Break For Him (Volkov Crime Family 2)

“Fuck you.”

“I’m glad you understand.” I turned away. “We’re visiting your shop in an hour. So get yourself cleaned up, shower, and eat something.”

She said nothing as I left and locked her door again.

I touched my cheek. My fingers came back bloody. I pit my fingers in my mouth and sucked the blood away.

What an incredible specimen. I leaned against the door and smiled to myself. She was going to be a lot of work, and I had a feeling she’d kick my ass soon enough. But god damn I wanted it.

I wanted to see how much she could make it hurt.Leigh was willing in the car on the drive over. I couldn’t blame her though. From her perspective, I was ruining her life.

From mine though, I was giving her a second chance.

Shirtadelphia was a small store front on South Street crammed between an Irish bar and a tattoo parlor. I found a spot a block over and got out. I walked around to her side and opened the door.

She climbed down without a word.

“Lead the way.”

I watched her ass in her tight dark jeans walk ahead of me back toward the store. Her gray t-shirt was a little baggy for my taste, but even if she was trying to hide her figure, she wasn’t doing a good job. Nothing could keep those curves from me, and the memory of her attacking me this morning only made my blood boil even more.

Sometimes I surprised myself. I should’ve been pissed she ruined a favorite pair of suit pants. Instead, I was overjoyed that she’d shown some backbone.

The sidewalk was damp from the night before and foot traffic was slow. Most shops were closed for the morning. A drycleaner’s neon lights flickered as we walked past. A young couple held hands and carried cardboard coffee cups. I wondered if Leigh secretly wanted to be like them.

I walked behind her and enjoyed the view until we reached her store.

She stared at it then looked back at me. “I don’t have my—”

I took her key from my pocket and held it out.

She took it without comment and unlocked the front.

Shirtadelphia had a hip, bright interior. She flipped the lights on. The floors were polished, bright white tile. Each wall was covered in shirts, their fronts folded to show the graphic. Two long couches with gray, faded cushions sat in the center of the space facing an old mid-century coffee table with magazines on top. A flat screen TV hung in the back-left corner and a door led to the back. The counter looked like a trio of vintage washing machines in green, blue, and pale pink.

She gestured around then turned to face me. “This is it. My whole freaking life.”

“Beautiful.” I beamed at her then ran a hand down along the back of a couch. “Really, you have a great eye for this stuff.”

“I’d say thanks, but also, fuck you.”

I nodded. “You did all this yourself, didn’t you? Built everything? Designed it all?”

“Mostly,” she said. “I had some help building the shelves and the counter. Otherwise it was all me.”

“Very impressive.” I smiled at the shirt designs. Some were goofy, stupid jokey shirts with idiotic slogans like Blonde Gone Wild and U Coming At Me Bro mixed with Philadelphia-centric designs featuring the Liberty Bell and other iconic imagery. Then some were more abstract, a series of geometric shapes and overlapping circles in different colors and patterns.

“I don’t know how you think this is going to work. Most of my clients are young, you know? Teenage kids. And I doubt you’re trying to sell pills to teenagers.”

I shrugged. “Teenagers, preteens, children. Whoever wants it and can afford it, I’ll sell to them.”

She stared at me. “Are you joking?”

“Normally, no. But yes, right now I am joking.”

She looked oddly relieved. “I know you’re an asshole, but I’m trying to decide if you’re a monster or not.”

“Oh, I’m most certainly a monster.” I walked over and fingered a shirt featuring Ben Franklin riding a T-Rex. “But I don’t sell to kids and I don’t take stupid risks. Teenagers are inherently untrustworthy. And I’m not trying to get anyone killed. We’re selling to seasoned addicts with a proven track record of keeping their fucking mouth shut.”

“Sounds great.” She walked over and stood behind the counter, arms crossed. “And meanwhile I’m supposed to run my business as usual?”

“Perhaps not quite as usual, but yes, that’s the idea.”

“Because I think someone’s going to notice a bunch of junkies coming in and out.”

“You’d be surprised. Did you notice it when your brother was spiraling?”

She glared at me and said nothing.

“Truth is, my little diamond, junkies tend to look like normal people. Regular people that got hooked on a drug, but are generally high functioning. Sure, of course there are junkies living on the street, but we’re not looking for them. Pills aren’t cheap. Heroin’s much cheaper. We’re selling to upscale clients.”