A Dirty Business (Kings of New York #1)(24)

I gave him a look. “Don’t go there. I love her, but I do not want the details.”

He chuckled again, finding where we kept our mugs and moving so I could pour him the last of the coffee. I nodded to the cupboard. “Sugar there. Creamer in the fridge.”

“Thanks.” He glanced over his shoulder as I moved back to the table and lifted up my laptop once again. “What happened last night? I saw Anthony call you to his office.”

I didn’t need the reminder. “It’s nothing.”

He looked unconvinced.

“I mean it.” I gestured toward Kelly’s room. “You move fast.”

That sheepish look came back over him, and he shuffled, moving around before settling back against the same counter. “I like her. A lot.” He gave me a meaningful look.

“I saw how you looked at her last night. You’re already half-gone on her.”

His eyes got big, and he’d been taking a sip of coffee but half snorted on it. “Jesus. Don’t tell her that, please.”

My phone buzzed again.

I refuse to put his name in my phone: We need to talk.

God. This guy.

Me: BLOCK

I refuse to put his name in my phone: Now.

I blocked him.

I needed to forget meeting him, forget talking to him, forget touching him, forget his kisses. Forget how I felt with my body over his in his vehicle last night. All of it. Done.

The end.

My phone buzzed again, but this time it was my other boss.

Leo: I need you at your mother’s house.

Those texts were never good.



Leo was standing on the front steps when I got there, and he did not look happy. He’d been smoking a cigarette, but at seeing me, he tossed it on the ground and put it out. He was in plain clothes, wearing an open jacket over jeans and a sweatshirt beneath. Leo was old school. If he wasn’t working, he was at the neighborhood bar having a beer and watching whatever game was on the television. All the years I knew him, I’d never seen him drunk, so I always suspected he sipped one beer the whole time.

Some days, like today apparently, he was here checking on my mom.

I parked and walked over to the sidewalk. “What’s wrong?”

I looked behind him. The door was shut, the curtains drawn closed. I wasn’t hearing yelling or anything behind him.

One of his hands moved inside his jacket pocket, and he indicated the house. “You were here a few days ago?”

I frowned. “Monday. I stopped over. Why?”

“You go through her stash?”

Christ. We were dealing with this? “I found a new vodka bottle in her bathroom and watered it down.”

“That’s it?”

“Yeah. What’s going on?”

“She’s having a conniption, saying you emptied all of her bottles.”

The irony of my mother throwing a tantrum to one parole officer because another parole officer watered down one of her stash was just . . . I was at a loss. “What sort of conniption? What’s the damage?”

“I’m standing out here to greet you. That should tell you something.”

For fuck’s sake.

I walked up the stairs to face my mother.

“Be prepared. She . . . she went overboard today.”

I skimmed another glance his way. He moved back a step, not giving me anything else. I tried the doorknob, found it was locked, so I pulled out my key and unlocked it. Opening it, I wasn’t even going to focus on how she’d locked the door on Leo. It was Leo. He’d been best friends with my dad. He was family.

I stepped in, not hearing any movement, no sounds.

But the smell hit me next, and I almost bowled over. “Mom!”

I heard a lumbering footstep above, then a groan and a thump.

I took off, taking the stairs two at a time.

There was blood on the floor, and I rushed into her bedroom. More blood. A trail of it, leading to her as she was on the floor beside the bed. “Mom!” She was in her bathrobe, and I knelt down, avoiding the blood.

She let out a moan, her head moving a little.

“Mom. Mom.”

“No.” Another moan. She reached out, trying to push me away. “Go away. Don’t want you here.”

Her breath was rank. She’d been busy drinking.

I rolled her over, moving gently, and began searching for where the blood was coming from. Her vitals were good at first glance, but I grabbed her wrist, counting her pulse as I kept looking over her body.

“Oh my god—” Leo came in from the door, kneeling at my other side. “She—she wasn’t like this when I stepped outside. She’d been drinking and she was angry, going on a rant about you. There’s a bunch of plates downstairs on the floor. She must’ve stepped on them.” He added the last bit as I ran a hand down her body, lifting up her foot and seeing the blood there. It was a massive cut, deep. “She’ll need stitches.”

“No. No stiches,” she grumbled, before her head shot to the side, her body following, and she threw up.

Vomit landed just past me.

I jumped out of the way but cursed and went back to finish my assessment. She had cuts on both her feet and one on the palm of her hand. None of them looked self-inflicted, which was a relief on this shitty Saturday.

“Here.” Leo must’ve left to grab some gauze. He knelt back down, the first aid kit in his other hand.