Weights of Wrath (Cipher Office Book 4) Read online

  I think what kept me there so long, besides a job that paid for more than just the bills, was the challenge of the dance. I like working hard to perfect a move that takes strength most people don’t possess. I like coming up with a routine that will wow my audience for its skill, not just its skin. I would spend hours practicing a new trick until I could do it without a second thought and revel in the achievement. It was the best kind of high.

  If I can do that same kind of job in a respectable and hoity-toity place like this, my mother would be able to stop praying to the Patron Saint of Dance to break my pole and toss some clothes down my direction. I’m sure she’ll still be lighting candles for my indecent soul, but any progress is a step in the right direction.

  I pick up yet another wet towel off a chair in the locker room and toss it in my huge laundry basket on wheels out the door. It’s actually a repurposed garbage cans with wheels attached to the bottom. Whoever engineered it probably did so after discovering people go through more towels here than necessary at this place.

  The squeaky wheels announce my arrival in the treadmill area so everyone can stare at me a little too long. I’m sure it’s because I’m new and they don’t know who I am yet. Or maybe they’re annoyed by the squeak. I don’t blame them. Someone needs to WD-40 the crap out of that soon.

  Pushing it into the large storage area where it waits for pickup from the laundry company we contract with, I grab the basket of clean towels and switch them out to fold. Making sure all towel areas are stocked is an essential part of my job, according to my new boss Christina. “We’re one of the only gyms in the area to provide towels to our customers. It’s why we’re a premiere facility.”

  Sounds like justification to charge the members more money to me. But admittedly, it’s not hard to fold a bunch of towels, and now I have insurance, so she’ll have no complaints from me.

  I shut the door behind me and turn, only to barrel right into a solid wall of man.

  “Rosie?”

  Looking up, my eyes widen at the sight of my favorite cousin. “Abel!”

  “Holy shit, I haven’t seen you since… well, Christmas probably!” He pulls me into a tight hug. “How are you? What are you doing here?”

  “I work here now. Just started a couple days ago.”

  Abel pulls away but keeps one hand on my shoulder. I can tell he’s confused by my presence. For years, he just assumed I worked in customer service. Technically, it wasn’t a lie. “In housekeeping? How do you like it?”

  I shrug nonchalantly. “Eh. Beats fast food, ya know?”

  “I do, I do. How’s your mom?”

  “She’s good. Finally over that pneumonia she had and still doing her thing, shopping for her grandbabies and volunteering at the church.”

  I can see the cogs turning as he counts in his head. “How many grandkids does she have now? Three?”

  “Four. Timothy and his wife had another one.”

  He snaps his fingers together. “Oh, that’s right. Man, I can’t believe that pussy grew up to get such a hot wife.”

  I laugh because he’s not wrong. He may be my older brother, but Timothy has always been a wuss.

  “Yeah, but Mom’s about to have a fifth grandchild she doesn’t know about yet.” I smooth my hand down over my staff shirt to show off my barely there baby bump that popped up some time in the last week or so. It’s actually more like a pooch that no one can see except me, and maybe some of my regulars who sit on the front row. That doesn’t stop me from rubbing it, though. It’s like an automatic reflex or something.

  Abel’s eyes widen and his mouth drops open. “You… Rosie, wow.”

  I smile shyly and ignore him calling me by the nickname I hate with a passion. Instead, I’m ready to give him my spiel about how I’m okay with being an unwed mother and this baby isn’t a mistake but an unexpected gift—all that bullshit you have to say so people stop judging your choices—but Joey comes out of nowhere and interrupts us instead.

  “Hey! Abel! I see you finally met my baby mama!” Joey puts his arm around me, not noticing that Abel’s face just hardened into someone who’s ready to kick a dude’s ass.

  Crossing his arms slowly, Abel’s eyebrows rise. Oh shit. This isn’t good. “Say again?”

  “Abel,” I warn, but he’s not looking at me. He’s staring at Joey, a murderous look in his eye. I’ve seen it before. In the past, it’s usually ended with Timothy in a headlock. Somehow, I think Joey won’t be getting off with just a noogie though.

  Joey, on the other hand, still seems oblivious. “This is Cherise. I told you about her. We only spent that one night together, but I think this is going to work out well. Abel is a great dad, so I’ll learn everything I need to know from him,” Joey says to me. All I can do is shake my head. This is about to get really ugly.

  “Who the hell is Cherise?” Abel asks. I grimace, knowing I’m about to be called out by both of them. Awesome.

  Joey furrows his brow and points at me. “She is.”

  “No. Her name is Rosie.”

  I roll my eyes because we’ve had this conversation many times before. “No one calls me that except you, Abel.”

  “Because they call you Cherise,” Joey tries to explain.

  “No, because Cherise is my stripper name,” I finally fess up, cheap fun finally over.

  Abel’s face turns bright red, his anger toward Joey temporarily forgotten. “Stripper?” he exclaims a little too loud. “Since when are you a stripper?”

  I purse my lips and try to come up with some sort of alternative explanation, but nothing comes to mind. “Since I dropped out of high school?”

  I swear his eyes almost bug out of his face. “You’ve been stripping for eight years? Does Aunt Mona know?”

  “Please. You think my mom didn’t figure it out when I started making more money than my dad? Of course, she knew. I can’t believe you never noticed the holes in the knees of all her pants. She and your mom have been trying to pray me out of that job for forever.”

  “My mom knew and didn’t tell me?”

  “I know, right? You’d think the entire family would whisper about me by now, but it’s the tightest kept secret in the DiSoto family line. For once, the shame I will bring on the family worked to my benefit.” I force out a laugh to lighten his mood. It doesn’t work.

  “I’m serious, Rosie.”

  I throw my hands in the air, getting irritated by this whole thing. “Why? You needed to know for what reason? So you could go watch me dance?”

  He grimaces. “Oh, hell no. I don’t need to see my baby cousin naked. Maybe she should’ve told me to make sure I stayed away from your place of business.”

  “Wait,” Joey interrupts, finally catching on. “You have a stage name?”

  As if he finally remembers the original issue at hand, Abel turns menacingly toward Joey. He takes one step forward, but Joey doesn’t seem fazed. “Her name is Rosalind. Rosalind Palmer, but we call her Rosie.”

  “No one calls me Rosie, Abel,” I say for the second time in this very weird conversation.

  He ignores me, of course. “And she’s my baby cousin. So, I hope I didn’t hear that correctly when you said she’s your baby mama. The one you got pregnant after a one-night stand. Whose name you don’t even know.”

  Joey pauses for a second before turning to me and saying, “Your last name is Palmer. You didn’t think Rosie Palm might be a better stripper name?”

  Abel visibly inflates and grumbles, “I’m gonna fucking kill him.”

  “No, really,” Joey continues, either oblivious to Abel’s distress or just uninterested. “Rosie Palm is a great name for a stripper. You could do a whole routine and call the background dancers your five sisters.”

  “Someone better stop me,” Abel says while pacing and taking obvious measures to breathe slowly through his nose.

  I put my hand on his chest. “Cool it, DiSoto. Give me a second.” Then I turn to the man who hopefully passed on his sexy hair and no
t his IQ genes to my baby. “Joey. I didn’t use Rosie Palm because I was trying to keep my work life and personal life separate. Clearly it worked.”

  “But it’s so clever.”

  “Agreed. It was also totally overused by the time I got to eighth grade. Now if you can please give me and my cousin a minute, I need to talk to him before his head blows off or he decides to go one round with you, mixed martial arts-style.”

  For whatever reason, that’s when Joey finally seems to notice his best gym buddy is in the process of losing his shit. And yet, he still doesn’t seem afraid. “Dude. Man, I thought you’d be happy for me. I’m gonna be a dad. And we’re gonna be family.”

  I can’t help it. The joy on Joey’s face makes me melt just a little. Not enough to show it outwardly, of course. But for that split second, I feel like I’m making some good decisions with the best partner possible. The way Abel’s body relaxes just a bit, I think maybe he knows it too.

  Dropping his chin to his chest, Abel mutters, “Dammit.”

  “Go, Joey. Give him a minute to process.”

  He finally takes the time to really look at Abel before acquiescing. “Okay. I’ll go. I need to talk to Keely about some ideas to drum up some new clientele anyway. I’m not gonna screw this up. Not for either of you.”

  I’m pretty sure he says that last part for Abel’s benefit more than mine, but I appreciate it, nonetheless.

  “Good idea. We’ll see you later.”

  Joey walks away with no more fanfare, and fortunately, no bloodshed. Of course, that still doesn’t mean Abel is going to walk away without a bit of commotion. But I’m not afraid of him. He might be a hothead sometimes, but he’s not the only one with a full-blooded Italian temperament. With my pregnancy hormones, the one in real danger here is him.

  Grabbing a towel out of the basket, I begin to fold. “I’m sorry you had to find out this way.”

  Abel nods once, his hands on his hips. “That’s… a lot of big information to process.”

  “Which part?”

  “All of it.” He looks around absently, trying to process how he feels. “Rosie…”

  “Rosalind,” I correct.

  “… if you needed money, why didn’t you come to me?”

  I look at him with confusion. “Needed money? I didn’t need money. I wanted money. Lots of it.”

  “Oh, you’re gonna tell me you were dancing for… for strangers, and it never bothered you?” His hands move around rapidly like his words can’t come out fast enough. “No one dances naked because they like it. Or like money that much.”

  So much for giving him time to process. Now, he’s just pissing me off.

  “First of all, you can keep your holier-than-thou attitude over there away from me. My mother has berated me for years about my job choices. She never lets me forget what a disgrace I am, so I know what a shameful thing it is, okay?” I make sure to air quote “shameful” in case he doesn’t catch my sarcasm. Just because I disagree doesn’t make it any less painful to hear regularly, though. Hence, why I never fully trust what people think about me and why I have such anger toward him now. “You don’t know why people dance for a living. Some people actually like stripping. The lack of clothing might not be their favorite, but they like something about it. Whether it be the money, or the feeling of being powerful, or the beauty of the dance.”

  “Beauty of the dance? Get outta here.”

  “Yes. The beauty of the dance. Pole dancing might be an Olympic sport. I bet you didn’t know that, did you, Mr. Judgey Pants?”

  “It is not.” He has the audacity to roll his eyes at me, which only makes me angrier. Fortunately, I have a towel to snap in place of his neck.

  “It most certainly is. Right now, it’s recognized as an international sport, which means it could be included in the future. The industry is already pushing for it. You can look it up if you don’t believe me.” Like how I researched it after Joey told me, but Abel doesn’t need to know that part.

  “So, you’re telling me you enjoy being a stripper because you’re an athlete?”

  I narrow my eyes at him before turning away to grab another towel. “You sound really condescending, you know that?”

  “Maybe because my baby cousin, whose diapers I used to change, is dancing naked for strangers and having my best friend’s baby.”

  “Topless. Not naked. And all of that affects you how?”

  “Because you’re my family.”

  I toss the towel down, sick of this conversation. “So, it embarrasses you that you have a cousin who strips for a living?” Out of the corner of my eye, I see someone stumble on the treadmill as I say this, but I can only focus on one person’s judgement at a time.

  Abel takes a step back now that I’ve called him out. “That’s not what I mean.”

  “It’s not? The only thing you’ve done since I told you I’m pregnant is threaten to beat up Joey and insult me by insinuating my chosen line of work isn’t good enough for you. Which, incidentally, is why I didn’t tell you in the first place.”

  His face falls and his whole demeanor changes. I know what he’s about to say. It’s what everyone says. Everyone except Joey. And isn’t that an interesting revelation to have at this exact moment.

  “It’s not good enough for you.”

  And there it is.

  “You don’t get to decide that. I decide that. Whether I want to fold towels”—I snap it his direction for good measure—“take off my clothes, or even sell my body on a street corner has nothing to do with you. But thanks for doing a damn good job of making me realize what a failure you think I am.”

  I throw the folded towels back in the basket, making them unfold and undo all the work I just finished. I hurry to push the basket into the one place he can’t follow me—the ladies’ dressing room. I like folding out in the open where I can get more interaction, but suddenly, the company isn’t that interesting to me.

  “Come on, Rosie,” he pleads behind me.

  I whip my head around, long dark locks flying so fast they hit the cheek on the other side of my face. “For the last time, no one calls me that!”

  And I storm off to do my job away from his judgey little eyes.

  Chapter Five

  JOEY

  My favorite hour of the day is over, and those ladies kicked my ass. Things were going well until Edna accused Harriet of hiding the purple weights so no one could use them. Not sure why Edna wanted them since she used the gray ones this time, and in her words, purple is a wienie color anyway.

  Nevertheless, I haven’t heard name-calling like that since I once had an actual sailor for a client. It was entertaining in an “I wonder if Edna used to mud wrestle in her day” kind of way.

  No blood was shed—except for when Marcia broke a fingernail—and now that they’re gone, I need to take a piss.

  As I round the corner into the locker room, it becomes clear I’m going to have to wait a little while longer for some relief. Abel is at his locker, probably getting ready to pick up the girls from school. As soon as he sees me, he crosses his arms and goes into a bouncer stance.

  “I’m not sure it’s a good idea to kick my ass while on the job, do you?” I say by way of greeting, reminding him that violence is never the answer.

  “I’m not sure I care right now.” His tone is menacing, which is a bit discombobulating. I’ve never seen Abel angry like this, not even when May left him and their daughter to fend for themselves. I may need to warn Elliott so she can prepare well in advance for the girls’ dating years.

  But first, back to the conflict at hand.

  “You’ll care after HR fires your ass and you’re trying to figure out how to provide for your family.”

  His arms uncross and he takes a step forward. “Really? You want to lecture me about providing for a family?”

  “No. I don’t want a lecture at all for either of us. But I’m not sure why you’re so pissed, either.”

  Abel scoffs. “We’ve alre
ady established that. You knocked up my baby cousin.”

  My head falls back and I look at the ceiling. Its exasperating being the voice of reason. “You’re looking at this the wrong way, Abel.”

  “Because I don’t have your positive, sunshiny attitude?”

  “Well, yes. But also, she’s not your baby cousin. She’s your adult cousin who makes her own life choices. One of them just happened to result in a pregnancy. You should be happy the second person involved in this is me and not some asshole who is either going to let her go it alone, or use the kid as leverage to be a douchebag to her.” I take a step closer. “This is me, man. You saw my reaction after she sent that first text, remember?”

  His jaw twitches as he considers my words, and I know he’s remembering my reaction when he asked where I was going.

  “Dude. I think I’m going to be a dad.”

  The words don’t sound like much, but I know I was smiling when I said it because I could feel it. I could feel the joy of all the possibilities for my future. Our future. I knew she was in control of it all, and I was scared, but I also knew what I was hoping for—our baby to be born and to raise him or her to be the best little person they can be.

  Abel sighs deeply before speaking. “Come on.”

  “Where are we going?” I raise my hands up to stop him before we go. “Remember any bloodshed has to be mopped up by Cherise—”

  “Rosie.”

  “—so it would be really rude to make a mess. She shouldn’t be doing heavy lifting in her condition.”

  He shakes his head, a common reaction when we talk. “No bloodshed, I promise. Maybe some boogers, though.”

  “Ew. What?” I scrunch my nose in disgust. “Maybe I’d rather you punch me.”

  “Just come on.”

  I follow behind him, close enough to keep up but far enough away to run for cover if I have to. I’m not at all surprised when he takes me to the childcare center, seeing that’s his favorite place to visit now that he’s bumping uglies with the afternoon manager.