Hammered: A Shadows of Chicago Novel Read online

  I follow her out and she grins at me over her shoulder, turning to the right toward the stairs while I stare out into space from the doorway of my office.

  I’m left reeling, and a bit disoriented at the thought that tomorrow I’m apparently throwing my boundaries right out the window.

  My Greek and Swedish traits couldn’t be more opposite; Swedish women are known for their platinum locks and piercing blue eyes and Grecian women known for their dark hair and olive skin. When you take the two and put them together? You get me.

  I inherited my mother’s dark hair and long stature and my father’s ice blue eyes and fair skin. It caused unwanted attention as a child, from modeling agencies and other pointless ventures I wasn’t interested in, but seemingly never from the right person as an adult.

  I dated my only real boyfriend through high school, but as soon as he realized law school was in my immediate future, and becoming Suzy Homemaker wasn’t, he decided I wasn’t wife material. Which couldn’t have worked out better, really. The woman I am now, compared to the uneducated push over I was then couldn’t be more opposite. I know what I want now. Mostly.

  As much as I wanted to deny Helaena’s adamant request for my appearance at her annual New Year’s party, a small part of me was urgent to attend.

  Everyone says there should be more to a relationship than physical attraction, but what if Helaena’s right and you find yourself at a point in life where that’s precisely what you need, crave, even?

  I crave a man’s hands on me for no other reason than pure, unadulterated lust. No hidden expectations of more, just pleasure. Anything to take my mind off my reality and send me into orbit around a brighter place.

  But why has society placed such a label on people, relationships, and what they do in or out of them?

  If there’s one thing we’ve done as a human race up to this point, I’d say our major accomplishment is humanism itself. Advancement in all things, but most importantly, bettering our race and shedding the cloak of bull shit placed over our shoulders hundreds of years ago; feminism, racism, etc. So, tell me why not sexualism? Or more specifically, female sexualism.

  My mother used to tell me, “Lydia, I won’t hear of you being one of those promiscuous girls. Your father is the only man I’ve ever been with, and I want the same for you.”

  First, thanks for the over-share, Mom. Never been aware of my under-appreciation of split-floor plans until right then. Second, why does a woman have to be labeled as “promiscuous” because she chooses to have multiple partners in her life? Hell, maybe she wants to have multiple partners in a week. Why the need to label her a slut or whore, or whatever other colorful bumper sticker you want to slap on her ass?

  I’ve known of Helaena’s dating preferences for the last couple of years after I finally got the gall to ask her why she’d never married, nor had I ever seen her date. Helaena is gorgeous. A complete knockout. At thirty-eight, she is the youngest sibling to Aston, who is the oldest of the six Eriksson children. Her being just twelve years older than me seems like there’s a world of difference between her and Aston, but not so much between her and me.

  Her response to my question didn’t surprise me.

  “I haven’t time nor the patience to mess with boys. My needs are met by the skilled hands of men who know what they’re doing.”

  Those words resonate with me as I take in my appearance, the hum of need rising to the surface. The thought of walking into a room full of attractive, successful people, all there for the sole purpose of pleasure, brought about feelings of fear yesterday, but today, turned me on beyond recognition and caused me to question who I am.

  A year ago, I never would’ve entertained the idea of something like this. Growing up with parents like mine, devoted high school sweethearts, predestined your future to some degree. But the last six months brought about change and altered my perspective.

  My phone rings from the bed and I move to grab it.

  “Hello?”

  “Miss Norberg, I’m parked just outside if you’re ready.”

  “I’ll be down in five.” I hang up the call and take one last look at myself in the mirror before grabbing my clutch and sequined cape.

  The elevator ride down is spent second guessing myself; should I have worn a different dress? Am I showing too much cleavage? I look down at my boobs. Maybe.

  As I open the building door, exposed to the elements, I’m reminded why I barely leave the comfort of my warm apartment on the weekend and briefly wonder if tonight will re-solidify that or make me regret not leaving sooner.

  “How are you, Tony?” I ask as I walk quickly toward the town car.

  “Great, Miss. Got it warm and toasty inside for you.”

  I smile warmly at the man who has become a sort of a constant in my life since Dad insisted I stop using public transportation considering the daily trips to the hospital and work. When he closes the door behind me I am pleased to feel the truth in his statement as the thin material of my dress is all that separates my ass from the warm leather seats.

  “From the looks of that dress, I’d say we aren’t taking our usual trip tonight?” Tony looks over his shoulder as he settles in his seat.

  “Tonight it’s 34 East Bellevue, please.” I smile generously at him. “Speaking of the dress, you don’t think it’s too much?” He looks at me from the rearview mirror now.

  “I think depending on who you ask, that dress is a lot of things, but too much ain’t one. Besides, you can’t have too much of a good thing.”

  He pulls away from the curb and points us in the direction of Gold Coast. Snickering, I slide the door of the console between the bucket seats open to find ice and a bottle of gin and tonic. While I prepare a much-needed drink, Tony speaks.

  “I figure it will take us about thirty minutes to get there with tonight’s traffic, so take your time. Wouldn’t want you getting sloppy for your date before we get there.”

  “Is that right? And how do you know I’ve got a date?” He rolls his lips and chuckles.

  “With a dress like that, if you don’t have one yet, you will.”

  When we make it through the insane traffic and start down Bellevue, a knot forms among the warmth created in my belly by the gin and tonic. It’s not like I have anything to be nervous about, I’m here as a guest. She informed me that each member can bring a guest. You aren’t expected to match with anyone, but the opportunity is there.

  Tony stops the car and exits to come around to my door. It’s not till he opens it and takes my hand to help me out that I realize just how high the slit in this dress is. I step out onto the sidewalk and straighten the floor length skirt and enclose my silver cape around my shoulders, covering my bare midriff as I head for the door.

  “Do I need to come pick you up later?” Tony calls from behind me. I pause and turn, closing my eyes briefly at my forgotten manners.

  “I’m sorry, Tony. In another world, I guess. That won’t be necessary.”

  “I hope you let loose a little tonight, Miss Norberg. Happy New Year.” He tips his hat to me and I nod in return.

  “Thank you and Happy New Year.” I reach out and ring the doorbell to the townhouse. It immediately opens and an attractive man about my age waves his arm out for me to enter.

  “Would you like me to take your coat, ma’am?” he asks and I look up, smiling and nodding as I release the cape clasp at my neck. His eyes briefly trail down my torso, past my cleavage and stopping at the exposed skin of my stomach before meeting my eyes and taking the cape. Clearing his throat, he continues. “I will place this in the coat closet. The guests are at the top of the stairs on the rooftop deck.”

  I nod, a satisfied grin plastered on my lips as I turn my back to him and head up the stairs. I can use all the confidence I can gather right about now.

  The closer I get to the top, the clearer music and voices become. I stop short for just a second, questions and second guesses flooding my mind as I wonder what I’ll find. Which mak
es what I do find after taking the last two steps such a relief.

  I’d estimate somewhere around fifty people fill the expansive deck atop Helaena’s townhouse. Women dressed in cocktail dresses and the men in suits, some with ties, some without. A jazz quartet plays in one corner and several members of a catering staff pass around trays of champagne and hors d’oeuvres.

  I painted this picture in my mind of people standing silent in a room or walking around until someone snatched them up and propositioned them. Some secret society to be kept free of onlookers like bands and wait staff.

  I close my eyes and shake my head, chuckling to myself as I make my way toward the crowd. Nodding and smiling, several people take notice of my presence as I scan the crowd for Helaena. At five foot nine and platinum hair, you’d think she’d be a bit easier to find.

  The space is decorated beautifully. White twinkle lights hang from the center of a stilted roof, casting an angelic glow over everyone. And thankfully given the insane temperature of the late December evening, a large fireplace caps off the opposite end of the roof and tall space heaters are set intermittently around. There are large couches and chairs around the room, although most people stand and mingle with one another.

  “Lydia.” I turn to my right to see Helaena walking up to me. She opens her arms and grabs my shoulders in each hand, kissing each of my cheeks. “When I said don’t dress like a nun I didn’t mean show-up everyone here.” She smirks. I look down at my dress.

  “You like it?”

  “Are you kidding? I think I’ll be borrowing this in the future.” She wraps her arm around my shoulders and starts walking me through the crowd. “Now that you’re here and see things for yourself, how do you feel?”

  I chew at my lip as I look back to her. “I have to be honest, I thought there might be kinky public stuff.”

  She nods, grinning. “This is a regular party. Nothing takes place here but the exchange of information. You did remember to bring a card with your first name and phone number, right?”

  I nod.

  “Is this the guest you spoke of, Helaena?” A man sidles up beside us. She kisses his cheek and places her hand on his shoulder, looking to me.

  “Yes, Byron, this is Lydia. Lydia, this is my friend, Byron.” He holds out his hand and I shake it.

  They talk back and forth and I smile, nodding as they speak, taking in each guest we pass, trying my hardest not to appear rude or gawking. But in reality, looking more at their posture and presence, the way success pours out with each word spoken or hand gesture made. I’m around successful people daily; my parents, Madi’s parents, clients. But in this setting, from my vantage point, it carries a different look and feel. Even the way they hold and sip from their cocktail glasses seems so effortless and unrehearsed.

  I swallow down the insecurity rising up my throat and press my chest forward ever so slightly, lengthening my form and standing taller.

  My father used to tell me the key to winning a case isn’t just your knowledge of the laws or your client’s case, confidence is just as important. No matter how uncertain you feel, glide into that court room and look over the crowd, breath regulated and shoulders back. I try to apply this to all facets of my life, but somehow, it feels more necessary in this situation than others I’ve faced.

  “Here, doll.” Helaena grabs a flute of champagne from a tray and hands it to me, and without thinking I down the contents. “Okay, not quite what I had in mind, but come on.”

  I’m giving myself an internal pep talk when she stops in front of two guys and a woman. They all look to be just a little older than me, very clean-cut and professional, very perfectionist. I’m instantly turned off when I look at the two men.

  On a night when all inhibitions are thrown to the wind, and the firm knowledge that I am hoping to find someone to have wild mindless sex with, things aren’t looking so great. I mean, the thought of a stuck-up suit in the bed makes me gag. It reminds me of the guys in law school who wouldn’t know raw desire if it slapped them in the face.

  We make eye contact and I shoot Helaena a look that says please tell me they aren’t all this boring. She smirks and I reach out and take another champagne flute from a passing tray, giving all the appropriate indications that I’m listening to the conversation taking place between the four of them. That is until Helaena looks over my shoulder toward the stairs, eyes rounding as she pulls me toward the edge overlooking the city and says, “I think he’d be a strong contender, don’t you?”

  I blink up at her, brows drawn as I follow her gaze.

  When I see who he is, I feel warm, tingly…hopeful.

  FIGHTING FOR MONEY IS AN animal.

  A living, breathing animal that follows you step for step. It becomes who you are inside and out. You train daily. You eat, sleep and breathe fighting. Not because you love it, but because you love the money.

  Thorn, the middle brother out of us, now he’s an exception. He loves fighting. He’s always got that cocky fucking grin on his face, just wishing a motherfucker would.

  The youngest, Rush, he’s seventeen, and I’ve done all I could to keep him out of this life, even joined the Army as soon as I was seventeen to show him that money and a career could be gained outside of fighting since Jerry had pounded into our heads that we were meant—born to be fighters, I felt responsible to show him otherwise. So, I did what I remember our dad doing, and I served. There’s ten years difference between Rush and I, so I thought I had time. I didn’t. I’ve been sensing some changes in him lately and I can’t put my finger on it, but I will.

  “You gonna lift or sit there and daydream?” Thorn leans down and says behind my ear as I sit on the weight bench, unwrapping my hands. This motherfucker.

  Quick on the draw, I throw my arm behind me and wrap it around his neck, squeezing.

  “What was that? I couldn’t hear you, whispering in my ear like a bitch and all,” I taunt. Sometimes I have to remind him who the oldest is. “What? No jokes this morning, dip-shit?” I give him a noogie like he’s six again, just to piss him off some more.

  “Let me go and I’ll show you what I got, asshole.” He struggles against my hold and rolls out of it, slapping me on the back of the head. He straightens his clothes and looks at me curiously. “What the hell you daydreaming about anyway? Your ass finally get laid??”

  “I’m touched that you care so much about my sex life, brother, but fuck off.”

  “That’s a no,” Rush says as he walks up to us from across the gym. “He’s still got that poison running through his veins.” He snickers and bumps shoulders with Thorn.

  “Speaking of sex lives, your high school-ass better not have one. So, that means we’re in the same boat. Right?”

  “Not that it’s any of your business, but I’m keeping it clean.”

  As he stands in front of me, I realize how big he is and why Jerry has been pushing him so hard to come down under. His reach is almost double mine and he’s got a good two inches on me. If it weren’t for that baby face, he might get mistaken for the oldest.

  But for now, all my work to keep him away from this unsanctioned bullshit has paid off. He’s stayed away and stayed on his school wrestling team. But he trains with us and Jerry isn’t shy about bringing it up every fucking chance he gets. I’ll fight to the death to keep him away from that world.

  “What’s everyone doing tonight for New Year’s?” Thorn asks, way too giddy for my taste.

  “May go down the street to a friend’s house. Speaking of, I gotta get out of here,” Rush says.

  “Later,” I call as he turns to leave.

  I think about the text I got from Byron about the Elite party at Helaena’s.

  “I may go up to Gold Coast, haven’t decided for sure.”

  “I wanna know when you’re gonna take me to party with your rich friends. It hurts me right here.” He holds his chest. Thorn thinks he’s the funniest person in the room all day, every day. I’d never take him to an Elite party or I’d nev
er be allowed back.

  “Well, today ain’t the day.”

  “What, you don’t think I can put on a suit and be a proper gentleman?

  “Nope.”

  “Goddamn right I wouldn’t.” He laughs at himself. “I’d end up bending one of those hoity-toity bitches over a table and show her what she’s been missing.” He leans back, slapping his chest and completely entertained with himself. “Besides, Johnny and the band’s in town. I’m pretty sure my night’s gonna blow yours outta the water.”

  “Don’t get put in jail, motherfucker. You’ll sit there.”

  “Shit, don’t worry about me. You need to worry about yourself for a change, you uptight bastard,” he says, walking backward, headed toward the door. He cuts his fingers into a ‘v’ and flicks his tongue. “And do us all a favor and get some pussy, would you?”

  I flip him off.

  Not that I’d tell him, but I intend on doing just that. If I find what I’m looking for.

  I walk up the stairs and onto Helaena’s rooftop deck. There are a few new faces, but the rest I’ve seen from above. Or under and behind.

  Before I joined, I’d decided I didn’t have the patience for traditional dates anymore. Plus, the number of surgeries I’d had the year before meant my schedule would be hectic, to say the least after recovery. Which is when my surgeon, Byron Markham, invited me as a guest to one of the Elite parties. I was sold after the first time, but everything loses its luster after a while and I got tired of the same five women all the time when none of them could really do it for me. I needed a challenge and I hadn’t planned to come back, but trying to acclimate back into normal dating life was more taxing than I thought it would be. I don’t have the time to deal with the clingy bullshit that comes with dating. Double edged sword.

  I turn a coin between two fingers in the pocket of my suit pants, looking over the rim of my glass as the sweet sting of brandy coats my throat. There’s a sea of black around the room, like I’ve just entered a fucking funeral. What is it about business professionals and the color black? Like if they wear something bright it’ll ruin their fucking reputations.