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  Do You Want Me

  Copyright © 2015 by Nancy Fraser

  ISBN: 978-1-61333-863-6

  Cover art by Syneca Featherstone

  All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work, in whole or in part, in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher.

  Published by Decadent Publishing Company, LLC

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  Do You Want Me

  By

  Nancy Fraser

  A Beyond Fairytales

  Adaptation of Grimms’ “The Devil’s Sooty Brother”

  Prologue

  “What’s your poison, Boss?”

  Reece Michaels shook his head. “Nothing now, thanks. Maybe later.” He surveyed the half-filled bar, its comfy leather stools a lunchtime haven for its regulars.

  Across the width of the large space, his wife prepped the restaurant for the four o’clock opening. Staff scurried around, following her every lead. She doled out orders with the efficiency of a drill sergeant but the calm of a mama cat coercing her lazy kittens into action. Her dual personality was one of the many things he loved about her.

  That and, even after close to a quarter of a century, her smokin’-hot bod. She had the legs and breasts of a woman half her age. And he liked nothing better than to avail himself of every inch of her luscious curves as often as possible. A familiar ache surged through his loins, making him hard.

  The door to the bar opened, admitting a small man, bent with age. His crinkled eyes and stern expression spoke of intelligence and, with it, experience. Something seemed vaguely familiar about him, yet Reece couldn’t attach a memory to the man’s face. When he took a seat in the very middle of the bar, all but a few turned in his direction.

  The old guy raised his head and scanned the crowd, waving Jared off with a crooked hand. “No thanks. I’m not here to drink. I’m here to share a story.”

  Reece heard the young bartender’s muffled chuckle from four seats away.

  “A story?” Jared swiped the bar with a damp rag. “O’Malley’s isn’t a library, old man. It’s a place to wet your whistle.”

  “I’m not a drinker. I’m a storyteller. The name’s Nicodemus, and I’m here to tell you all about what it used to be like twenty-odd years ago when the Irish mob ran not only the bar but the entire neighborhood.”

  The mention of the bar’s history…his history…drew Reece closer to where the fellow sat. This Nicodemus character had everyone’s attention now, especially his. Exactly how much did the old man know? How accurate was his story?

  He shifted on the barstool, his short legs struggling to reach the metal rungs beneath his feet, until he faced the regulars. Most of their current patrons had been in grade school or younger when the bar first opened. Yet, most likely they’d all heard the legend of Sean O’Malley and his gang of crooks. Reece knew, firsthand, legends weren’t always accurate. If anything, they leaned more toward the fantastic than the truth.

  The old man coughed once to clear his throat. “I’m going to tell you a story about a young man, a hero, returned home from the first war in the Gulf only to find a new kind of hell in the place where he should have felt safe. It’s a long story, so you may want to order yourselves up another drink before I start.”

  He waited while a few of the patrons refilled their glasses. As soon as everyone took their seats, he began.

  “Once upon a time—”

  “Whoa, wait a minute,” Jared interrupted, his tone abrupt and annoyed. “Are you telling us some sort of a kid’s story, a fairy tale?”

  Nicodemus shook his head. An impatient scowl wrinkled his brow. “What I’m sharing ain’t like any fairy tale you’ve ever heard, Boy. It’s a tale of greed and lust. Some would say, a modern retelling of ‘The Devil’s Sooty Brother.’”

  The room fell silent, and he began again. “Like I was saying…once upon a time....”

  Chapter One

  Boston, Massachusetts

  April 1991

  Reece slid from the back of the pickup truck and grabbed his duffle bag, tossing it over his shoulder. “Thanks for the ride,” he called out.

  The driver, a total stranger, honked twice and pulled away, leaving Reece at the end of the long, paved driveway leading to his uncle’s home. He hoisted his bag higher on his shoulder and walked up the graveled drive. He’d barely reached the steps when he saw it…the paper affixed to the front door.

  An eviction notice.

  Old newspapers were scattered across the weathered porch. Flyers protruded from the rusted mailbox. Obviously, there’d been nobody living there for some time.

  Reece rattled the brass handle. A sturdy padlock held the door firmly in place. He walked around the back of the house. Perhaps the chaise lounge was still on the deck. The fence leading to the overgrown yard was padlocked as well.

  Where could he go for the night? Mentally, he calculated the few dollars in his pocket, certain they’d not get him a room at even the sleaziest of motels. He closed his eyes and let out a long sigh. The neighborhood park, with large trees for shelter and long wooden benches, seemed to be his only option. Given where he’d been for the past eight months, one night on a fairly clean street in the very heart of Boston shouldn’t bother him.

  There’d be time enough tomorrow to find his uncle, access the meager savings he’d left behind, and straighten out the issue of the house once belonging to his grandparents. Afterward, he’d begin his search for a job. At the moment, though, he needed sleep. Two days of canceled flights and bad weather had taken their toll, making him bone weary and definitely not his best.

  ***

  Reece awoke the next morning to a dreary overcast sky and crisp breeze. A light rain spattered against the military-issued jacket he’d thrown over his body. The hard slats of the park bench bit into his side, so he shifted to find a more comfortable position.

  Reality seeped in with a welcome laziness. The cool air, the light drizzle. He was no longer hunkered down in a foxhole in the middle of a hotter-than-Hades desert. He wa
s home, or at least what had served as home for the past few years. And, until he located his only family, homeless.

  Not much of a welcome for a war-scarred vet. But, at least, he was on American soil and out of harm’s way.

  He’d start his search for his uncle at the local community center. Bert went there at least three times a week to play checkers with his Vietnam buddies. If anyone would know where he’d gone, it would be them.

  Reece sat up, shook the rain from his jacket, and stuffed it back into his duffle. Donning a well-worn ball cap adorned with his unit’s insignia, he pushed himself to his feet and headed south. The center was a good two mile walk, yet nothing more than a light stroll compared to the walking he’d done while away.

  He opened the cracked glass door leading to the center. The pungent odor of urine assailed his senses. Mixed with the lingering smell of weed, the stench turned his empty stomach.

  He could hear the laughter, the air blue with foul language and personal slurs. He stepped through the second set of doors and paused, scanning the room for someone he knew. The first person Reece spotted was Malcolm Murdock, Bert’s former drill sergeant and good friend.

  “Mal,” he shouted as he closed the distance between them.

  The older man stood and held out his hand. “Reece Michaels. Well, I’ll be damned. It is you.”

  Reece nodded and clasped Mal’s hand firmly in his. “Yes, sir, it’s me.”

  The room fell silent. The chatter, the swearing, the laughter stopped.

  “Welcome home, soldier,” Mal said. “I’m glad to see you didn’t get yourself killed.”

  Reece chuckled. “Me, too, Mal.” He glanced around the room, his focus stopping at the table where his uncle usually sat. “Can you tell me where Bert is?”

  Mal met his gaze. A frown turned down the corner of the man’s mouth. “He’s gone, Reece.”

  “Gone where?” Reece asked. In his gut, he sensed Mal’s answer wouldn’t be one he wanted to hear.

  “He passed away in January, son.” Mal shook his head. A genuine sadness furrowed the older man’s brow. “He caught pneumonia and never recovered.”

  “I didn’t know.” Reece let emotion wash through him. Blinking once, twice, he composed himself quickly. “But it explains why the house went into foreclosure.”

  Mal nodded. “I’d have kept up the mortgage if I’d been able.”

  “I know and I’m grateful for the thought. What about his stuff…my stuff?”

  “Your belongings are stored over in Pete Parson’s basement. We sold most of your uncle’s things to pay for his funeral and burial. The fellows chipped in, too. We wanted to do right by him.”

  “I appreciate everything, Mal. I do.” Reece looked around the room, silently acknowledging the nods and smiles from his uncle’s close friends. “Thank you all. You were Bert’s best pals. I know he’d be overwhelmed by all you’ve done.”

  “Are you still military, Reece?”

  “No, I was honorably discharged on a medical.” He tugged on his sleeve and pulled it up toward his shoulder, exposing a small portion of the jagged scar running from his elbow to an inch beneath his shoulder blade. “I took the ass end of some mortar fire a few days before they pulled my unit out.”

  “I tried to reach you when Bert passed. I left word with the local recruiting office. They promised to get hold of the authorities.” Mal shrugged. “I figured they couldn’t reach you when you didn’t make it home for the funeral.”

  Given the secrecy of his last few missions, they wouldn’t have found him even if they’d come looking. “Yeah, I must have been out on patrol, or something. It’s not likely they’d have let me come home for non-immediate family, anyway.”

  “Bert was your only family...which makes him ‘immediate’ in my book.”

  Reece welcomed Mal’s kind words, but knew it wouldn’t have mattered. “It’s over and done now. I’m just glad to be home.” He scanned the room again. “You fellows wouldn’t know where I can find a job, would you?”

  Murmurs, shrugs, and a lot of staring at the floor gave him his answer. Had there actually been any jobs available, these fellows would have likely applied themselves.

  “I’ve got to get going. If you see Pete, let him know I’ll be by for my stuff as soon as I’m settled in someplace cheap.”

  “Where you headed, Reece?”

  “I’m going to run by the bank. I want to see what I have to do to get the house back.”

  “Good luck,” Mal said, his tone sincere.

  Reece nodded and then turned toward the door. He needed to get his hands on the few dollars he’d saved before he left and find himself a place to live. Thankfully, he still had two military paydays coming to him. At least he wouldn’t starve.

  Less than a block from the bank, an unmarked cop car pulled up beside him. A plainclothes detective sat behind the wheel.

  “Something I can do for you, detective?” Reece asked.

  “You’re Reece Michaels, aren’t you?”

  “Yeah, I am. Have I done something wrong?”

  The detective shook his head. “Nope. I’ve been sent to pick you up and take you downtown.”

  “Downtown? Why?” He glanced around. “And, how did you find me in the first place?”

  “I tried to catch you when your plane arrived last night but got caught up at work and arrived too late. I’ve been canvasing your old neighborhood since I saw the sign on your front door.”

  “Again, why?”

  “The chief wants to talk to you.”

  “Chief Willis wants to talk to me?”

  The man choked out a smoker’s laugh. “Old man Willis isn’t the chief anymore, Michaels.”

  “Then who summoned me?”

  “Chief Mackenzie.”

  “Jack Mackenzie?” Reece asked.

  “Yeah. You know him?”

  “Unfortunately. The last time our paths crossed, he threatened to cut off my balls.”

  Again, the detective chuckled and nodded toward the other side of the car. “Get in. We can stop for an athletic cup if you think you’ll need one.”

  When Reece slid into the front seat, the detective stuck out his hand. “My name’s Conklin, Matt Conklin.”

  “Nice to meet you, Conklin. What division do you work for?”

  “Drug enforcement, mostly. Although they occasionally loan me out to vice.” They’d gone no more than a few blocks when Conklin asked, “So, exactly what did you do for the chief to threaten you with castration?”

  Reece stifled an outright laugh. “Fucked his daughter.”

  Conklin pulled a sour face. “That’ll do it. From what I hear, he’s pretty protective of both his girls.” He paused and then asked, “Lily or the younger one?”

  “Lily,” Reece confirmed.

  “You didn’t force her, did you?”

  “No. Purely consensual.”

  Although he’d never elaborate, Lily Mackenzie was definitely not the saint her father likened her to. If anything, she was as aggressive in bed as he’d been. And, other than their last time together, the sex had been hot and wild and enough to stop a man’s heart.

  He pushed the memories, both good and bad, aside, and asked, “Any idea what Mackenzie wants to see me about?”

  “Nope. All I know is he asked for you and was freakin’ adamant about me tracking you down.”

  Reece settled back and stared out at the passing scenery. He had no idea what Jack Mackenzie wanted, but he’d bet his bronze star it wasn’t to welcome him home.

  ***

  “Come on in, Reece. Take a seat.” A huge bear of a man, Mackenzie motioned him forward.

  “Chief of police.” Reece settled into the plush leather chair opposite Mackenzie’s desk. “Quite a big leap from captain, and in less than two years.”

  “Things happened fast. As it unfolded, a good portion of the ranking officers were on the take, including Chief Willis. I was the closest thing they had to an honest cop.”

&
nbsp; Reece considered making small talk and feeling the man out yet couldn’t muster up even the simplest phrase. Curiosity prompted him to get right to the point. “What am I doing here, Mackenzie?”

  “I’ve got a job for you.”

  “A job. You want me to join the police force.”

  Mackenzie shook his head. “No, at least not officially.”

  “And, unofficially?”

  “We’re trying to take down Sean O’Malley and his drug operation. Sending in one of my detectives is not an option. You have history with Jason O’Malley. You guys went to school together.”

  “We knew each other. I wouldn’t call us friends.”

  “You need a job. O’Malley’s always looking for men who can handle themselves physically.”

  “And you think he’d hire a decorated veteran?” Reece let out a long sigh. “O’Malley hires crooks, not ex-military.”

  “If you can convince him you’ve become disillusioned with the military, with the lack of support for their veterans, he might buy it. Let him think you’re considering becoming a mercenary. If necessary, we can even create a police record for you.”

  “I can’t miraculously have a police record.” When Mackenzie might have responded, Reece raised his hand. “I suppose we could develop one over the next few weeks. It would take me some time to get my shit together so I’d fit in with the thugs he calls his ‘guys.’”

  “Do you have something in mind?”

  “My uncle’s house. I want it out of foreclosure. We could say I broke in. Maybe got arrested for threatening the bank.”

  “It’s a beginning, and a good one. What else?”

  “Drugs. O’Malley’s got the old neighborhood wired. What if we put the word out I came home with some contacts?”

  Mackenzie nodded, as if warming to the suggestion. “It might work.”