Summer Storm (Broken Circles Book 1), page 6
I gave Bill the courtesy of a text before turning up, to let him know I would be inside, I didn’t want to scare the living daylights out of the poor man when he came to open the club. Keying in the passcode for the side door, I wandered into the quiet bar, and helped myself to a drink, then climbed the stairs to the VIP area, smiling, remembering the last time I’d been there.
Two drinks down, Bill showed up, making a racket as he swanned around the bar, flicking up the house lights. “You all right, Boss?” he asked, standing to the entrance to the VIP section, hands clasped in front of him. He looked nervous.
“You enjoy working here, Bill? I mean, for me?”
“Yannick, you know I do. Good wages, good boss.”
“You fuck around with the staff?” I’d never asked him before, though I guessed he dipped his toe now and again. It wasn’t important really, but I wanted to know for some asinine reason. His cheeks pinked, and he shuffled from foot to foot, a tell if I ever saw one. I’d known him a long time, he’d always given himself away easily, which was a beneficial trait for the man I trusted to keep my bar clean, running and profitable. “Knock that shit off, Bill, it’s bad management. They need to respect you.”
“I don’t often, consider me suitably chastised.”
“You’re a skilled manager, Bill. Don’t sully it by cheapening your employees. When are the staff in?”
Glancing at his watch, he peered up at me. “About an hour, they’re punctual mostly.”
“I need someone on VIP, I’m sure the guys are going to be traipsing in before long.”
“Anyone in particular?”
I shook my head. “Anyone but CeeCee please, girl gives me a headache.” Bill smirked knowingly. “Come join me for a drink? Just one, won’t impair you for work.”
Bill crept up the stairs and sat down next to me, taking the offered vodka shot I’d poured, his hand shaking a little. I hated he felt intimidated around me, especially when Bill was one of the last people who should. He’d seen and heard a lot of shit, none of it directed at him, and I considered him most definitely a friend after all this time.
“I still make you nervous?”
“Ah, yeah.” He gave me a small smile. “Most people are, Yannick, there’s a lot of urban myth around your name.”
“You get any trouble in here?” I motioned to the shot glass he still held between his fingers. “Drink up.” Doing the same, I downed another shot.
“Not really. The bouncers are surprisingly good at sussing out troublemakers before they make it through the door. This isn’t really that kind of bar anyway, people know it. What’s going on?”
Slumping back into the booth, I let out a long-suffering sigh. “Just tired, Bill. So very exhausted with everything.”
He patted my leg, his nervousness nowhere in sight now. “It happens. You burn out, you get tired, you’re allowed a break. Still feel the same afterward, then you know it’s time to move in a different direction.”
“Nail on the head.”
“You selling the bar?”
“No, Bill. Your job is safe, don’t worry,” I chuckled.
“If I can help with anything…”
“I’ll let you know. For now, just someone to wait on me tonight.”
“I’ll get Jolie. She’s working out really well, total hit with the customers, not so much CeeCee, but that don’t matter. I doubt CeeCee will stick around for long.”
“Yeah,” I laughed. “CeeCee’s…” I couldn’t finish my sentence because the words were not flattering in the slightest. Bill laughed right along with me, nodding his head.
“When the girls come in, I’ll get one of them to bring you some food, looks like you’ll be here a while and I bet you forgot to eat before you started plying yourself with the good stuff.”
“Yeah, spot on, mate. Cheers.”
He hovered for a second, then coughed into his hand. “Can I give you some advice?”
“Sure, go for it.” I’d come to learn Bill rarely said anything which wasn’t worth listening to.
“Sometimes, when you come out of the dark, it doesn’t always leave you behind. Light, you need to look for the light.”
It sounded silly, like something you’d read in a cheesy novel or watch a hero mutter to his loved one in a Hallmark movie, yet Bill made it sound like sage advice. “Experience?”
“Just a bit.”
I had a while to ponder his counsel. If I walked away, there would still be those wanting to push their luck, have their revenge, I wasn’t notorious for no reason. Taking my next steps wisely would have to be done carefully, and yeah, look for the light to make it worth it. Lord knows I hadn’t seen much of it since Yosef had betrayed us all.
Jolie
Another Thursday rolled around after a quicker week than usual. I’d spent the first three days at a prep school in Surrey, covering for a teacher who’d had an accident the weekend before. Travelling had been hell, the sprawling grounds of the school sat outside the village of Merstham with no bus service to the place. It meant getting a taxi from the station and mental maths at seven thirty on a Monday morning to see if I could afford a taxi for the days I’d be there.
I’d loved the placement, however. Six-year-olds were a dream, not snotty or entitled like their parents, not yet anyway. Those precious souls hadn’t learned the art of how to look down on those less fortunate. There had only been a handful of kids to teach, kids whose parents dropped them off to board for the week then picked them up again on the weekends. I couldn’t imagine it, then again, I didn’t have any children, so what did I know? It wasn’t like I’d ever be in such a privileged position either. I was used to seeing things money could buy from working these schools and I couldn’t say I fancied the life. To never struggle would be a fanciful thing, but to have everything handed on a silver platter? No, I saw how those types of people often turned out and unpleasant and entitled was always an accompaniment.
Thursday was a day I’d been looking forward to, and the week had thankfully rushed forth despite time at home being difficult. Only one night had I been able to get a half sober mother into a shower, then into bed, the rest of the time, she’d passed out on the recliner. I wasn’t strong enough to carry her through to her room, a blanket thrown over her sleeping body was the best I could do on those nights. I was absolutely clueless how to help, how to get her to a doctor, or into a rehab programme without an almighty fight. She had little interest in anything other than booze and berating me. Watching her hit the bottom of a bottle every day was soul destroying and I was coming to my wits end.
Something had to give, or she was getting carted off her recliner and zipped up in a body bag. The thought made me shudder - I had to try harder. When she was sober enough to notice I was home, she did nothing but shout disgusting slurs, and after a few days of listening to them, I was ready to bolt and leave her to wallow in her own shit. I’d brush it off, but I often fell asleep with tears in my eyes, exasperated and feeling like I’d let her down. I was all she had, and she rarely recognised me as the daughter she’d once loved, only the person who had ruined her life when my father had finally admitted to her he’d never wanted a family, then walked out of our lives. I was ten years old, and as broken-hearted as she was.
To my mother I was a sob story, an excuse to get blind drunk, an outlet for her irrational anger. I thanked my lucky stars she was often too out of it to throw her fists around often because I took every single hit she hurled at me when she did. The words were harmful enough, the fists I could do without.
She may not have loved me, but I did her, she was my mother and we were all each other had. I stuck around against my better judgement.
“Do you want me to fix you dinner before I get off to work?”
“Soup,” she slurred. “In a cup.”
Which was about as much as she could hold down these days. Tomorrow, an intervention was required, a doctor’s appointment I’d mention in the morning once I figured out if I could get one or not, even if it meant going on my own for some advice, to discuss options. We couldn’t continue down this road any longer.
With a mug of soup in hand, I traipsed back to the living room, spying a new, unopened bottle of whisky, a brand she rarely drank because it was expensive, tucked up beside her chair. Slamming the cup down on the coffee table, I pointed to the bottle she hadn’t even bothered to hide. “Who the hell is buying you more booze?”
“Fuck off. You’re not my mother.”
I stared impudently at the awful woman. “No, I’m not. I’m the one looking after you. Where did you get it?”
“None of your business.”
“It was fucking Jared, wasn’t it?”
My ex was in the flat far too often and if the shithead was buying her bottles of alcohol while I was out working, he was going to get it tight. He damn well knew the situation and exactly how I felt about it, I bought her an allowance of alcohol I thought was sufficient because I was all too aware if she was to suddenly stop, it could very well be a death sentence. I hated doing it and I needed better advice than the shit I’d found online. For Jared to top up her alcohol consumption just made me livid.
“He’s such a good lad. Why you have to be a bitch to him? Best you’re ever gonna get,” she cackled.
“Lovely,” I huffed. “Just fucking lovely. He slept with someone else. I have a little more self-respect than to roll over and pretend it didn’t happen.”
“Always did think you were miss high and mighty, didn’t you?”
“You’re sticking up for him?” Why was I not surprised in the slightest?
“He’s a good boy.”
“Because he buys you booze?”
“I said,” she ground out. “Fuck off, Jolie.”
I did just that, and fucked off, feeling good about it until I sat my arse down on the only available seat I could find on the busy Tube. Window shopping, until it was time for my shift, briefly crossed my mind, but I couldn’t see past the constant shimmer of tears in my eyes, or the hollow feeling in my chest making it difficult to breathe, so I sat on a bench a street away from work and people watched. For more than an hour, I imagined how others lived their lives and wondered if anyone else walking by had a mother like mine and if they wrestled with their conscience daily.
By half past four, I was cold and already tired, my energy zapped, and the thought of work nowhere near as enticing as it had been before. I considered calling Bill to pull a sicky, which would mean going home, the last place I wanted to be anytime soon. Up I got and trudged around the corner, letting myself in through the side door with a smile I’d plastered on my face a second before.
“Ah. Jolie.”
I jumped, not expecting Bill to be right there the minute I closed the door behind me. “Shit, Bill. You gave me a bloody fright.”
“Sorry, sorry, you’re the first in. Think you could do me a favour and nip to the Indian and grab me a chicken bhuna and some sag aloo?” He lifted my hand and shoved twenty pounds in my palm, curling my fingers around the note. “You’ve got VIP again tonight, but Mr Ischmov is already on the premises and could do with some food.”
“Just him?”
“Just him. I think his friends will join him later but for now, he’s alone.”
“A bhuna?”
“Yes, and sag aloo.”
“Um… Okay. I might have to wait for it.”
“That’s fine. Carol shouldn’t be far behind you. She can start the prep for opening.” He shooed me back towards the door I’d just come in through. “You’ll get paid for this time, consider it work.”
Bill was acting weird. The bar made canapes and stuff occasionally, he could have grabbed food from the big walk-in fridge or gone to get the food himself. I had VIP again, and I wondered if it was going to become a habit, though I wasn’t going to complain about it. The VIP bonus bolstered the bar wages I took home each week, money that went a long way to keeping the roof over our heads or paying for unbudgeted taxi fares.
“When you get back, plate it and take it to Mr Ischmov. I’ll keep everyone out of the bar so he can eat in peace.”
“What’s going on?” I asked, bewildered. Why was Yannick already at the bar and having his dinner in VIP?
“I think Mr Ischmov is reconsidering his life,” he muttered, then took off, leaving me staring after him.
Twenty minutes later, the smell of the bhuna tickled my nostrils when I plated the food up, reminding me I’d eaten nothing myself since lunch. There was a granola bar or two in the bottom of my bag I could easily nibble on break but oh, man, I would have loved to have tucked into the food I was just about to take to my boss.
“Who’s that for?” Carol entered the break room, sniffing the air. “Smells bloody delicious.”
“Mr Ischmov is in the bar.”
“Alone?”
“That’s what Bill said, yes.”
“Best not keep the man waiting then,” she remarked with a frown, shoving her bag onto the counter and reaching for the kettle.
When I entered the main bar, the room was dark but for the floor lighting and a few wall lamps, the VIP area steeped in shadows.
“God, mmm,” came a groan. “I can smell that from over here.” His gravelled voice made me visibly shiver, the walk toward him becoming more precarious as I straightened myself out and stepped into the shadowed area.
“Bill sent me for food. I hope this is okay?” I placed a fork and spoon, along with napkins, on the low table in front of him, then handed over the plate.
“Perfect. Thank you.” He took a long sniff, groaning again. I swallowed the lump in my throat, only just stopping from sliding my eyes closed and giving all my secrets away. “Will you sit a moment?”
Glancing around the empty bar, I hesitated. “I need to get ready for work, we open soon, and nothing’s set up yet. I can’t leave Carol to do it herself.”
“Of course. Apologies.” He put the plate on the table and picked up the cutlery. “Bill has you on VIP again, I hope you’re all right with that?”
“Sure.” I grinned to show I was perfectly fine waiting on him again. “You’re not so bad.”
Cocking his head to the side, he laughed. “Some would disagree.”
With the unintended warning firmly in mind, I retreated down the steps, stopping at the bottom. “Enjoy your food.”
“I shall, thank you again.”
Hotfooting it back to the break room, I paused at the door and changed my mind. Carol could read me like a book and would know Yannick Ischmov had affected me in a way I found… uncomfortable, maybe? Uncomfortable but so unbelievably appealing. A dangerous thing with a man like him and a woman like me. Polar opposites in every way.
This was ridiculous, I whispered after I’d shouldered my way into the bathroom and closed myself behind a cubicle door. Jolie Summers did not let people get under her skin. What was this? Why him? Of all the people in the world I could find attractive, it was a bloody mob guy making my skin scorch without so much as a touch. No, the mob guy, if what Carol said was true. I didn’t need that kind of attention on me, oh but how I wanted to bask in it, maybe once. A taste of something that was so inherently not Jolie Summers, something mindless to satisfy the itch the man gave me.
Shit, and double shit. I had to go and take notice of the one man I really shouldn’t have, considering how we’d met before. Our previous meeting should have been warning enough to walk in the other direction.
It wasn’t.
Yannick
The bhuna was delicious and by the time I’d hungrily devoured both the chicken and sag aloo, the staff milled around the bar getting ready for opening. Jolie had changed into that skin-tight skirt and those sky-high heels when she returned to retrieve my empty plate. Without a word, she eyed me warily while she cleaned up, then smiled with a shyness that almost made me swoon, before walking back across the room.
The bar door had barely been open ten minutes when Greg wandered in, looking suave in a navy pinstriped suit paired with a teal shirt, his tie missing, as usual. Ducking my head, I smirked discreetly. He’d come a long way from the scraggily urchin I’d plucked off the side of the road years back. Some arseholes had given him a good doing over and dumped him on a quiet back road in the pouring rain. My protective instincts had kicked in as soon as I’d seen him and Greg came under my wing, eventually earning his spot and ending up one of my closest friends. Neither one of us had ever looked back, and he was firmly entrenched in all of our lives.
“Hey, Yan. Been here a while?” Slipping off his jacket, he rolled up the sleeves of his shirt, taking a seat next to me.
“Not long enough.”
“Drowning sorrows tonight?”
“Maybe. Where is everyone?”
“Be along soon, I reckon. I didn’t hang around for long.”
No, he wouldn’t have. Both he and Andrey shared a particular dislike for Irina and the last few days would not have been fun for either man, having to spend so much time in her company. I understood Greg’s aversion. He didn’t particularly take to women, especially not ones who came onto him the way Irina had in the past, and a young Greg had been exactly Irina’s type. The kid had kept his nerve, knocked her advances back while painting a smile on his face and concealing his disgust, then he’d marched straight back to me to plead his case. Not quite recognising the dynamics of our marriage at the time, he’d shown a hell of a lot of loyalty in that moment thus earning my trust promptly. He’d never once let me down, and I loved the bloke. He was like the baby brother of the group, we all loved him.
“Bunny doing VIP tonight?”
