Dirty Martini (Crow Bar Brute Squad Book 2) Read online

  Great. More change.

  His apartment key became utterly stuck in the lock, and at 11 p.m., the temperature was only going to drop. Holden was not above sleeping outdoors, but not at ten degrees below freezing.

  Curling his fist into a ball, Holden prepared to shatter the glass in the door’s window to let himself in. Yeah, he would have to pay for the repairs, which he could not afford. But what other choice did he have?

  It would be a fitting finish to an awful day. He supposed, maybe, this shit was the universe balancing out the fantastic, incredible day he’d had yesterday.

  The encounter with Katie Moss had begun with chasing after a spark but had ended in a beautiful explosion. One-time encounters were so unlike Holden, but he’d gone back to work feeling like the king of the world. Was that how dudes usually felt when they banged someone totally out of their league?

  To him, it wasn’t just a random bang. Katie was fun to talk to. She had interesting things to say. In turn, she paid attention to his words, his expressions, his emotions. In another time and place, he would have asked her out on a proper date. Unfortunately, suitable dates required money. The kind of date Katie deserved? That was next-level money.

  What had he been thinking? Surely, he would never lay eyes on her again.

  He could really, really use a break.

  Just as Holden was about to put his fist through the glass, a strange sound stopped him.

  Some creature at his feet was staring at him, quietly mewling.

  Holden paused his fist in mid-air and looked at the small, gray kitten that looked back up.

  The big brute stood no chance against the pitiful, pleading cries. Squatting down to get a closer look, he saw the thing had blue eyes and a white nose but was otherwise gray all over. The kitten put on paw on his bent knee, and Holden was suckered entirely after that.

  He picked it up to do a casual examination for injuries. “Guess I must be earning a reputation as the cat savior, aren’t I…girl?” he asked, turning the kitten over.

  When he stood at full height, the kitten scampered up his arm and curled up against his neck. “Whoa. Careful,” he laughed.

  Having forgotten about his trouble with his key, he automatically tried the temperamental lock again. This time, it miraculously complied with the key, and he went inside to get warm with his new friend.

  “Johnny Cash!” Holden called as he stepped inside. A black cat answered by sidling up to him and wrapping his tail around Holden’s leg, purring loudly. “Cash. I gotta friend for you.”

  The older male cat sniffed at the small gray ball of fluff and nuzzled it, taking to it right away. “There you go, buddy. Meet…June Carter…I guess.”

  The black cat made a half chirp, half meow that could have been interpreted as disapproval. “I know, I know. Dash isn’t going to be thrilled with another roommate. Don’t worry. We’ll figure something out.”

  A jolting thud woke him. The sudden impact was one of those aggressive wake-ups when a person emerges disoriented from a deep slumber after not having been asleep nearly long enough.

  The tiny kitten that had been asleep on his chest let out a noise of protest at the disturbance.

  “Oh, sorry.” The apology came from Dash, who had tripped over the mattress in the dark space where Holden lay with his new soft friend.

  “I might be a little drunk—wait a minute, did I hear a kitten?”

  Holden rubbed his aching eyes and replied sleepily. “Mhmm. Yep.”

  Dash sounded amused but bordering on annoyed. “Another one?”

  “Sorry, man,” Holden said, carefully cradling the tiny grey fluff to his chest as he sat up to address the towering silhouette of his friend. Backlit from the weak streetlights that leaked through the small basement window, Holden observed a slight sway in Dash’s stature.

  “It’s no trouble on my part,” Dash said, slightly slurring. “I just worry it’s going to get out of control.”

  Holden stroked the kitten’s fur. “I get what you mean. As soon as she’s old enough, I’ll take her to the free neutering clinic.”

  Dash’s feet scuffed the floor as he moved toward the shower stall. Holden heard his jeans and belt hitting the floor in the pile of dirty clothes at the foot of Dash’s bed. “It’s not that,” Dash said, turning on the shower that served as more of a spittle than a spray. “It’s just a lot of food, a lot of cat litter, vet bills. Just think about that before you commit to another cat.”

  The sound of rings across the metal bar indicated the shower curtain closing as Dash ended the conversation.

  Holden petted the gray kitten, but it jumped down and began prowling the dark apartment. His bones creaking, he followed the cat, picking it up and placing her in the litter box. He waited.

  Dash didn’t know the half of it.

  Neutering was not an issue. The city of Newcastle indeed provided a free clinic for anyone to have their pets fixed to prevent overpopulation and cut down on the stray animal problem. It had been one of the first measures by the city’s new mayor that went into effect.

  The problem also wasn’t food or litter. The meager amount of rent that the Fitzgeralds allowed Holden to pay left enough for him to survive on ramen and buy the necessary pet supplies.

  What he could not afford was his ongoing tab at the vet’s office. Annual shots, checkups, and flea treatments were painful enough to his funds, but the emergency bills were horrendous. Johnny Cash had a habit of sneaking out in the dark unnoticed whenever a sleepy or tipsy Dash came home after a long shift at Crow Bar. More than once, he’d ended up with injuries due to fighting with neighborhood strays. The area strays weren’t even the worst of it; the dumb feline had gotten into some kind of flowerbed containing poisonous plants and had almost died on him, twice.

  The man in black himself then hopped up onto the mattress where Holden was sitting up and came in for a scratch behind the ears, purring loudly.

  “Were your ears burning, kid? Don’t worry. All I gotta do is win my next fight, and that should be enough of a purse to take care of all the trouble you’ve caused. Hopefully, this new manager isn’t gonna take more of a cut than the old one.”

  Holden truly hoped so. Maybe it would be a good thing to have a new contract, a new manager, someone new running the league.

  Maybe all of these changes were the big break he was looking for.

  When Holden awoke again later that morning, it was not to the sounds of Dash knocking shit around but to a tickling sensation against his ear.

  June, the tiny kitten that he’d taken in was trying to suckle his earlobe.

  Sitting up, he scooped her up and looked her over. She was so small she fit into one of his big mitts. She mewled quietly. “Ah shit. You aren’t even weaned yet, are you, little girl?”

  He set her down in front of the shallow bowl of water, but she went right back to her warm little space at the base of Holden’s neck.

  After a quick google search and a group text with the Brute Squad, he decided kitten formula was the way to go.

  He decided to stop in upstairs to see if Mrs. Fitzgerald needed anything from the supermarket while he ran out to the pet store. He tromped up the carpeted stairs that led straight to the heart of the house, where the family matriarch was busy at the stove. His best friend’s mom’s tiny, knotty-pine kitchen smelled like tomatoes, garlic, and love.

  “No, I don’t need anything, honey,” she said, eyeing him curiously while stirring some soup. “Are you out of something? You hungry? Check the fridge.”

  Holden glared teasingly at Dash’s mom. She always did this. She would rather feed her son and his friends before letting them fend for themselves. Holden always returned the favor by fixing things around the house, but it was now getting to the point that nothing more needed fixing. “If I eat any more of your food, I’m going to have to build an addition onto the house, Mrs. Fitz.”

  She thrust her nose into the air in her impersonation of a fancy person. “And after that, you’ll install my jacuzzi.”

  Whenever Mrs. Fitzgerald talked about winning the lottery, her fantasies involved a jacuzzi. Holden smiled.

  “I promise to raid your fridge later, but I don’t need anything right now. I’m not going to the store for myself. I need formula.”

  Mrs. Fitzgerald’s blue eyes went wide, and she pointed at him with her wooden spoon. “Young man, is there something you need to tell me?”

  He realized then what she was thinking. “No, ma’am. It’s for her.” He turned to the side and showed her the tiny gray creature nestled in the front pocket of his hoodie.

  She covered her mouth. “Oh, honey. What have you gotten yourself into this time?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t think anybody in their right mind could have left this kid out in the cold, do you?”

  She sighed. “I suppose not. Here.” She went to her purse.

  “No,” Holden protested. “I won’t take your money.”

  “Hush.”

  “Marianne.” He used her first name to scold her when he was annoyed with her generosity. This was always the game they played.

  “Baby formula is expensive, so I’m sure the cat version is, too.”

  “I only need a tiny bit of it for a tiny kitty; how expensive could it be?”

  Mrs. Fitzgerald laughed ruefully and handed him $20 from her wallet.

  “That’s too much.”

  She sighed. “Oh, Holden. You’re still as sweet and innocent as a choir boy.”

  “Oh, come on.”

  She swooned and put her hand over her heart. “The sweetest voice that ever graced Holy Rosary.”

  “Oh my god. I gotta go.”

  They said their goodbyes, and he stalked away, grumbling, “Why do people keep saying I’m sw
eet?” He could argue that point later. The kitten needed food, and Dash’s mom needed to help. He only had control over one of those things.

  The kitten was not interested in the kitten formula or soft food that he’d picked up and expressed her displeasure by drawing her face back in a baby version of a mighty roar, showing a row of tiny, menacing fangs.

  “Really?” The ball of fluff scampered in the opposite direction of the bowl of formula. Not that she had far to go in a basement studio apartment.

  So now, not only had he wasted a bunch of money on formula, he still had a dehydrated, hungry kitty to deal with.

  He gently stuffed the kitten back in his hoodie, grabbed his leather jacket, and swallowed his pride. Leaving the jacket’s front zipper open so as not to squash the critter, Holden walked to the nearest ATM at the corner bodega and withdrew $25 from his bank account. He left behind $5 in the account to cover the ATM fees. He mumbled an apology to Mr. Ruiz, the owner, for not making an actual purchase, but the man was too occupied with ringing up other customers to notice. Feeling relieved the cat had not tried to escape his hoodie pocket during that quick stop, he headed to the veterinarian.

  The wood paneling in this vet’s office had seen some shit, never having changed since Holden had visited here as a child. He remembered the place smelled vaguely of dog urine and cleaning chemicals, and it still did.

  A quick exam showed the kitten to be overall healthy but needed a flea treatment, worm treatment, and special formula to put on weight. The veterinary technician explained how to get June the proper nutrition, recommending a combination of high-end kitten formula (not available at stores, because, of course), Pedialyte, and a baby bottle.

  “And you need to keep her warm and clean her bottom for her until she knows how to use a litter box. Don’t forget to bring her back for vaccinations when she’s a little bit older and to have her spayed.”

  That was a lot for Holden to remember. But the most challenging part of the visit came next. The receptionist blinked at him and smiled, taking his fifteen dollars and placing them in the till. In a hushed tone, she reminded him of the full amount he still owed for previous procedures as she slipped an invoice to him across the counter. In addition to today’s visit, which would cost him in the high three-digit range, he had four-digit balances that were long past due because of Johnny Cash.

  “And that’s for Johnny Cash’s surgery and medication last year, and this is for his rabies shots still outstanding,” said the receptionist in a low voice, trying not to embarrass Holden in front of the other customers in the waiting area. He glanced over while she circled the amounts in pen; a schnauzer with a fancy haircut and a long mustache stared back at him in what felt like judgment.

  “Right. Sorry,” Holden said.

  “We understand,” she said. “But, um, the doctor just wanted me to ask about when you’ll be able to make a significant payment on the balance.”

  Her apologetic tone made it even more difficult to look her in the eyes. He almost wished she would be stern with him. Or that the vet would take a hard line and refuse to see him anymore. The kindness was somehow torture. It made him feel like a heel.

  The receptionist, the vet, and Holden all knew this was more than he could pay for with the money he made as a bouncer four nights per week, plus winning the small purse now and then in a boxing ring after his manager took a cut.

  The last remaining green in his wallet went toward the bill, and she thanked him quietly, both of them embarrassed.

  “I’m sorry,” he mumbled. “I don’t mean to take advantage.”

  “Oh, you’re not. It’s still a hard time for everyone around here.”

  He nodded, then bolted out the door.

  Chapter Twelve

  Katie

  Am I really doing this?

  Katie stared at the neon sign above the door of Crow Bar, its garish orange-yellow light both a beckoning and a dare to go inside.

  The thumping bass lines of classic rock emanated from the building and blared ten times louder as a group of scantily clad women passed by her to go inside.

  It was weird to just show up at someone’s job. But Holden’s position was at a public place, so technically, not so weird. It was where they had met; it was the only place she knew where to find him. The two of them had been so caught up in the moment, and in such a hurry to get back to work when it was over, that they hadn’t exchanged numbers. In fact, they had not had a conversation about seeing each other again. She was so inexperienced with one-night stands and how younger people viewed these events, she thought it was best to move on and give him space. And her age wasn’t the only factor. She had never done that before, and she literally had no idea how to act afterward.

  How was she such a raging bull in her industry and just an utterly awkward dork in the dating world? She asked herself that every day.

  “Are you going in or what?” Katie snapped herself out of her anxious musings and found herself the subject of a pair of curious brown eyes. The woman and her companion were dressed meticulously for a night out in uptown, but not for a night at Crow Bar. The pair of them, both African-American, looked at Katie like they were worried she was lost. There was something strange about their demeanor and the seriousness of their faces that put Katie on alert, though she didn’t understand why. As if the pair of them meant to look like an average couple out for a night on the town but really had an entirely different agenda.

  You’re losing your marbles, Katie told herself. Forget it.

  She gestured toward the door and said, “After you,” and waited for the couple to go inside before making up her mind to do likewise.

  Did she really want to do this? Holden might be insulted by her idea. He could ask her to leave and never come back, but she had a feeling he wouldn’t do that.

  But why should she feel self-conscious or ashamed about the idea of wanting to “keep” a man? Evidently, rich men did it all the time. And for much weirder reasons.

  What Katie had in mind was nothing more than a symbiotic, transactional relationship to benefit both parties involved.

  Yep. I am really doing this.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Holden

  If Holden has known how his luck had truly changed, it might have spooked him from going into work on Wednesday night at Crow Bar.

  At face value, he saw the incredible Katie Moss breeze through the door of the bar once more. Only this time, the atmosphere was starkly different.

  O’Donnell had not succeeded in attracting any upscale clientele base, other than the returning Katie Moss. On this night, a Wednesday, the Dockworkers Union Local 443 was having its monthly unofficial “meeting.” Sure, the dockworkers made a decent wage and could afford plenty of rounds of booze, but the ones who were the type to amble into the Crow Bar on a weeknight after the official meeting at the Union Hall uptown were usually up to something.

  The group had already convened to vote on business at its official meeting place. But the Crow Bar was always the after-party—where the real decisions get made. Including terrible decisions made under the influence of a lot of alcohol.

  It did not make sense that Katie should be in here tonight. Yet, here she was and dressed much differently from the last time. Tonight, Katie wore ripped jeans and a satin bomber jacket that had seen better days. She looked sexy as hell. Thick thighs, chin held high, not a hair or an eyelash out of place, and she didn’t give a fuck where she was.

  Katie went straight to the same stool, sat down, and ordered the same drink. “Dirty martini, extra dirty,” she said to Griff, making a show of peeling off the jacket to reveal a white sweater so tight that Holden could see the black lace of a bra right through the fine knitting.

  His mouth watered. His hands wanted to slide up the back of that sweater and unclasp that bra. It didn’t matter to him if the bra had two hooks or four. He could manage it with two fingers, easy.

  She waited for her drink and took out a compact mirror from her purse. Holden should have been keeping an eye on those longshoremen in the back. Still, Ricky, another bouncer on duty who was positioned near the back of the place, would give him plenty of warning if anything truly horrendous was about to happen.