I leaned in and kissed her cheek. I saw her eyelashes batting fast. She fought tears. I allowed myself a quick look in Hannah’s direction. I couldn’t miss the accusation in her stare.
You made your pregnant little sister cry.
Chapter Five
Tyler
I walked in the basement fifteen minutes earlier than I should have. Patrick Hayes was already there. Two men were fighting in the ring. They wore black jeans and black t-shirts, just like all of Hayes’s cutthroats. One of them was bleeding.
Chloe approached me. “How did the dinner go?” She tried to talk to me like she normally would, but I could tell she was scared.
“Go upstairs, Chloe.” She shook her head. “I don’t need you here for this.” My phone vibrated in my pocket. I took it out. My mother. I hung up, found a picture of Clem, turned my phone in Chloe’s direction. “This is my sister. Go upstairs. If you see her, or that woman that showed up last week, the blond one, kick them out.” I put my hand on Chloe’s back and pushed her through the door.
“Kick them out?”
“Yes.”
“But how?”
“I don’t care. Just do it.”
I closed the door of the basement in her face. Last night, all Patrick Hayes said to me was that we were having a private conversation tonight about my secret business. It was obvious what he wanted. A cut from the profits. The stipulations he would force on me concerned me though.
Shoving my hands in my pockets, I walked towards him. He was sitting at the table in the back. The one he sat at every week since he started to visit us on Fridays. I wasn’t in a hurry to start the conversation, but Clementine being in Boston, pregnant, and already implying she might come here, made me want to get this over with.
I stood in front of Patrick Hayes and extended my hand to him. He took it without tearing his eyes away from the fight on the ring, then pointed to the chair next to him.
We watched the fight in silence for a few minutes, until one of the men on the ring, the one that was bleeding, passed out. In that moment Hayes lost interest in what was happening on the ring and finally addressed me.
“I like the way you run your ring, Tyler. I can’t let you do it anymore though.”
He waved a hand in the air and everyone around walked away. The only one who stayed behind was a young man. He was different from the others. He didn’t wear a black t-shirt, but a baby blue dress shirt with sleeves rolled up to his elbows and was leaning against the wall behind Hayes. They were definitely related. He looked like a younger, more handsome version of the mobster.
“This is my territory,” Patrick continued. “It doesn’t look good in the eyes of my competitors that I let you do this without collecting my cut.”
“I completely understand, Mr. Hayes. How about I offer you a cut of the money I saved, and we close this place for good.”
I needed the money I made down there, but I needed my head to stay attached to my body more.
“I ran a background check on you, son. I know what you did a few years ago. What you do with the money. You need it.”
Physical pain ripped my insides. I should have anticipated it. That he would know everything about me. That he would bring that up.
“Let me tell you what is going to happen now. I will buy this bar. You will stay here as a manager. You will continue doing what you’re doing down here. The profits will be collected by my son.” He pointed behind his back to the young man, still leaning against the wall. “You will receive a fat paycheck. So will that pretty waitress you sent away. You will start selling bootleg liquor. I will provide it of course.
“Now. I don’t want you to lose your motivation, so if you do a good job, there will be additional benefits. A nice, spacious apartment in one of my buildings. A fast car. I am a generous man. If you don’t fuck me over.” The last sentence was delivered with an ice-cold tone meant to intimidate me. “I know you did a good job hiding until now, but that won’t be your problem anymore. I have connections. You will have protection if you work for me. Something you currently lack. You are one phone call away from being someone’s fuck buddy in jail.”
That protection he offered would solve all my current problems with the authorities but agreeing to become a part of Patrick Hayes’ business, running his fighting ring, selling bootlegged liquor would make me a full-time criminal.
“Can I think about it?” I asked even though I knew this wasn’t an offer. I didn’t miss the inkling that he would make that phone call that would send me to jail if he decided he didn’t need me. And he probably didn’t need me. Especially if he became the owner.
“Think about it?” Patrick tilted his head back to the ceiling as he was really considered it. “You know what? Yes. Think about it, Tyler. You can think about it while you fight with one of my men. I heard you were good but hadn’t had the pleasure of seeing you in action. So I will give you time to think about it.”
Hayes turned his head and his son pushed himself of the wall, leaning closer to his father. He wasn’t more than twenty years old.
“I want Sean,” the mobster ordered. The boy nodded and walked away. Probably to get that Sean guy. I stood up and walked passed everyone. I got up on the ring and dragged my shirt out of my jeans. By the time I unbuttoned it I had the full attention of the room.
Patrick Hayes thought I would cower. That was his only wrong assumption about me. He had no idea I welcomed the pain those fights caused me.
A man stepped in front of all the others. I nodded and he followed me to the ring.
***
The next day I woke up around two in the afternoon. My head was pounding, but only partly because of the beating it took last night. It wasn’t an easy win, but I won. Then when all the gangsters left the basement, I took a bottle of scotch and got drunk in my office. I didn’t bother to clean my wounds or even wash my hands from the blood they were covered in.
I remembered Chloe dragging me out of the office and pushing me inside a car. I had no idea who was driving. I had no idea how I got inside my apartment, but that was where I woke up.
Standing up from my bed, pain spread over my left side. I looked down. There was a huge purple spot right under my ribcage. I went to the bathroom and looked myself in the mirror. My face wasn’t that bad. It was bruised, but I have been worse.
I washed my hands from the blood and found out a lot of it was probably mine, since my skin was cut on more places that I had the patience to count.
All I wanted was an ice-cold shower. I knew the physical discomfort would soothe my mind. It always did. Ten minutes later I was feeling better. So much better that when my phone started buzzing and I saw the word Mom on the display I took the call without a second thought.
“Hey there, granny.”
“Tyler,” I heard her exasperated tone on the other side. “How nice of you to pick up when your mother calls.”
Sylvia Hartley loved pushing people’s buttons, riling them up. She tried extra hard with me because I almost never got angry. I wasn’t a violent man. People who didn’t know me well enough thought that I was, simply because I loved to fight. Not my mother, though. She knew she could provoke me for hours and I would still be smiling by the end of the day. That pissed her off immensely.