Surrender To Me

I finally flipped the sign closed on the shop front and breathed a sigh of relief. I was officially in weekend territory, and I couldn’t wait to get home. After scrubbing the place down and setting the alarm, I grabbed my bag, locked up the shop, and began the short walk home. I stopped in at the liquor store and picked up some wine, but as I walked past a display of champagne, I paused. A champagne kiss was all I could think about. That, along with the man who had given them to me.

“They’re on sale right now,” the clerk said, giving me a warm smile.

I returned it but shook my head. I couldn’t afford champagne right now. I clutched my cheap bottle

of red wine more tightly and brought it to the counter. “Maybe next time,” I told him with a small shrug.

“Big plans for tonight?”

“I’m not sure. Unless you count a long soak in the tub and Netflix as big plans.”

He grinned. “You sound just like my girlfriend. She does the same.”

“Smart woman,” I replied, digging into my purse for some cash. I scraped together the last of my money to pay for the booze, then said goodbye to the clerk.Belongs © to NôvelDrama.Org.

When I got to my apartment, I unlocked the door and then went through the re-locking routine before placing the wine on the kitchen counter. I’d just toed off my Vans when there was a loud banging on my apartment door. Walking over, I yanked the thing open, staring at my brother who was breathing like a racehorse.

The irony was not lost on me.

He burst into my apartment, slamming the door shut behind him. I narrowed my eyes at him, bracing myself for the next words out of his motherfucking mouth. “I fucked up, Wren.”

I was suddenly getting flashbacks to when he’d said those words to me only a few nights ago.

“What the fuck have you done this time, Hawk?”

“I owe a bookie some money.” I stared at him in disbelief, trying to file all his words into my mind in an orderly fashion. They made sense on their own but thrown together, I couldn’t quite grasp how fucking stupid he was being.

“You’re kidding, right? Tell me you’re fucking laughing at my expense.”

He shook his head, his expression serious. “No, sis.”

Rage bubbled up inside me, this dormant beast of emotions that Hawk seemed to tap into every time he did something like this. “Fuck! How much do you owe?”

He winced. “Twenty thousand.”

I blinked. “If you owe Bane-fucking-Rivera fifty thousand dollars, why the fuck would you bet another twenty you don’t even have?”

“I was desperate, okay. And it was a sure thing. Come on, you have to believe me.”

“I do believe you. I believe you’re a gigantic asshole who doesn’t think about how this shit impacts his sister. What am I supposed to do with this information?”

He began to pace, spearing his fingers through his blond hair. “I don’t know. I don’t know,” he muttered. “Did you speak to the bank about that loan?”

“Are you fucking serious, Hawk?” My voice had hit screeching levels, and I wasn’t even apologizing for it.

“Well, have you? You could borrow enough to cover both debts.”

Stalking into the kitchen, I pulled my emergency bottle of whisky from a top cupboard and slammed it down onto the Formica. “Fuck.” I poured myself a shot of whiskey and swallowed it. Wincing at the burn, I yelled, “You do know how loans work, right? I have to pay all of this back, plus interest, and how am I supposed to achieve that if you’re out there fucking making bets and being a general prick about things?”

He followed me into the kitchen, leaning against the counter. “There has to be a way.”

I eyed him over the rim of my whiskey glass as I threw another shot back. “There is. It’s called a dirt bed, and it’ll be yours.”

I hated that I had to threaten him like this, but he wouldn’t learn. What did he think the bookie was going to do when he found out Hawk didn’t have the money he owed, just pat him on the back and say better luck next time? I poured myself another shot, hissing through my teeth as the cheap alcohol burned my throat. I tried to come up with a plan that could work, but all I came up with was one that I didn’t want to touch with a ten-foot pole.

I didn’t want to touch it, but maybe I could stroke it just enough, so it’d back off.

Striding from the kitchen, I walked into my bedroom and swiped the black business card off my dresser. In the living room, I scooped up my phone and punched in the number on the back. As I put the device to my ear, I let out a breath and prayed I was doing the right thing. There was a click, and then…

“Little Bird.”