Audition (North Security 4)

Bill Sikes, a vicious thug in the novel Oliver, was probably named after a merchant who lived near Dickens when he was a teenager.

Josh, five years earlier

I’ve been all over the world, but one bar looks like another one. Sloppy drunk girls and opportunistic motherfuckers hoping to fuck. That used to be me. It should be me. Instead I’m nursing the same Jack and Coke since I got here while Caleb feels up the third chick in a row.

They’re practically fucking at the table, her legs draped over his, his tongue in her mouth. I should take one of these girls into a grimy bathroom and fuck the tension out of my body. Instead I’m running my finger along condensation, cold where she’d be hot, imagining the sheen of sweat on a certain dancer’s skin. That dancer will be tucked into bed now. Big brother keeps a tight watch on her, which is pretty fucking hypocritical considering how he treats the girls in the bar. Caleb gives the pretty blonde a shove, sending her staggering on high heels toward a packed table with her friends.

“We have business,” he tells her. “Come back later.” And she goes, flushed, clothes askew. The group swallows her into a tangle of limbs and drinks. She’ll probably get fucked by someone else before Caleb takes her home. I’m not judging her. This is the life I live, too. It’s rough and dirty, the grime so thick no Clorox could make it clean.

We’ve got a square table for the two of us, which is practically VIP treatment in a place like this. He turns to me, and his tongue darts out to wet his lip. I keep my grip loose on the thick glass cradled in my palm. Let him think I’m only here for his business. The boss wants my eyes open on this trip to the bar, as if my eyes are ever really closed. That’s an excellent way to get a knife in the back…or the front. The characters in my part of the world are rarely much for subtlety. Caleb is no exception. He leans back in his seat, his dark eyes sweeping over the bar. “Ah—there they are.”

Two men muscle their way through the crowd, headed straight for us. Noah and Connor are obvious choices, even for Caleb. Connor walks with a swagger. He turns heads all through the bar. Every move he makes is an invitation to look at him. He pulls in everyone’s attention and lets it settle over his shoulders like the cheap yellow light of the bar is a goddamn spotlight. Connor loves the big entrance like he loves a good fuck. It almost makes up for the fact that he’s got a weird scar like a part in his hair. A combat injury he loves to work for the women.

The man behind him wants no part of the attention. He wears a scowl that sucks the light from around Connor and brings the bar back to equilibrium. If Connor pulls everyone in, Noah pushes everyone away. Summer heat followed by a cold snap. I’ve heard whispers in dark corners about how things ended with one of his patrol partners after they got into a fight. Even with the gun at my side I still wouldn’t relish a disagreement with Noah tonight.

Caleb stands to greet them with handshakes hard enough to crush bone, and the three of them squeeze back around the table. “Next time I call a meeting, be on time.”

Connor raises his hands, a smile playing at the corners of his lips. “Got caught up. Didn’t mean to halt the proceedings.” He and Caleb exchange a look.

“No need to be coy,” I tell them. “If you have something to discuss, then say it.” I don’t know how much longer I can sit here with that dancer’s body in a naked arabesque at the edges of my mind, wondering how smooth her skin would be under my rough palms, how warm and soft and clean.

A gleam flashes in Caleb’s eyes. He leans forward in his chair, revealing how much he wants this—how much he needs men of my skill and lack of morals. “I brought you here to present an…opportunity.”

The next sip of my Jack and Coke feels filthy against my tongue, like something might be swimming in it. Opportunity means black trucks parked outside warehouses. It means unloading thick cases in the dead of night. It means duffel bags stuffed with money and smelling like the desert.

It means weapons in the hands of men who look at us like meat waiting to be carved.

Noah leans against the wall, arms crossed.

I arch an eyebrow at Caleb. “Which is?”

“I’ll reveal the details when you’re ready to hear them. When I trust you more.” He lifts a shoulder. “For now all you need to know is that it will be worth your time.”

Which means the paycheck will be good. I wish I could wipe the bitter taste off my tongue with one of those unmarked bills, but I know as well as anyone that it won’t work.

I spin the glass around on the table, walking my fingers around the edge. Once upon a time I raised my right hand and swore to support and defend the constitution of the United States. Empty words for an empty soul. I did that for the paycheck, too. And a ticket out of hell. Now he’s offering me even more money. I should jump at the chance—not so I can become a snitch, but so I can make something out of my life.

I’m not a fucking hero. Never have been. “How much?”

Caleb lets out a laugh sharper than a knife. “More than you’ll know how to spend. As long as you come through for me. You get the job done. You don’t ask questions.”

Of course I wouldn’t. Not if I’m the man Caleb believes me to be. And I’ll be that man tonight. As for the other nights, I can’t make any promises. The table nearby, men with bad intentions, the women and booze they’ll use to accomplish them, seethes with laughter. A glass crashes to the floor. One more layer of spilled beer coats the wood.

“Listen.” Caleb leans in. “We’ve got more deals on the table, and we can’t take them all on unless we have some help. From people who won’t fuck us over.”

If I were a better man, I’d stand up and tell him that eventually, their illegal arms trading absolutely will fuck him over. In fact, it probably already has, out there in mountain ranges across the ocean. But what would I gain by doing that? I’d be shutting out two chances to waste Caleb instead of one. And I’m not a better man.

Because while half of my mind is scanning Caleb’s features for a sign that he’s trying to screw with me, the other half is back in that shithole of a warehouse. The ghost of Bethany’s lips on mine whispers over my skin. I’d fuck her just as soon as I’d kill him. I’d do one after the other. Of course, I’d prefer to fuck her with her brother safely underground.

“I have other business.” I push my chair back and stand up, tossing a bill down on the table. Caleb tenses, his eyes following my every move. This business involves inappropriate thoughts about his sister and a locked bathroom do

or.

“So you’re in, then.”

I look Caleb in the eye. “I’ll let you know.”

Fuck this decision. I push back, ignoring the fact that Connor follows me out. They don’t get an answer right away. Only he isn’t coming to pressure me into agreeing.