the hospital, fighting for her life.”

“Leo took it hard. Poor lad,” Freddy adds. “He loved the lass. Everybody knew that, even this big oaf.”

Freddy leans across the bar and playfully backhands Boyd’s arm. Boyd nods in agreement.

“Yeah, he did,” Boyd admits. “So much that he became a priest after she died. Not immediately, but that was how he dealt with it. Still dealing with it, I guess.”

“If ye don’t mind, I need to go deal with some deliveries in the back,” Freddy says, wiping down the counter and leaving the rag. “Holler if you need more drinks.”

“Thanks, Freddy,” Boyd says.

Boyd lights a cigarette after Freddy goes into the back, so I take a few hits from my vape and sip my drink. This drink will have me in bed before noon if I’m not careful, so it’s a one-drink morning. One-drink morning , like this is normal for me. I sure hope it doesn’t become normal.

I’m alone with Boyd, again. Stealing glances, again. Thinking about things I shouldn’t, again . He spanked me this morning. I watched him kick doors in and threaten people. I bet that’s just a normal morning for him. I should be running away from Big Mafia Boyd and Las Vegas as fast as I can.

But I don’t want to. I can’t make myself do it.

Instead of running, I reach across the space between us.

I put my hand on his. A tingle shoots through my body like the contact creates electricity out of thin air.

Boyd’s hand stiffens like he’s going to pull away, but he doesn’t.

He rubs the tip of my finger and exhales sharply, taking another drag from his cigarette.

“Thank you for taking care of me,” I say, feeling a flutter in my chest.

“You don’t have to thank me, Sarah,” he mumbles. “Like you said, it wasn’t just about you.”

“I’m not just talking about that,” I sigh, sipping my drink. “I’m talking about this morning, too. I didn’t mean to oversleep and make you worry, but the notes were my fault. I wasn’t thinking clearly.”

Nothing like seeing Boyd in action to understand what danger really looks like.

What would I do if someone like Boyd kicked in my door, angry because I mentioned one of their crimes on my podcast?

That would be it for me. Dead? Missing without a trace?

I have to be really careful, and having Boyd approve everything doesn’t seem like such a hindrance anymore.

Plus, it means I get to spend more time with him.

I like that part, too.