Fight Dirty (Black Rose Kisses 1)

“Black Rose business calls, I guess,” I murmur, and Levi nods.

“That’s usually how it is. Whenev

er we’re all together, we take the opportunity to check in.”

I open my mouth to ask him what they’re checking in about, but before the words come out, someone steps up to Levi and launches into a low voiced rant. Levi glances at me and then leads the man away, leaving me standing alone.

I consider dancing or trying to mingle, but I feel very outnumbered. I don’t know any of these people except the three I came with, and I’m not stupid enough to think I can trust them.

I don’t know what they’re involved in or who knows about my dad, and I don’t want to end up dancing with the wrong person or something. So I stay put, sipping my drink slowly and trying to tune into the cacophony of multiple conversations all happening at once around me.

All three of the guys I came with have stepped away to talk business, and none of them are close enough for me to listen in on them without being obvious. But maybe I can do some snooping on other people.

Music blares through the room, making it even harder to eavesdrop, but I tilt my head a little to one side as I listen to a few people converse to my left.

When my phone buzzes in my hand, the vibration against my palm startles me. I flip it over and see my dad’s picture flash on the screen.

Holy shit.

My heart races, and I immediately put my drink down and step outside to answer it. I haven’t heard from him since they took him away to do whatever they want him to do, and I have to know if he’s all right. On top of that, I just really, really want to hear his voice.

“Dad?” I say, hitting the button to answer the call as soon as I’m outside and can hear. “Dad, are you okay?”

“Hey, kiddo,” he replies. “It’s good to hear your voice.”

It doesn’t slip past me that he doesn’t answer the question, and he sounds tired. I’ve heard exhaustion in his voice before. Being a single parent wasn’t always easy for him, and there were definitely days that wore him down more than others. But this sounds like a new kind of tired. One that might be born from fear, and it kicks my anxiety up a notch.

“How are things going?” I ask.

“Fine.” He hesitates for a beat. “As fine as they can be. How are you? Are they treating you okay?”

“Yeah.” I nod, even though he can’t see me, gripping the phone tightly. I don’t want him worrying about me. “It’s all fine. I’m still going to classes and everything.”

“Good,” he says, then sighs. “That’s good. I’d hate for you to be suffering because of something I fucked up. I always wanted the best for you, you know that, right? I just want you to be happy and okay.”

“Dad,” I cut in. “What’s going on? You’re talking like…”

Like he’s worried he’s not going to see me again and doesn’t want to say it.

He sighs again, a heavy sound. “It’s fine, Mercy, I promise. There’s… a lot going on. I’m running out of time, and I’m not sure I can…” He trails off as if he doesn’t want to finish that thought. When he speaks again, something in his tone has shifted. “But you don’t need to worry, okay, kiddo? Not about me.”

That’s asking for a hell of a lot, all things considered. He’s all I have left, and every day that I don’t hear from him and don’t know what’s going on makes it harder to be sure he’s going to come back.

I’ve spent the past several weeks trying to find a sense of purpose in all of this, some goal to cling to that would help keep me from going insane with worry. I’ve been trying to keep it together, to find some semblance of normalcy and equilibrium in the fucked up new path my life has taken.

But hearing my dad’s voice—and the fear and defeat in it—makes all of the illusions come crashing down.

I can tell he’s trying to be strong, that he wants to seem like he has it all together, but I know him. I’ve known him my whole life, and I can always tell when he’s pretending, trying to downplay things so I don’t get concerned or scared.

“You just keep taking care of yourself,” he says quietly, his voice rough. “I know you’re tough and you’re smart, and I know you’re not going to let anything get you down. You don’t have to worry about me.”

My heart jolts. The more adamantly he insists I shouldn’t worry, the more certain I am that I should worry.

“Dad, I—”

“I love you, Mercy. So much. I gotta go.”

Before I can get another word in, he hangs up, leaving me standing outside in the cool night air with the phone pressed to my ear.