Page 5 of Bad Boy Next Door
“Muscled meatheads like you—”
“Listen”—he squared his feet on the Spanish tiles—“you don’t know me. At all. Just because I’m big doesn’t mean I hurt women. I’d never.” He looked a bit sick.
I took a deep breath. He was right. Kind of. I’d made assumptions. “Okay, okay.” I shook my head, beyond tired and cranky. “But you’ve got to admit—I’m the loser in the power dynamic here, I mean the top of my head barely comes to your armpit and…”
“I don’t like being accused—” He stopped mid-sentence and looked down as he turned away from me, clearly admitting defeat.
That’s right, you gorilla. You might be big and I might be small, but no one messes with Jade Cuoco.
“Hey, Nick!” An attractive woman, her disproportionately huge boobs strapped in like she was coming back from a run, arrived at the top of the stairs. “Thanks again for last night.”
“My pleasure, Melodie.”
With that, the man pushed open his door and slammed it behind him, leaving me in the hall, feeling like shit.
* * *
Jade
My phone rang. Epic bad timing. I was second from the front in a very long line at the corner grocery store I’d found three blocks from Shady Oaks. Planning to let it ring through, I glanced down to check the caller. Cal Dep of C&R. Dad.
I stepped out of line, answered, then accepted the reversed charges I couldn’t afford.
“Hey, Frank,” I said once we were connected. “What’s wrong?”
“I can’t call to say hello to my daughter? Why does something need to be wrong?”
Because I know you, I thought. Because I’ve been taking care of you for years.
He’d done the best he could, but between Frank’s addictions, bouts of depression, and general inability to hold down a job, I’d pretty much been parent to both my younger sister Crystal and our dad since Mom had vanished, two weeks after my seventh birthday—fifteen years ago next November. At the time, Crystal had barely turned four.
“Run out of cash in your commissary account?” Yawning, I set my basket of groceries on the floor and stretched. I’d never needed sleep so badly.
“Now that you mention it,” Frank said. “I could use a top up.”
“As soon as I get paid.”
“Oh.” His disappointment was clear. “When’s that going to be?”
“Not sure. When do I get the details of my new job?” The promised job had better come through since I’d quit all but one of my old jobs. Not that I’d ever had trouble finding work. Helps when you’re willing to do almost anything.
“You gotta to talk to the person who arranged the deal,” Dad said.
“And who’s that? How do I get in touch with him?”
“He’ll contact you?”
“You don’t sound sure.”
“Listen, if you aren’t grateful, if you don’t want your piece of my deal…” He sighed, heavily. “I went to jail for you girls, to keep you safe, but—”
“Frank. Come on.” He’d gone to jail for committing a crime.
Frank was doing more time than his involvement deserved, and yes, the deal he’d struck with some crime boss in exchange for his silence did include some benefits for my sister and me, but Frank was no martyr. At least, no martyred saint. He’d committed his fair share of crimes over the years, enough to deserve tons of jail time, and that only counted the crimes I knew about.
In jail, at least Frank was safe. Protection was part of his deal, too.
“Can you at least tell me who’s going to be contacting me?” I asked.
