Notes from the author:
I originally posted Ch 16 in Novellas, but the views were down, and I think many of my regular readers may have missed it, looking for it in BDSM. If you have not read Ch 16, I hope you enjoy, and while I'm not sure when Ch 17 will be out, I have not given up. It's a work in progress. Love to all and please don't forget to vote and/or comment!
--J
********************
"Morning Sunshine!"
"Shut up," I mumbled at my annoyingly happy brother.
Jake was one of those disgustingly cheerful morning people, and for the most part, it sucked for me. The upside was that he usually made me breakfast. And not just a wimpy bowl of Apple Jacks either. He made pancakes, hash browns, waffles, and in the case of mornings like this, eggs.
Mornings like
this
were mornings with a hangover.
"Thanks," I muttered as he set a plate of scrambled eggs before me.
"Don't mention it bud," Jake smirked. "Think about those meetings at the Y, kay?"
"Mmm," I grumbled in acknowledgement. Like hell was I going to one of those meetings. I didn't have a problem. I just needed to decompress once in a while.
I began to pick at my eggs while Jake scrubbed the pans, whistling as he so often did, before washing his hands and heading for the door.
"Later fucker! I'll be home around eleven. Putting in a double shift at the diner. Mom should be home around eight."
"Later fucker," I called back, wincing as the door closed way too loudly behind him.
I forced the eggs down before rinsing my plate and going to shower. I still had a few hours before the drop, and would try to get past this monster of a hangover in the interim.
I'd been recruited shortly after a party with some friends—or acquaintances rather. Not the sort of crowd my mom would approve of, or Jake for that matter. Jake and I were only a couple years apart, but he was infinitely better than me.
We looked almost exactly alike, or so we were told by anyone who'd met us both. Our mother said so all the time. Same height, same build, same facial features. But we were polar opposites.
Jake was the responsible one, busting his ass trying to support my mom and me. I was the screw-up, trying to compensate for being a screw-up, and failing miserably.
But that would soon change.
This gig with the Celtic Five street gang would easily put an end to our financial troubles. My job was simple. Pick up from supplier, make drop. It was almost too good to be true. But after the ease of the first dozen or so drops, I'd decided it could be a regular job. The fellas I typically made contact with weren't the friendliest, nor the chattiest, but then, neither was I these days.
My ma still thought I was working at the farmer's market. But who needed all those hours for such pathetic wages? I may have been a screw-up, but at least I could add. I was smart enough to understand that my family's regular routine wasn't working. We needed money, and being a handler for South Boston's booming drug trade would get us money, quickly and quietly.
It was a job designed to be brief and seamless, but there were risks—considerable risks—like prison time,
if
I wasn't careful.
The hardest part was the secrecy from my mom, and especially from Jake. In time, when I'd put away enough money, I would tell them.
The question of how to come clean was killing me, but it had to be done. It was a small price to pay to be able to get us out of this neighborhood.
Jake especially was destined for better things. I wanted him to go to college, make something of himself the way I knew that he could. As it was, he worked overtime as a dishwasher and back-up line chef at O'Brien's about six blocks over. Far less than he was capable of. I believed he could succeed at anything, if only he was given the chance.
---
Two days later...
I swallowed in anxiousness when Jimmy handed me the address for today's drop.
255 Raymond.
It was just a block away from Jake's work. Shit.
I wasn't ready for Jake to know about my endeavors, and this was going to be cutting it very close. I would just have to be quick and discreet. Like usual.
Everything would be fine.
---
I finally let go of the breath I'd been holding for the last twenty minutes.
Job was done, time to go home. Employing my practiced swagger, I strode towards the alleyway to retrieve my vehicle.
See? Nothing to worry about. Business as usual, no noise.
"What the hell?? Officers, what's going on?"
My ears perked up in alarm, and I looked around frantically for the man I knew the voice belonged to.
"Jacob Donovan, you're under arrest for drug trafficking. Put your hands behind your back."
"What the fuck? What are you talking about?" Jake cried.
"Hands behind your back, now!" the officer barked as his partner approached from the rear, ready to assist.
I stood there, horrified, frozen in my tracks, ready to vomit at the sight before me.
"There's been a mistake," Jake insisted, but he complied and allowed himself to be cuffed.
"You have the right to an attorney..."
I wanted to run up to them, tell them they had the wrong guy, that Jake had nothing to do with this, and I was the one they wanted. But I didn't. I just stood there like an idiot, scared shitless.
Jake spotted me then, from across the street, just before they muscled him into the back of the cab. His eyes were accusing, then pleading, and still I did nothing.
His look of surrender shook me to my core as I stood there, paralyzed with fear in the cold November air.
I knew I would never forget the look on his face.
---
"Curt, Curt!" Beth shook me gently.
"Beth? What's going on?" I blinked sleepily, embarrassed to find that I was all sweaty beneath the sheets.
"I think you were having a nightmare. It sounded pretty bad," she cupped my cheek, a tender sympathetic look on her face.
"Did I say anything?" I asked warily.
"Most of it was gibberish, but you distinctly called out for Jake. Jake's your brother, right?"
"Uhh, right," I stammered, eager to end this conversation before she dug too deep.
"You sounded really scared. Do you...want to talk about it?"
"No," I said with finality. "I don't want or need to talk about it. Don't burden yourself."
Her hurt expression had me unsettled, and cursing myself for my brusqueness.
Women were such healers. Unsatisfied if they didn't have someone to fix, some problem to remedy. I didn't want to be an asshole, but I didn't want her to know of my past—my shame.
"I'm sorry, I just wanted to help," her eyes diverted to the sheets, and mine diverted to her soft naked flesh peeking out from it.
God I was such an ass. She wanted to help, and I wanted to fuck her until we both forgot who we were.
"No, I'm sorry," I sighed, reaching for her, pulling her body closer to mine. "I shouldn't have been so harsh."
"It's okay," she whispered, her eyes now fixed on my chest.
"Look at me Beth," I ordered softly, lifting her chin.