Prologue
... it's the darker side of lust ... it's the other side of us ... it's the thing in you that feeds ... the animal in me ...
Throughout my twenty-three years on Earth, I came to realize that most people had a strong disliking for one or both of their parents, usually their father. Whether the old man never gave them enough hugs or he was out banging his secretary or he was a drunk and chose instead to bang on the kid, I didn't know. I never really cared enough to know. I never understood it either. I loved my father; adored the hell out of him. He was the one person who gave me everything I ever asked for: new Barbie doll for Christmas when I was six, pink bike with pink streamers on my eighth birthday, a new used car on my sixteenth, a case of Bud Light on my eighteenth, and the permission and blessing to finally be a part of his world on my twenty-first. I had no brothers or sisters and my mother had abandoned us some years back upon discovering what my dad really did for a living. I didn't miss her. So I was the only one left for my father to love, and love me like I was the best daughter in the world he did.
I assume that, because I loved my father so much, I grew up in his image; inheriting his unmatched ability at persuasion, his amazing calmness in the face of danger, and his immense hunger for money. Money came right after my father and me on the Most Important Things list, and I never hid this fact about me. What girl didn't enjoy having money to spend on whatever she wanted? Be it clothes, shoes, new car. I had all of those things, but still it never seemed to be enough. I wanted more. But somewhere deep down in places I never talked about–not even drunk or high–I knew what I wanted was not something material. I was missing something in my life, and the profound void in my chest reminded me of that every day.
Maybe my deep-seeded need to be needed was what attracted to me the losers I usually spent the night with. I knew as well as they that they weren't looking for anything lasting longer than the night, but for that night, they did need me, they did want me, and I was the only woman in the world to them. Sick and really fucking twisted, I know, but I thrived on that feeling; the feeling of being the only one, even if I knew I wasn't. Billy Darley was no exception, which is why I now found myself standing before my father's desk, fully prepared to lay on the very charm he'd given me. It truly astonished me how the old man never saw me coming each and every time I had an off-the-wall idea.
"Billy Darley?" he asked, incredulous. His green eyes, matching my own, stared dully up at me as he blinked slowly. This was his uninterested expression; the one which told me he required a little more explanation, a little more finesse.
"You don't know him, so don't give me that look," I jested, smiling like daddy's little girl always should. He'd told me long ago how much my smile reminded him of my mother. I closed my ears whenever he talked about her.
"That's Bones' oldest, right?"
"The one and only."
"Bones says that kid ain't worth a bucket of piss."
"Ugh," I moaned, "consider the fuckin' source!"
"Tierney," he warned, his mouth tight.
"Sorry," I immediately backtracked. Twenty-three-years-old and it was still impolite to use curse words in the presence of my father. "Seriously, Pop ... Bones ... is a fuckin' asshole."
"Tierney!" he shouted.
"Sorry!" I sighed, taking a seat in the lone chair across the desk from Dad. "Look, I can vouch for Billy ... he's good at what he does."
"I'm gonna go ahead and ignore the implications in that sentence," my father said, squirming uncomfortably in his massive chair. I giggled. Ever since he'd had to be the one to give me "the talk," he wouldn't touch conversations in relation to anything about sex or the reproductive system with a ten foot pole. "What the hell makes you think I'm just gonna hand over one of my spots to a kid I don't even know?"
"Because I know him," I said. "He could be a hell of a money-maker if someone would put him in the right place." The old man leaned on his chair, tracing a finger across his lips; a trait I'd also inherited. Time to go in for the kill. "Just give him a block ..."
"A block?" he exclaimed, now leaning forward. "This kid's a goddamn embryo to me, Tierney, and I'm gonna give him a block?"
I smiled. "Give him a block," I continued calmly, "for a month, and we'll go from there. If he doesn't return, well ... do with him what you will." I sat back in my chair, removing a pack of Marlboro's from my purse along with a lighter; a habit I'd picked up from the very man my father and I were currently discussing.
The old man sighed heavily with a hand over his mouth. His eyes were on me, searching my face. Soon enough he would see the determination and faith I had in Billy Darley, then he would surrender and give me what I wanted. It was a dance we did, a game we played. Though I'm not sure if my father realized just how many times we'd gone round and round for no reason at all.
"A block," he repeated. And victory was mine.
"A block," I shrugged, lips tight around the cigarette in my mouth as I lit it.
He growled then, folding his arms on his desk. All of this I'd seen before, and it took everything I had not to burst out with laughter. He looked at me again; this was usually the last look before the final surrender. It was a look, I guessed, he thought he would use to make me rethink my entire argument. A look fathers give their daughters when they know they're lying and they know the little girls will crack under the pressure of daddy's disappointed eyes. I cracked under those eyes only once, but I couldn't remember the reason.
"Fine," he conceded, and inside I was screaming with excitement. Billy would be so fucking happy when he heard the news, and his happiness would surely benefit the both of us. "One block, one month."
"Done!" I squeaked, jumping to my feet.
"But I wanna meet this kid first!" he mandated, pointing at me. I wanted to remind him of all the times he'd told me it was impolite to point, but I didn't want to ruin the moment.
"Absolutely!" I agreed. "You won't regret it, Pop."
"For his sake, I better not." That was code for if he screws up, he'll get his fucking ass beat. My father never killed anyone unless they absolutely deserved it: stole from him, skimmed off the top, insulted his daughter or estranged wife, whatever. He was never one to kill just because.
"Everything will be fine," I assured him, spinning round and heading for the door.
"Tierney Rose!" my father hollered at my back. Then I remembered.
I jogged around his desk and kissed him on the cheek, even throwing in a quick hug for good measure. He told me to be careful, as usual, and not to forget my damn gun in the damn glove compartment again. Then he asked what I hoped he wouldn't: You're not dealing with the Darley kid directly, are you?
"Of course not," I lied brilliantly, yet another useful trick handed down by the old man. "What do you take me for?"
"I find out you're lyin' to me ..." he threatened.
"I know, I know. You'll cut me off. But Daddy ... who's gonna take care of your sorry ass then?" I grinned.
"I have no idea," he smirked.
"Get some sleep, Pop," I told him, all jokes aside. "You look tired."
"You would be, too, if you were sitting in this chair."
"No worries. I will be one day."
He rolled his eyes. "Goodbye, Tierney."
"Later, Pop," I laughed.
As soon as I was outside and halfway down the driveway, I pulled out my cell phone, dialing a familiar number. Listening to the ringing, I lit another cigarette.
"Yeah?" The voice was like smoke on velvet, a voice I could get off to without even being touched. A voice belonging to one Billy Darley.
"Billy Darling," I cooed, unable to keep the smile from my face. Already the painful void in my chest was beginning to fill with the mere thought of seeing him today and seeing the lust in his eyes.
"Stop fuckin' callin' me that," he bitched, sucking in a quick breath. He must have been smoking as well. "What do you want?" Anyone who didn't know Billy might have been insulted by his rudeness, but I was used to it by now. However, there was no reason for him to be mean all the time.
"Meet me at Maggie's in ten minutes, asshole," I retorted, snapping the phone shut before he could answer.
The next ten minutes passed by quickly as I ignored the vibration of my phone and consequently Billy's phone calls. It wasn't necessary for me to answer simply so I could hear him call me a bitch and advise me to never fucking hang up on him again. He'd probably finish the rant with don't you know who you're fuckin' talkin' to? Oh well. The angrier he got between now and our meeting, the hotter said meeting would be.
I waited patiently inside St. Magdalene Church, in the very back row where no one sat. As luck would have it, I'd scheduled a meeting with the most sexually hungry man I'd ever met inside a Catholic church during evening Sunday mass. I smiled. Well, wouldn't be the first time we'd had an "encounter" inside a church. He'd shoved me into the confessional a time or two. On a separate occasion, we'd started in the confessional, but ended up on the hood of his car in broad daylight. One wouldn't know it by looking at him, but Billy Darley had a thing for churches. Perhaps it was the dirty, wrong, badness of it, which definitely suited Billy. Me? I just wanted the sex, the need for someone to need me, and I got it wherever it was possible.
As Father McCoy was beginning to speak about the Seven Deadly Sins–was today my lucky day?–the floor-to-ceiling doors were suddenly shoved open with nearly enough force to knock them off their hinges. I didn't need to look to know who'd just entered this place of sanctuary, but I did anyway. And there was Billy Darley, exhaling a plume of smoke from a cigarette he'd most likely dropped on his way in, glorifying his leather jacket and dark clothing. He was what every gang lord should have looked like, and he acted like one as well. People feared Billy Darley simply because of his exterior, meaning most people didn't even get to fear his threats and promises.
He stood there for a moment, bright, malevolent eyes locked on the priest before, shockingly, he crossed himself and kissed the crucifix which hung from a silver chain round his neck. He even kneeled! I'd never seen him do such a thing. This guy absolutely could not be religious. Absolutely not.
Could he? Could Billy Darley really be a closet Catholic?
Coming to his feet again, he looked to his left where I was sitting, and started toward me. Knowing he didn't need an invitation, he plopped onto the wood next to me with an obnoxious grunt, throwing an arm on the pew behind me. Billy was exceptionally arrogant today. He was always superior toward everyone around him, but he now seemed to exude a bit more. He'd more than likely guessed my secret already.
"So?" he pressed, not bothering to look at me. "What is it?"
"Hello to you, too, Billy," I evaded. He sighed, turning his head to look at me then, chin down, eyes up. If I'd had a reason to be frightened of him, the fear definitely would have kicked in after that look.
"What is it, Tierney?" he asked. "I don't have all goddamn day." He spoke loud enough for several attendees to turn and scowl at him. Had he noticed, he might've raised his middle finger, his very favorite finger.
"Really?" I feigned surprise. "Is there a cigarette you should be smoking?" I leaned closer to him, smelling his cologne; the cologne he spent more than fifty bucks on; the cologne that got my motor going every time. "A beating you should be receiving?"
I didn't suspect the reason he'd put his arm behind me was to make grabbing my hair that much easier for him, but turns out that's exactly why he did it. Stealthily, he'd wrapped his hand several times in my hair, then yanked, bending my neck at a very awkward and painful position. I had enough presence of mind to not scream, but several tears sprang in my eyes.
"I said," he hissed through clenched teeth, his nose jammed against my cheek, "I don't have all god ... damn ... day."
"Fucking cocksucker," I grit, both hands reaching back to his hand deep in my hair. I thought maybe I'd be able to pull his hand closer to my hair thereby lessening the pulling, but his knuckles were shoved against my skull. Any minute now and I'd be bald.
"Tierney," he warned, growling. His hot breath ghosted down my cheek and across my neck. I liked the rough stuff, he knew that, but fuck!, this was too rough.
"You got the fuckin' block, dick!" I confessed. The grip loosened on my hair, but the hand was relentless.
"I got what?" he whispered, mouth now positioned beside my ear. That smoky breath tickled my skin, and my thighs twitched.
"Asshole, you heard me," I spat, turning my head despite the pain to glare up at him. His eyes met mine, and, like every time before, I melted underneath those icy pools of the brightest blue. Billy's not-so-secret weapon when it came to finding women he didn't have to pay for was his eyes. Just flash the ladies those stellar blues and the panties drop. Like magic.
"Say it again," he told me softly, "but say it nicely."
I took a deep breath to calm myself, my head a throbbing ball of agony, my hair a centimeter away from being a cancer patient's newest wig. "You got the block, baby," I said as sweetly as my body could muster.
He attacked my neck then, releasing my hair at the same time. Billy Darley was chock full of surprises today. He now cradled the back of my head, though it didn't relieve the pain, and his free hand snaked up my chest between my breasts to the other side of my neck. This was the feeling I craved: I'd done something nice for him, so now he wanted me, now he needed me.
"That's my girl," he rumbled in my ear before sucking the lobe into his mouth, my hooped earring going right along with it. "Ya did good."
"I know," I smiled, proud of myself.
I closed my eyes, still smiling, enjoying his hands all over me, and his mouth. His hand came down from my neck slowly, following the same path it had taken moments go, where it stopped on my thigh. His fingers snuck below my crossed legs and lifted my leg onto his, effectively separating them. Had anyone been sitting directly in front of us, they would have been given a show in the form of my spread legs and hiked up denim skirt.
"He wants to meet you first," I moaned, my back arching as his hand slyly glided upward on my thigh, disappearing beneath my skirt. His fingers were almost as talented as his mouth.
"Mhmm," he mumbled, probably not hearing a word I said. His tongue, lips, and teeth were continuing their assault on my neck as his fingers worked me over, happy to find me wet and ready.
"God," I groaned, my back bowed as far as it would go, creating what was probably a massive opening between my spine and the back of the pew. I hooked my leg around his, the muscles in the back of my knee and thigh contracting tightly. Billy's fingers were long, rough, and so fucking talented, and there was no place I'd rather be than here with him and his fingers.
"Say it loud enough," he breathed into my ear, causing my body to roll against his hand, bringing him in deeper. Two fingers now, and I was losing control of my respirations, ignoring the squeaking of my sticky skin against the wooden benches. "And He might just hear you."
I looked up at him, emerald eyes meeting sapphire ones, and smiled.
