Take the Heat

God, that voice. That low, teasing voice used to turn my insides to liquid. Honestly it still did, but I knew better than to believe in it.

The sleeves of his dress shirt had been rolled up. His slacks alternately draped and hugged his long legs in all the right places. He was a handsome picture, purely male and tailored power.

And I hated him.

I tried to channel all that hate into a single word. His name. So familiar and yet completely foreign to me now. “Liam.”

Whatever effect I’d been going for, it wasn’t that half smile. A quirk of his lips. A sparkle in his eye. I hated how happy he could be in this moment, when he’d just assaulted my brother. Or ordered someone to do it, more likely.

In that moment I wanted to hit back. “I despise you. You are a horrible human being, and the Liam I knew, my friend, would have hated who you are now.”

For a second, his expression flickered. Was that remorse? But then a cool mask slid into place. “Aren’t you glad I turned you down, then, all those years ago.”

He didn’t say it like a question. Which was a good thing, because I hadn’t been glad. The fourteen-year-old version of me had been devastated when I’d asked him to be my boyfriend. He’d been too old for me, eighteen by then, but I hadn’t understood that. He’d let me down gently, so gently, saying he had to focus on his work now, focus on making something of himself—but he’d wait for me. That’s what he said. He’d wait for me to grow up.

And I had believed him, but I hadn’t known that his work was loan sharking and whatever other illegal enterprises he had. I hadn’t known that making something of himself meant turning into a criminal. It had been five years since that day, and though I mostly pretended it had never happened, sometimes a deep feeling of humiliation would heat me from the inside out.

Like it did now, raising the temperature of my whole body and making my cheeks burn. I fumbled through my purse. “Here. I don’t have the whole amount. I have two thousand.”

He stared at the slim wad of bills in my outstretched hand with an expression of distaste.

I pushed it toward him. “Just take it. I’ll get the rest to you, somehow. I swear. Just let my brother go.”

“You only have two thousand dollars,” he repeated slowly.

Did he not believe me? “It’s everything I have. I cleaned out my account. I didn’t even keep any back for rent, but my paycheck comes in a week and…I’ll figure something out.”

He looked at me oddly. “Where’s the rest of your money?”

Was he trying to humiliate me? “I don’t have any other money. Just what I make at the nursing home. It barely covers my bills. The only reason I have this much is from the paintings my brother sold.”

At that Liam looked at my brother, and I felt Benny stiffen in his seat. Some silent conversation was taking place that I couldn’t understand.

“What is it?” I asked, afraid to know the truth. This whole business was dirty—and terrifying.

“Your precious brother, the one you rushed here to save, has been stealing from you.”

“What? No.”

“Go ahead. Ask him.”

The thing that convinced me was Liam’s almost sympathetic expression. I turned to Benny with a sick feeling in my stomach. “Benny?” When he didn’t answer—didn’t even look at me—I asked again, with a faint note of hysteria this time. “Bennett?”

“I sold them for more than I told you,” he mumbled.

I stared at him, uncomprehending. I didn’t want to comprehend that my own brother had lied to me. Stolen from me.

My paintings had been a hobby. A passion, but something I did on the side, in private. My brother had convinced me to start selling them—I’d thought he was being supportive! But I hadn’t known where to sell them. Working extra shifts at the nursing home, I hadn’t had time to figure it out, either. But Benny had known. He’d sold five of my paintings in the last two months, for four hundred dollars apiece.

It was only fair that he’d taken a percentage as commission. I’d insisted on that.

“How much did you sell them for?” I asked in a small voice.

“A thousand each,” he mumbled through puffy, split lips. “Then two thousand on the last one, ’cause it was bigger.”

Jesus. He’d kept so much money from me. My own brother had done that.

“He stole from me too, in a way.” Liam’s words were seductive, promising me absolution for my anger at my brother. “He borrowed money and promised to give it back. Except he didn’t. That’s why he’s here. You know that. Because he’s a liar and a thief.”