Mr. Dark 2 (Tamed #2)(5)

"Sophie," I replied with a professional smile. "Well, my school work is wrapping up, and I haven't gotten any bites back on my resume yet. So, I asked and they let me get a few extra shifts."

"Well, it's good to have you around. The guy before you keeps giving me the horny eyeball, if you know what I mean. But you don't look yourself tonight. Everything okay?"

"Ah, not too bad. I had a bit of a falling out with a guy I've been seeing this morning."

Becky took a sip of her glass and sighed. "I know what you mean. What caused it? Caught him in bed with another woman? Text messages?"

I shook my head and chuckled. "Nothing so dramatic. Just.... he's got a secret side to him that he won't let me into."

"I understand. I've lost a few boyfriends to that myself. Last one turned out to not trust me when I told him that yes, I really was working late and no, I couldn't tell him. After all, if what I knew got out to the wrong people, the NASDAQ takes a hit and the SEC is knocking on my door."

"I know, I'd thought of that, but I met a few of his coworkers today. And let's just say they weren't very nice guys."

Our conversation continued on and off for the next hour, as I got called away to fill orders. Still, each time I ended up drifting back down the bar to where Becky was sitting, and we just kept talking. As we did, I just felt comfortable sharing with her everything I was worried about between Mark and I. His handsomeness, our economic differences, even our difference in education. Finally, Becky set down her glass after finishing off her second stout, and looked levelly at me. "You mind if I ask a blunt question?"

"Go ahead," I said, keeping my eyes on the bar. A guy down on the end gestured, and I got him a pint of Harp Lager before coming back. "Might want to hurry though. Place is getting busy, and the band starts up in twenty minutes. Once they do, you won't be able to hear a damn thing most of the time."

"Sure. Listen, this man, is he a good man? Not the secrets, not the money, none of that other shite, but is he a good man?"

I didn't even need to think about my answer. "Yes. One of the best men I've ever known."

Becky smiled and drained her glass. "Then I think you know what you should do next. Listen, I gotta go, I love the beer here but I hate the band. I'll see you around." She handed me her glass and bottle, and by the time I got back she was gone, with a fifty dollar tip tucked under her coaster along with a note. "I kept you from enough customers, you deserve it. Call him. -B"

I tucked the note into my pocket, stuck the fifty in the tip jar I shared with the other staff, and called out to the waiter on the floor. "Dave! Take the bar for five minutes, I need to step out."

Chapter 4

Mark

After Sophie walked out, I stared at my front door, for the first time since my mother died feeling mentally paralyzed. Hell, I'd celebrated when I left home when I graduated high school, my dad was too far into the bottle to give a damn anyway. There I was, standing half naked in my bedroom, and I couldn't figure out what to do. I'd already done my first paid job for some of my clients, running basic errands. I didn't graduate to my current line of work until a year later, and that was quite by accident. The sound of a helicopter flying over my building broke my fugue, and I shook my head. I couldn't just let Sophie walk out of my life, that was for sure. I grabbed the first thing in my dresser, a black t-shirt (not unexpected) and a pair of urban camo fatigue pants (a bit unexpected, I didn't wear those unless I was working in certain neighborhoods). I grabbed a pair of short boots, the type used by some of the SWAT teams in California and had the left one on when my cell phone rang. I snatched it up from my nightstand table, praying it was Sophie. I cursed silently when I saw who it was. "Hello, Sal."

"Marco, Marco..... I just got a very disturbing report from Louis. The Frog says that the rumors of you having a romantic interest are true. You know we need to talk about this."

I pursed my lips, tempted to tell Salvatore Giardino to take a long leap from my balcony. First of all, I'm not Italian. Why the hell he kept turning my name into Marco was beyond me. However, I'm not the sort of person interested in making men like Sal angry, so I kept my reply polite. "I know you had some expectations for me Sal. I'll be honest though, I didn't think this was worth your attention."

"Now Marco, do you really think that I've gotten to the position I have without making sure nothing is beyond my attention? Since you've been such a valuable member of my team, I'm feeling generous. Where would you like to meet?"

Like it mattered. I knew Giordano would have men everywhere, regardless. I could have chosen the inside of a bank vault and it wouldn't have changed a thing. Still, I needed to at least make an effort to look like I was trying to cover my ass. "How about the Park? We can feed the ducks over by Hamilton Pond. Most of the old men who hang out there wouldn't care even if they could hear us."

Giordano laughed, an ugly sound that I detested. "All right. Thirty minutes by Hamilton Pond. I'll even bring the breadcrumbs."

I hung up my phone and closed my eyes, letting my eyes close and forcing my breath to still. It's my greatest advantage, more than my physical strength, or my ability to set aside the better parts of me when I needed to and do the hard thing. Instead, I drew upon that inner pool of stillness I've had as long as I could remember. When I was a boy growing up in the country, I'd taken quite a few whitetail deer with that skill, more than hunters twice my age. My father, who usually ended our hunting trips drunk (he had it somewhat in control back then though), kept swearing it was dumb luck. A seven year old boy does not take a ten point buck down with an old M-1 carbine at two hundred yards. You're not even supposed to shoot deer at that range with that size round, it's not powerful enough. But I knew, and the bullet took the buck just right, going between the thick ribs and piercing the heart. The buck dropped like a rock.