Surrender To Me

WREN

I jolted away in my bed, blinking in the darkened room. What had woken me? Turning, I glanced at the clock, trying to focus my blurry eyes on the digits on the digital readout. Was that one o’clock -in the morning?

Bang, bang, bang!

Someone was at the door.This belongs to NôvelDrama.Org: ©.

Opening up the drawer on my side table, I pulled out my Beretta 92FS and got out of bed. It was still in the high nineties in my non-air-conditioned apartment, so I’d slept in a shirt and panties. But this was Boyle Heights, and there was no way in hell I was answering my apartment door in the middle of the fucking night without a weapon in my hands-modesty was simply optional at this point.

Bang, bang, bang!

“Jesus! Wren, let me in.”

At the sound of my brother’s voice, I flipped on the living room lights, undid all three deadbolts, and then the slide lock before opening the door. Hawk was weaving on my doorstep, his face a bloody mess, one of his eyes swollen shut.

“What the fuck, Hawk?” I guided him inside, re-shut things, and forced him to sit on my worn-out couch. The furniture groaned around him, but it didn’t fall apart-this time. He still hadn’t answered me, so I walked into the kitchen to grab some ice before hitting the bathroom for the first-aid kit.

When I came back, he was laid out on the faded yellow couch, an arm laid gently over his face.

“What happened?” I asked, easing onto my knees beside him.

He moved his arm, so he could open his one good eye and look at me. “I fucked up, Wren.”

My stomach clenched. “Fucked up, how?”

Hawk was forever getting into trouble. He had been ever since we were kids, and because I felt responsible for him, I’d always done what I could to get him out of it. I feared the day he turned up with a problem I couldn’t fix, though. Every time the problem got bigger, the stakes got higher.

“Fucked up how Hawk?”

He blinked and sucked in a breath through his mouth. His nose was probably broken if the angle was anything to go by. “I’ve been selling drugs.”

“What about RadioShack? I thought you had a job. Why would you need to sell drugs?”

He stared at me with such pity, but I wasn’t the one bleeding and bruised on the couch. “I lost that job a few months back.”

I wanted to punch him in the face, but I held myself back. Besides, I was pretty sure he was feeling sorry enough for himself right now. “Why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you tell me you needed cash, too?”

“I can’t sponge off you for the rest of my life, sis.”

If it were a choice between sponging off me and dealing drugs, I would’ve taken on the financial burden. Although, I wasn’t sure how much more my failing dog grooming business could take. “No, Hawk. Jesus. I can’t believe you did that.”

He shrugged, then winced like he’d forgotten he’d had the shit beat out of him. “It’s done now, but

I owe the boss.”

“How much do you owe?” I was afraid to ask, but I had to know how hot the water was here. When he didn’t answer right away, I pressed, “Hawk, I swear to fucking God if you don’t tell me-”

“Fifty grand.” He stared at me, begging me to understand even though I had no idea what the particulars were this time around. My brother had always been the kind of kid to bet over his head. Most times, his bluffs worked, and he walked away with more cash in his pocket than he’d had in the previous months. I always thought his luck would run out eventually, though.

It turned out this was that time.

Jacking up onto my feet, I cut a tight line in front of him, grinding my molars as I tried to think about how I could secure fifty grand for him. There was no way I wouldn’t help bail him out, but the show was a fucking mystery. I barely scraped together enough for the rent on my shop and apartment every week. My savings account was in the negative the last time I looked.

“When do you have to have it by?” “I was given a week.”

A week to find fifty grand? I’d already refinanced the shop, so Lord knew the banks weren’t going to help me out. I glared at him, hands on my hips, and I adopted the true ticked-off-bigger-sister position.

Who the fuck had he done a deal with? I waved my hands in front of me, silencing my already silent conversation. No, I didn’t want to know the details.

Hawk’s business was his business-until he made it my business.

Motherfucker.

“Who did you steal from?”

“Bane Rivera.” At my questioning look, he added, “He owns that gentleman’s club, The Dollhouse, over in West Hollywood.”

I had heard of The Dollhouse, I’d also heard about the reputation of its owner. Bane Rivera had been voted the most eligible bachelor for three years running. I was not ashamed to say that I’d picked up those copies of the magazines and stared at him, taking in his dark hair, dark eyes, and scruffy jaw. He looked like pure sex on the pages, but a man like that didn’t rise to the top without getting his hands dirty somewhere along the way.

“Well, I’ll just go down there and talk to him.”

Stupid. Stupid idea, but I was grasping at straws here.

“You can’t do that,” my brother said weakly.