He turned left on Montgomery, heading the back way to the shop instead of the more obvious route. I wondered briefly if he thought maybe Tommy or his men might know where I lived and were even watching my apartment building. I told myself that was the paranoia talking, but it was hard to brush that aside when it was a very real possibility.
“Sure, things are different,” he admitted. “That doesn’t mean I ever thought of you as a peon. You had spunk from the get-go and it would have been stupid to just throw away that business knowhow.”
I lifted an eyebrow, though he was back to looking at the road not me, so he likely didn’t see it. “Business knowhow,” I repeated. “Fine, I was running The Cut before you came along, but the fact is you made it successful, not me.”
He shrugged his shoulders. “Of course I did. That’s what I do.”
I laughed a little. Still cocky.
“But even I can’t make gold out of nothing.”
I fell silent, taking in the compliment hidden in his words. He thought The Cut was something, even if he obviously felt pretty proud of himself for making it what it was now. And all he had to do was burn down half my store, I thought wryly. But the knowledge that he’d sabotaged half my revenue and blackmailed me didn’t leave me with the same angry feelings it once did. Instead, I felt pride at having survived despite the roadblocks.
After a bit, I said, “You didn’t answer me. Am I a partner or not?”
He thought a moment, then asked, “Do you want to be?”
Did I want to be? Hell of a question. A couple of months ago the answer would have been a resolute no. Who wanted to get dragged into an illicit business of buying and selling—or, at the very least, storing—illegal drugs? Not good, law-abiding citizens like myself. But I’d come to the conclusion that being a decent person and following the rules didn’t really get me anything other than bills I couldn’t stay on top of and other people taking advantage of me.
“Better answer with conviction, because I won’t ask again,” Ethan warned me.
I straightened up in my seat, lifting my chin defiantly. “Yes. I want to be a partner. If I’m going to be your…whatever, and store your drugs, then I want to be involved. Completely.”
He smirked a little at the “whatever” comment, but nodded his head. “Al lright. But understand the risks involved. If we go down, it won’t be to juvie.”
“I’m not afraid.”
He belted out a laugh that was dark and smooth, the sound filling up the car. Shaking his head a little he said, “Of course you are, but that’s what I like about you. You’ll do what needs to be done even if you’re terrified. Mark of a strong person.”
I blushed a little at the compliment, but also because I really wanted to argue with him about being scared. He was right, of course. I was scared. Prison was not somewhere I ever wanted to be. But I was already in this mess. I might as well go in all the way.
Clearing my throat, I asked, “And the other stuff?”
“What other stuff?”
Taking a breath, I asked, “Payments? Am I still your call girl?”
Grinning, he glanced over at me and let his eyes drag over my form long enough to make me uncomfortable that he wasn’t watching the road. But my body certainly didn’t mind the attention. “No, now you’re just my girl. And if I catch you with anyone else, I’ll kill him.”
If that promise was supposed to worry me, it didn’t. Instead, I felt a warmth blossom in my chest at the fact that I was his.
“Are you good with that?” he asked, but his expression suggested he already knew my answer.
So he seemed a little startled when I threw him a curveball instead. “Maybe. But I have two questions first.”
Shooting me a dubious look, he nodded.
“First, what about Cody?”
“What about him?”
“Are you just looking for the booty without the baggage?”
He smirked a little at my terminology. “I told you, I like a dirty momma.”
Flushing, I kept his words from derailing me. “Yeah, but do you want to deal with her kid, too?”
“You’re a package deal, aren’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Then I’m taking you both. Mine is mine. Cody could use a male figure in his life anyway.”
I rolled my eyes. “What do you know about what a six-year-old needs?”
He grew quiet and for a long time I thought he wasn’t going to say anything more. When he did finally speak, it was in a soft tone that was uncharacteristic of him. It radiated sadness that his eyes had only ever hinted at before. “My father was a decent man. Good, law-abiding citizen. He used to tell me that if you wanted to do things right, you did them yourself and you did them honest.”