Leon's Way (5 page)

“What’s going on?” I say, a command more than a question. My staff, hell,
people
, answer me.

“Nothing,” she says, gets up, and shuns the bar. I meet Christian’s
what-the-hell
look before I press past him and go after her.

I know better than to call out through the music. It’s too loud—she wouldn’t hear me—so I follow her past the office, through the corridor to the kitchen. I give a shoulder-pat to Mario, who’s manning the food pans, on my way outside.

In the back alley, I find her leaning against the brick wall. She hurries to remove her hands from her face. She’s delusional thinking I didn’t notice. Nothing in my bar escapes me, and whatever’s up with Arriane, I’m not a fan.

“Hey,” I say.

“Why are you chasing me? Can I not get a minute to myself? I’ll be inside soon. I just—” She swears softly under her breath. “I need air.”

I don’t know this woman. She’s different to what I’m used to. Straight-laced, always dependable, loyal, no-bullshit Arriane.

“What the hell is going on?” Again, I’m not asking. I’m demanding.

“Don’t,” she replies. “Just don’t.”

Who knew Arriane, of all people, had it in her to frustrate me? “Don’t what?”

“Patronize me.”

What?

I’m in an alternate reality. Arriane is fucking rebelling. Against
me
, her boss, and while I’m worrying about her wellbeing?

“You’re pale,” I insist, keeping my calm. If there’s anything I’m good at, it’s that.

“So are you.” She glowers at me. Arriane suppresses the way her upper body wants to double forward, but her hands don’t lie and they cover her stomach.

“I swear, Arriane,” I say, simply.

“You sure do,” she mumbles.

I remember her closer than this. The feel of her in my hands. Scarlet, warm. Smooth against me. “You smell good,” I say, and she instantly realizes how I’m not referring to her flowery perfume.

“You should wash up, Leon. God!”

I take a step into her. “Yeah? What’s the fun in that? You wouldn’t be on my hands, then.”

Her eyes. That lavender glare storms at me, mortified and furious at once.

“You’re a… a…” She stops herself before she loses her last thread of professionalism. Confusion and regret flow over her features before she hangs her head, slithering coils of silky black hair obstructing my view.

“I—I’m sorry, boss. Please, deduct the time from my paycheck. I’ll be right inside.” When her stare meets mine, she’s my staff member again. The loyal, sweet employee who never says “no” to a task. The one who covers for everyone else and picks up the slack.

I’m not ready to slide back into our routine yet, so I brush the back of my hand over a smooth cheek and watch her lip tremble. She’s a secret-keeper tonight. Not willing to share with me. On impulse, I tip her head up. Give her the lightest kiss on her lips. Dry and gentle. Then, I nod.

“No hurry. And forget about pay deductions. Promise me you’ll go to a doctor?” This time I’m asking, wanting her to agree instead of following my command.

A slight girl has slipped a ballet flat off and curves her foot around the leg of a barstool. She’s got a jet-black pixie cut and short bangs covering the hand that supports her forehead. She’s utterly feminine in a non-curvy way. My own boobs throb at the painful reminder of curves. And secrets.

I’ve arrived unannounced to the club, earlier than Leon expects, so it shouldn’t be a surprise to run into porcelain princesses in his abode, but my hand still finds my heart and presses inward. Like that helps when he slides an arm around her waist and brings her to his chest. He leans his chin on top of her head, not noticing me in the doorway.

The familiar nausea rises in me. Sometimes I wonder if it’s psychological more than a physical reaction to my intruder. Maybe I wouldn’t get sick if I could afford to work at a club that isn’t Leon’s. If I weren’t around him all the time.

The Blood Bank for instance. It’s a great bar—I have several friends who work there, but Leon pays better than anyone else, and if I’m ever going to finish this business degree…

I can pull off another year of this. Of having my heart twisted and wrung.

After all, since New Year’s Eve, I haven’t seen any broken girls around Leon. I’m spoiled. Which must be why I die a little when his hand follows the girl’s spine and moves into her hair in reassuring caresses.

My purse.

It slides off my shoulder and hits the floor. In slow motion, Leon rotates to me, and the lightest of summer blues lock my stare. Pained, I swallow, and he frowns.

“Arriane, you’re early.” He doesn’t remove his arms from around the girl. She turns her head so her cheek rests against him. “Are you okay?” he asks me—
me
—and wouldn’t it be nice, just for once, to scream at the top of my lungs that
no, I am not okay
.

“Yep, hey guys,” I say and walk toward them. Thank God the girl sits up. Frees herself from Leon’s embrace. I’d never do that.

“Kat, this is Arriane who I’ve told you so much about. She’s my left hand—the one in charge of all this.” He points at the strings of cowboy hats, sombreros, and fireman helmets I didn’t take down yesterday. It’s why I came early, to straighten this place out for a regular bar night.

Despite her paleness and Leon’s tall stature next to her tiny one, they complement each other. Where Leon’s features are a dazzling blend of races, hers are distinctly Asian. She’s simply beautiful, and the two of them look striking together… which makes my heart shrink.

The girl grabs my hand in a delicate clasp. Her eyes are a soft brown. Mauve-colored lips, the shape of a half-open rosebud, draw up at the corners in a smile. “Nice to meet you, Arriane,” she says, voice low.

This one, she’s a sad girl, controlling her voice from quivering. Since I haven’t seen her before, my guess is he only recently made her his, Leon-style, but—is she already grieving him? His women aren’t sad until his interest cools. The closeness they share confuses me too. It doesn’t support how recent this thing between them must be.

“Arriane, this is my sister Katsu. She’s visiting from San Francisco.”

Yes.

The nausea
is
psychological and not only when I’m upset. It title-waves relief in over me until I stutter out a “nice to meet you too.”

Then, I take off to the bathroom.

I’ve missed my brother so much—I hope the next time I’ll be here just for him. Unfortunately, at the moment, I’m in Deepsilver for the old man I call “the sperm donor.”

I’ve got my work cut out for me; I want Leon to come to the hospital. My brother’s façade is hard as steel and smooth as marble, but inside hides a boy who blames himself for everything that happened to me. He wishes, wishes—

I wish too.

I don’t let our childhood hamper my life, though. Our father is a monster who should be processed like porridge and passed like bowel movements on laxatives.

For the most part, I’ve come to terms with what we went through. My brother, my Shishi, has not, so the last thing he needs is for our father to die. The sperm donor isn’t worthy of anyone’s bitterness, and the boy inside Shishi would exceed bitterness and plunge into indigestible guilt if he doesn’t face the past.

I look up at Leon. This girl, Arriane—she unsettles him. I’m not sure what’s going on between them, but there’s definitely something; she barely coughed out a greeting before she ran to the restroom. I know my brother—he’s a bit on the loose side. More than one woman has screamed “son of a bitch” at him in my presence. Now, Shishi stands, ready to go after her, but I hold him back.

“What’re you doing?” I ask.

“Gonna check if she’s okay.”

I love him, but he’s so clueless. I wonder how he manages without me.

“Are you sleeping with her?” I push a lock of hair out of his face as his gaze slides back to the door she disappeared behind.

His eyes dart from the bathroom to me. “Hmm? Ah, no, Kat. Like I said, Arriane has worked here for years, and I worry about her. She’s getting sick a lot lately.”

“Well, you can’t invade her privacy if ‘employee’ is all she is.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. It’s my club, and the space needs to be set for opening hours, including—”

A minute ago, I was overwhelmed by the situation with the sperm donor, but my brother is all action no thinking right now. He makes me smile. “Nope, stay clear of the little girls’ room,” I say.

I stray to his innate talent for diverting my attention. From inside a chaos no child should experience, my older brother was there, changing the chemistry of my mind a few words at a time.

Shishi’s eyes flick to me, their color even lighter than our father’s. He hates the reminder of any similarities between the two of them, so I don’t mention it.

“Well, then—
you
go to her. Whatever Arriane needs,” he finishes. I understand.

“’Kay, Bro,” I say, because the expression annoys the hell out of him. Nothing wrong in pressing some brotherly buttons.

In the bathroom, Arriane stoops in toward her reflection. The water taps into the sink in front of her, and she dries her face with a paper towel, avoiding the deep kohl framing her eyes.

“Can I get you anything?” I ask.

She focuses on me in the mirror, gaze softening with apologies. “Ah, no, I’m fine now. Thanks, though. And sorry, I didn’t mean to run off, Kat… su?”

“Yeah, our mother named me. It’s in homage to our Japanese ancestry. Our biological father chose Leon’s name since he was a
boy
.” I sniff primly like it makes sense, causing the girl to smile. “You can call me Kat,” I add.

“Funny,” Arriane says. “My twin brother and I were the same way. Mom named me, and Dad him. We’re from two different cultures too, so I have an American name and he an Indian one.”

“What’s his name?”

She laughs, twisting long hair over a shoulder. “Chahel.”

“Strong name,” I offer. “Hmm. Somehow reminds me of Superman.”

“Ah!” Arriane huffs, widening her eyes in fake surprise. “My brother
is
super!”

When we return, Shishi is still by the bar, an elbow resting on the counter. His gaze trails over Arriane. As always, his expression is guarded, but I know him and catch the glitter of concern in his irises.

“She’s okay,” I tell him even though she’s next to me and could have told him herself. I wrap my fingers around her shoulder and squeeze a little. “Done hurling her guts out.”

“It wasn’t bad,” she objects, and a shadow of a smile touches my brother’s mouth.

On my first morning in Deepsilver, I stare down at the unconscious form of the man who gave me life. Such a beautiful thing, isn’t it, to give someone life. I should be grieving in his presence, but thanks to all this sperm donor did to us, I am not. Funny how the miracle of life expires in the face of abuse.

Rice-paper white, his face droops on one side. Thin, dull lips—so different to the ones that used to scream threats at my brother—sag at the corners, saliva gleaming beneath a thick tube.

The cocktail of emotions I experience now will be nothing compared to Shishi’s if our sperm donor dies. I might only be twenty, six years my brother’s junior, but he’s not always wiser.

A fold of skin camouflages the weak pulse at my father’s neck. I want it to stop. I will the machine to quit helping him breathe, and yet I’m scared shitless that he’ll die before I’m ready, before my brother has said his goodbyes, giving him the absolution he deserves.

When my father sighs from within his coma, my own pulse rattles and pumps frightened adrenaline into my veins. It’s been ten years, but my body can’t fathom how he won’t be jumping off the bed to punish me for waking him up.

From since I can remember, my brother and I have hated this person. Even as children, we knew that hating him meant strength and survival.

A gurgling sound surges from my dad, so I ring for the nurse. There’s a sob stuck in my throat, over the love and nurturing you’re supposed to receive from a father, over what we didn’t get. I don’t hate him anymore. I’ve digested a lot in the years I’ve been away, but this lingering bitterness? I want it gone so badly.

And Shishi…

I was a little forceful before I threw in the towel and came here without him. The glassy waters of his surface rippled the tiniest bit each time he told me “no.”

“Everything all right, Miss Stonewell?” the nurse asks as she answers my alarm.

“I don’t know. He sounded like he was choking for a second.”

I head to the door while the nurse checks tubes and accommodates my father against the pillows. She sends me a puzzled glance, probably wondering why I don’t wait for her assessment. She wouldn’t understand that I’ve seen enough of him. Plus, I’m on their speed dial for changes in him anyway.

I’m leaving.

Back in my brother’s car, I’m surprised at how calm I am. I sit for a minute, reveling in the hospital visit being over.

I’ve always been caring, empathetic. I used to believe my father’s cruelty hadn’t influenced me as a person, but today I’m not so sure.

They say women are strong. If that’s what they’d deem
me
right now, they must be mistaken. Because I? I feel like I’m callous.

I contain my frustration until Kat has left for the hospital. Then, I barge into the Bag Room and swing against the biggest punching bag as fast and hard as I can. The smooth texture of the leather absorbs my hits. Taking it, taking it, taking it.

Like I did from my father after Mom split. Taking it—until Kat was big enough to be tossed around too. That’s when I stopped taking it.

I don’t get why she cares. Why she insists on me accompanying her to the hospital. She needs to leave well enough alone. I rarely think about him anymore. I haven’t for a decade, since I put Kat on the plane to San Francisco in a last ditch effort to keep her safe.

“Please, Shishi—I want to be with you!” she’d cried at the gate.

“Mom will come meet you at the airport,” I whispered. “You’ll get a pretty, new room. A new school with new friends. Dad will never hurt you again.”

“I don’t know her,” she sniffled, nose pink, shiny from the tears.

“Kat,” I’d said, cupping her little face, “don’t be scared. She’s waiting for you. Remember, she loves you. The only reason she left us behind was that Dad would never have let her bring us.”

I shake my head at how hard I tried. God knows I had no idea what I was talking about. Still don’t. Can a mother who loves her children leave without as much as goodbye? Sure, he beat her senseless and didn’t touch me until she’d scrammed, but Kat was just a baby!

Fuck.

Kat had insisted I come along, but I was sixteen and outside my father’s house, Deepsilver was mine. I needed my sister safe, so I could leave his house. Be with my friends, do my karate—and never look back.

I strip my shirt off. Kick my jeans to the side and stride over to the stereo. Switch on the darkest power metal I own while I snatch my black karate pants from the chair and tug them on.

No use in reliving this shit again. I did for years after I got Kat to safety. All I know is that if it weren’t for our mother’s new husband, a bland little lawyer, Kat would’ve been forced back into my father’s custody at the snap of two fingers.

I start on a breakneck succession of explosive kicks. One after the other, my jabs, punches, and blocks slice through the air in the rhythmic dance of the katas. My heart rate speeds up, my chest swelling with the energy I release.

Over the years, whenever I received good news about my sister in SF, I’d recall my ingenuity at sixteen, how I got her on the flight first, then called Mom afterwards. I figured the damage would be done that way; Mom might as well own it—she’d be in trouble with Dad no matter what. Turns out she, or her new husband, agreed with me.

The death metal roaring out of the speakers fades, which works because I’ve calmed down enough to go for the speed bag. A dull throb in both fists from the heavy bag tells me I should grab gloves, but I’m not ready for pain relief yet.

Fast, hard, explosive. I stare at the punch ball as my hits make it blur. One-two-
three
, one-two-
three
, one-two-
three
.

A man is who he is thanks to his past, his talents, and his hard work. My father couldn’t beat me into submission. What he did was beat me quiet, controlled, and controlling. In my teenage years, once the world beyond our front door had become mine, I vowed never to turn into the lowly, sadistic man he was. I upheld that promise to myself with a single slip—my short-term ex, Pandora, whom I was fascinated with for a minute. I’ve stopped wondering how she tilted my world. Main thing is, I’ll never slip again.

The thuds and my low grunts are the only sounds in the room, until a timid knock on my apartment door interrupts me. I stop and blow out a few puffs. The mirrored wall reflects the wild look in my eyes.

I’m better. I’m better. I can tame the demons.

A moment later, I open the door with my chest still heaving. Arriane’s on the outside. She parts her lips, preparing for a question. She’s holding a set of wings and a handful of wands, wiggling them.

“Wings,” I observe. “You better this morning?” Her gaze runs down my body before returning to my face. Embarrassed, I’m guessing by her own perusal of me, she reddens.

“Hi, yes… I was just wondering about the National Tooth Fairy celebration in a week. We have some things left over from last year—this and a batch in the attic, but…”

Tooth fairy? Damn.

“But what? You want more fairy stuff?” I cut to the chase.

She bites her lip, like she’s acknowledging how silly this sounds. “Mmm, maybe?” Now, her eyes sparkle with amusement. Hell, I’m liking it when I can make those violet stunners sparkle.

“Come in. Have breakfast with me, and we’ll go over all the fairy needs.”

Arriane snorts as if she’s about to decline the offer. Pulls a long strand of inky black hair from her face. I need the distraction, though, so I grab her hand and pull her behind me into the kitchen.

“So.” I begin prepping the coffeemaker. Pour beans into the grinder and start filling water. “Do we need fairy dust? Glitter and shit? Or teeth.”

Arriane actually giggles. The sound trickles from her, making me think of random junk like mountain gulleys I’ve never even been to. I check her out behind me. Leaning against the backrest of the chair, she relaxes into her laugh.

I’m not used to women relaxing in my lair. This is Arriane, though. She fucking cleaned my apartment when she was too young to bartend for me, so—unless I tie her to my bed—she really should feel at ease in here.

“More wings, maybe some wigs,” she interrupts where my thoughts are going. Which is to the master suite with her body over my shoulder, ass close enough to bite.

I pop the lid back on and start the coffee. “Done deal. Get wings and wigs. How many—couple dozen each?” I’m ready to agree to whatever number she counters with. “Are you dressing us up?”

A strangled gasp comes from behind me, and I turn. What I find is Arriane sinking forward, laughing quietly, elbows on her knees and boobs trembling from her mirth. “Geez, Leon. You crack me up.”

New one.

“Why? What’s so funny?”

“Mm, picturing you and the guys as fairies.”

I feel like messing with her, so I send her a stern look. She responds immediately, pressing two fingers over her eyelids, trying to suppress the laughter. “Crap, sorry about that,” she mumbles.

“Right. So no dress-up.”

“Yeah. Ah, I’ll be using them for wall décor. Oh, and along the bar counter.”

I remain stone-faced, enjoying her discomfort for another moment. She’s getting nervous. Cute.

Sniffing, she sits up, trying to revert to serious.

I walk over.

“Anyway, were you working out?” she asks in an attempt to divert my attention.

“I was.” I drop in front of her, both hands on her knees. My sad excuse for a conscience whispers about power abuse and not to do this. “Gotta unload some energy.”

“Where’s Katsu?” Clearly rattled by my proximity, she’s aiming at deflection again.

“My sister’s visiting the old man in the hospital. Which is bullshit.”

“Why?” Arriane asks immediately. Her eyes meet mine from under her lashes. “He had a stroke, right?”

“Yeah. She hasn’t seen him in ten years—”

“That’s nice of her, then, to make up for lost—”

I hate being interrupted.

“—for a reason,” I finish my sentence.

Arriane remains silent, gaze still on me, waiting for me to continue. My hand starts rubbing circles on her thigh, the smooth cotton of her skirt applying friction to the bare skin underneath.

“Okay, Arria. Here’s the deal. For Kat, it started at four years old. That’s when our old man tossed her out of the way for the first time. She’d gotten a hold of the remote control next to his glass of whiskey and accidentally changed the TV channel.”

“Okay…” Arriane begins, but I keep going.

“Really tossed, Arriane. As in several feet up and straight into the wall.”

“No way?”

“Yes. Thankfully, Kat was a quick study. She found ways of staying under the radar when he was drunk. Damn, she could be quiet. Kat disappeared into the walls, I swear, camouflaging herself so well even I didn’t notice her sometimes. Still, you can’t be perfect all the time.”

“God. I’m so sorry, Leon. Did he hurt you too?” Arriane isn’t sure if she should be asking that, and I smile a little at how carefully she slinks it out. I don’t mind talking about myself if prodded. I was over his shit years ago. It’s what he did to Katsu I’ll never be able to stomach.