I wondered what kind of violence that man was used to doling out.
It was probably best if I didn’t know.
I turned back towards them to find the victim staring me right in the eyes. His eyes never left mine.
"Can't apologize if I’m not sorry." The strung man spit onto the ground and then grinned.
It was the grin that got me. Those pearly whites were covered in blood, and he still looked completely dashing. It was sick.
"You’re lucky your dad ordered you beaten and not killed. Anyone else..." Janson struck him again. "Would you like a drink?"
He was actually asking the subject of his torture for a drink! I blinked, frozen in place.
"Gin Rickey, extra lime." He ordered an old classic, just the right amount of sweet and sour, one of my favorites. And he did it like he was perfectly calm and collected. So I tried to mimic him.
I nodded and turned back to the bar. Only the mob would have a full wet bar in their torture dungeon. I grabbed a lime, cut it in half, juiced it, and added the gin and club soda to the mix, shaking it. I tried not to let the sound of his groans throw me off balance.
“I think we’re done here, Greyson.” Janson unhooked him from the rack, and he stepped off it like nothing ever happened, his stance tall and his shoulders back. Greyson Fitzgerald. The son of the arguably most important mob man in all of Baltimore, James Fitzgerald. The prince to an Irish-American empire.
He didn’t even acknowledge the blood that trickled down his face. He was strong. Tough. And it scared me senseless.
“Thank you,” he reached for the drink and then smirked. “Aren’t you going to ask me?”
“Sir?” I blinked and kept my face blank.
“What I did.”
“What did you do, sir?” My lip quivered as I said it and his handsome smile appeared. He was the kind of sexy playboy I went out of my way to avoid.
But I couldn’t melt over a man like that. Not him. Not here.
“You know Michael Mactavish?” I nodded. He was one of the most important men in the mob, Janson’s father. And he was a second in command, under James Fitzgerald.
“I do.” I swallowed hard as I looked at him.
“I fucked his daughter.” I could tell by the way he said it that he was proud of his actions, even when her brother stood in the room, a belt still in his hand. Janson was right. He was a son of a bitch.
Which is why I saw the punch coming before it even swung through the air and connected with Greyson’s jaw. Liquid from the glass flew everywhere.
“You are a son of a bitch. You know that?” Janson asked.
“I do. You keep saying it after all.” He spit blood onto the ground and then looked up at me. “They say I’ll fuck anything that moves. Probably right.”
I swallowed hard as I watched him take a sip of his gin, what little was left in his glass. “You make a good drink, hon. What is your name?”
I gulped as I looked into his eyes. He was positively handsome.
“Jo.”
“Just Jo?” His eyes were on me, his stare overwhelming me as he looked through me.
“Joanna O’Brien.” I crossed my arms; he was going to find out one way or another. If I told him now, at least he would forget about it before he asked.
“You aren’t afraid of a punch, and you sure as hell don’t back down when you see violence. You’re hard, Jo. And I like that.” He must not have noticed the surname.
I blushed. I was hard, but for all the wrong reasons. “I’m what I have to be.”
“I’ll see you later, Jo O’Brien.” He walked out the door, leaving me alone with Janson Mactavish.
“Shit, girl. He saw you.”
I nodded. My job was to stay invisible, and I failed.
“What does that mean?”
“It means you better watch out. He’s going to make you his next target.” The way Janson looked through me, it shot right through me.
“How can you tell?”
“He gave you that ‘fuck me’ look. You are dead meat.” Janson chuckled. “That boy will chew you up and spit you out, and you’ll be helpless to stop it. They all are.”
“What do I do?” I asked. I was supposed to be invisible, the pretty girls they liked to look at. Not the ones they wanted to fuck. I wanted to sink back into the walls and go unnoticed.
“Anything you can do to make him forget about you. He’s more fucked up than me, and I was the one beating his ass.” Janson shrugged at me and then looked at the bar. “You know how to make a good Sidecar?” he asked.
“I can make any drink you want.”
It was so much easier when I was invisible.
* * *
Greyson