The Price We Pay

Chapter 1 - Marvey & Latch

Marvey

His name is Latch, Sofia said holding back the floor to ceiling beige curtains just enough to allow her to peer out the living room window at our neighbor. Well, at least that’s what I heard the doorman say when he walked in the building earlier. Took me long enough to figure that out. Who has a name like that? Latch. Latch. She said his name a few times, testing it out, rolling the sounds around in her mouth.

She was at it again. She was convinced that our neighbor was a drug dealer, a sex trafficker, a gun smuggler ... you name it, she thought it.

I’m pretty sure it’s not his real name, I replied.  Even if it was his real name, Latch wasn’t as bad as Marvey.

A boy named Marvey; now that could work. I bet he would be an accountant, and Marvey was the cutesy name his obnoxious girlfriend would call him when she needed some money. A girl named Marvey? Nope, it doesn’t work. I had to endure years and years of teasing from nasty ass kids, teachers always questioning me on the first day of school, and even people wondering if that was my real name.

I mean, who names their kid Marvey?

Oh, that’s right, the woman who gave birth to me - gave me life - then waited until I was tucked away in the nursery to leave. Yes, just up and left! No note, no explanation, just up and left me, her daughter, in the hospital alone with no family.

But not before naming me Marvey!

Yes, this was still a sore subject for me.

Probably not, but still. Sofia twirled around from the window to face me, making her thick, long, chestnut brown hair fling around her shoulder. Her mom was from Brazil, so you can guess what she looks like already. A tan that never fades, high cheekbones, flawless skin, eyes that match the color of her hair, perfectly shaped eyebrows - only because she gets them waxed once a week –, and full, heart-shaped lips.

She shut her notebook and eyed me up and down.

Seriously Marv, you have unlimited access to my wardrobe and you still dress like that?

She rolled her eyes at me and set the notebook on the table. She closed the distance between us, disappointment and disgust marring her perfect features.

I glanced down at myself – hot pink tank top and black capris, my standard outfit. Well, the capris were more like sweatpants, but so damn comfortable. My black flip-flops completed my look. Anyway, it’s not like I could ever afford the clothes Sofia wore.

I shrugged my shoulders. It’s comfy.

It’s old.

Just because it was cheap doesn’t mean it’s old.

You look old, she eyed me up and down again, and frumpy.

I’m twenty-four! I snapped.

She’d love it if I wore her clothes. She has too many as it is and she can’t be seen wearing the same thing twice. Her family is a bunch of rich uptight bastards in my opinion and object to her being in public wearing the same outfit twice. Even though Sofia is super rich due to her family, she isn’t an uptight bastard. And me? I’m dirt poor. I barely graduated high school and never even tried to get into college. It just wasn’t my future. My future was working three jobs and living with Sofia, aka ‘Richie Rich.’ She doesn’t flaunt it or rub it in my face; she’s actually a cool person once you get to know her. But when I want to piss her off, I’ll say her nickname, Richie Rich.

We first met six months ago at an upscale restaurant. Sofia and her family were there for dinner along with her boyfriend’s family, and I was their waitress. Of course, there was a problem with the order; something was too cold, too bland ... blah, blah, blah. Long story short, my dirtbag manager fired me before they even got the check. I was pissed and stormed off to the bathroom so no one would see me cry. I hardly ever cry, but rent was due and I was already facing an eviction notice. It wasn’t like I was in love with my little dump of an apartment, but it was mine.  It wasn’t a good thing to get canned from a job that paid half my rent. It was hard to get the good shifts unless someone called in sick on a Friday night. That was rare and I had jumped at the chance to work. The tips were fantastic if you knew how to kiss rich ass. I acquired this skill quickly.

Sofia showed up in the bathroom shortly after I stormed off, feeling sorry for me. I’ll never forget her cursing my boss in Portuguese. I laughed and for some reason, I told her my pathetic story. She fluttered her dark eyelashes at me, and like it was something she did on a daily basis, she offered me her spare bedroom. She said she always wanted a roommate and this was the only chance she was going to get. I’d lived on the streets before and I really didn’t want to go back. I’m not sure why she trusted me, but she did. Her dad hates me and her mom tolerates me. Sofia was spoken for; arranged marriage type shit if you ask me, but that’s not what the riches call it. According to them, it’s normal, and Sofia was raised knowing she would marry the man they picked, Kennedy. I’ve met him a few times and I liked him. He was totally in love with Sofia, I could tell.

Look, Sofia said, changing the subject, I’m seriously thinking this Latch guy is dangerous.

If you honestly believe that, then call the police, I lifted an eyebrow, or tell your father.

He’ll probably make me move. Or take matters into his own hands, and I don’t need either right now. I love this place. She looks around and admires its beauty. She’s filled the apartment with high-end shit, like stainless steel appliances, granite counter tops, and a built-in coffee pot. It’s my favorite and the only gadget I know how to work. This place is just right for Sofia though and she doesn’t want to move.

I’m saving up and once I’m stable with work, I’m out. This was only supposed to be temporary anyway.

I need more dirt on the guy, and then maybe I’ll call the police. Try and leave my dad out of it. She smirked. Make it anonymous.

The owner wouldn’t let a drug-trafficking, woman-stealing kind of man in the building. Without looking, I reached over and set my coffee mug in the sink. They run background checks and stuff on the people who live here.

True, but something is going on and I’m going to find out.

Maybe you should be a detective, or private investigator, instead of a wife. You’re not just a hot piece of ass, Sofia. You’re smart and can read people! You deserve more than being some man’s arm candy.

She’s graduating in a few weeks with her Bachelor in Science degree, whatever that means. I’m sure she could get a normal job that paid good money because it sounded important.

Thank you, it’s so sweet of you to notice. She smiled her big, phony smile at me, the one she usually reserves for the paparazzi. I’m also an impeccable dresser. She ran her hands down her silky white dress.

I laughed. This is one of our standard exchanges. Deep down she’s a good person, not at all the shallow, famous-because-she’s-famous person that the media always makes her out to be. That’s all an act she puts on for everyone because it is expected of her. Given the chance, I think she might ditch the whole persona and try to live a normal life.

Of course, that would mean giving up all her stuff.

Yes, you are an amazing woman with a killer sense of style.

On a normal night, she would have gone on to elicit compliments on her hair, make-up, musical taste, whatever she could think of.  The game was to see which one of us would get nauseated first.

Sofia hadn’t given up on me yet, so she flipped things around in a way I hadn’t expected.

Well if that’s the case, why don’t you take my advice and not dress like such a frump?

I stuck my tongue out at her. "Don’t you have a ribbon to cut or a dinner to not eat?"

Sofia glanced at the clock. I do indeed, and I’m going to have to hustle buns if I want to get there fashionably late. Now get out of those nasty clothes and come back here so I can dress you properly.

I raised an eyebrow at her. Why the hell would I want to do that?

Well, I’m not going to be seen in public with you looking like a bag-lady.

I could feel my cheeks start to get warm. I don’t look like a bag-lady.

Right, bag ladies know how to coordinate better. Seriously, flip-flops?

I clamped my mouth shut to keep from yelling something horrible. Sometimes Sofia took things too far.

She noticed my silence almost immediately. I have no idea how I looked at the time, but I could feel my teeth grinding so I’m sure it wasn’t pretty. Whatever the look, she downshifted out of bitch-mode pretty quickly.

Oh, Marv. I was just kidding. You look fine, really you do. I just wanted you to come out with me tonight and the dinner is, of course, a little fancy.

Fancy.

I hated that word.

I don’t really feel like going out tonight, I whined.

To be honest, I never did feel like going out. Sofia loved dragging me to places that were well outside of my price range. She always said I was her guest so it was her treat, but after a while, I started to feel like a leech. Besides, the place would be filled with her rich friends and family and I didn’t need the stares and glares, or to be ignored by them all night. They just wanted a chance to be seen.

Oh please, Sofia whined.  Pretty, pretty, pretty, please? She clasped her hands together and widened her big brown eyes, never breaking eye contact as she started to inch closer to me.

You would think that the sight of a grown ass woman pleading like a little girl would be annoying, but Sofia pulled it off without a problem. It must have been all those years getting stuff from Daddy Warbucks.

No, thank you. I do appreciate the offer, but I’m beat.

Sofia’s shoulders slumped and she pouted.  I’m sure this look worked on all of the guys, and probably some of the girls, but it did nothing for me.

Okay then, can you do me a teensy favor? she asked pinching her thumb and finger together.

I rolled my eyes. What?

Keep an eye on that creep, Latch.

Are you kidding? I’m not going to spy on him for you.

Then you’re coming out with me.

I sighed and gave up way too easily. I was too tired to keep this circle going with Sofia; I worked late last night for some shitty fucking tips and I wasn’t able to sleep.

Fine. I’ll feed your weird paranoia.

Cool. Don’t forget to take notes. She pointed a manicured finger at the notebook, the little sparkly chips in her French tips gleaming.

Twenty minutes later, I was at the curtain, peering across at the opposite tower. We lived in a condo high-rise. Each unit had two floors and an ungodly amount of square feet given the location. The complex itself was made of three towers. Latch, the object of Sofia’s current obsession, lived in the 300 tower while we were in the 200. His patio was directly across from ours, separated by an expanse of open air the size of a large swimming pool.

I felt ridiculous, so I decided to make a game of it.

Continuing surveillance on the subject known on the street as ‘Latch’, I said to the empty room, giggling. If I could do this, maybe I could quit waitressing and get an acting gig on one of those cop shows that had nothing but letters in its name.

I pulled back the curtain slightly.  The subject in question was standing on his balcony, gazing out into space.  For a second I thought he had seen me, my heart raced and I felt my cheeks burn, but he gave no indication that he had.

He was a tall man and I could tell from the distance he was well muscled. He was dressed plainly, blue jeans and a plain black t-shirt. He had a full sleeve of tattoos on one arm and he sported a slicked up rock-a-billy hair-do. It was kind of hot.

Sofia was right. He didn’t fit in with this condo crowd any more than I did. In fact, he would have fit in better at my old dump.

Jeez, he was handsome from a distance.

We stayed that way for what seemed like an hour but were probably only a couple of minutes. He stared out at nothing. I stared at him. Then he seemed to make up his mind about something and he disappeared into this apartment.

I kept watching, waiting for him to reappear. I was just about to give up when he popped back out again. He had added a pair of biker boots, real shit-kickers, with tons of buckles and zippers, and a worn leather jacket. I could tell, even from the other building, that the leather would be buttery soft from wear. It had epaulets on the shoulders, a pair of chains attached to the left one.

He pulled on his leather jacket and held a slim cell phone to his ear. Seconds passed, he jammed his finger on the phone and shoved it back into his jacket pocket. He turned and headed back inside. He was leaving his apartment.

A normal person would have turned around and watched some television. A slightly less than normal person would have jotted all of this down for her even less normal roommate and then sat down to watch television.

I have been called a lot of things in my life, normal is not one of them. I ran into the guest room I called mine, grabbed my matching sweater-jacket and bag. Then I headed for the front door.

After all, I had promised Sofia that I would keep an eye on this Latch fellow, right?

Latch

I had to give her credit for trying, but she sucked as a private investigator. Or maybe she was a reporter? That would explain part of it, but not why she was dressed like that. What kind of person wears sweats and flip flops on a surveillance mission?

Fuck, I was confused.

She wasn’t part of the club, and there was no way she was someone’s old lady looking like that.

But damn it, she wore those clothes well. She had long blonde hair, but it was darker underneath. Her legs were long and slender, and she had a nice sized rack. I couldn’t make out her facial features because of the big ass white sunglasses that were covering most of her face. They made her look like a fly, an adorable fly.

I tried ditching her a few times but failed. So I pulled over and walked into a hardware store and she stepped into the thrift shop on the other side of the street. She tried on a huge sunhat that was bright yellow. It flopped around as she pretended she was shopping but I knew she was still watching me. I had to get rid of her and fast. I had shit to do and I couldn’t spend any more time playing her stupid game. Another meeting with Keylan and a job to do was the only thing on the agenda these days.

She’d ruin it all if she managed to keep up with me in that fancy white SUV she was driving. Her clothes definitely threw me off because of her ride. She was horrible at trying to blend in and stuck out like a sore thumb.

As good as I am at my job, I don’t know why I haven’t been able to shake her.

Shit.

That hat.

I pulled my cell out and called Jaxon.

Got a problem.

Fuck.

Being followed.

One of the Demons?

It’s a woman, I stated while watching her walk away from the window. I slipped outside and ran to the SUV that she had been driving. Not sure who she is. Blonde. Tall. Long legs.

Jaxon, my undercover partner, laughed at my comments and then got back to business. We got a meet man, get rid of her.

I’ve tried. I slipped into the back seat. I’m in her ride now.

Shit Ded-

Don’t say my name, I ground out.

"It was out of habit and I hate the name, Latch."

I ignored him. I can’t risk anything. She’ll have to go to the house for now.

You sure about that? Not only will we be late but it’s not the best idea.

Keylan’s always late and I have no other choice. We don’t know who she is or who sent her.

Can’t you just knock her out?

I’m not hitting a woman.

Not like that, he snapped back knowing neither of us would do that. We didn’t have many options and there was no way she’d be coming along for the meet.

Randy will love the company, he said changing the subject.

It’s the only option at the moment.

Right, man. Be safe and don’t give the girl a heart attack. We’ll figure out what to do with her after we meet up with Keylan.

I hung up and slouched down behind the driver’s seat. She didn’t even lock the door. Clearly, she had no idea how to follow or track someone. The windows were tinted black so when she came running out she never noticed me sitting in the back seat. She pulled the front of the hat up and looked across the street, most likely to track me. I can’t believe she bought that ugly fucking hat.

She stomped her foot and even though I couldn’t hear her, I saw her lips moving. Cursing. She was still cursing as she rounded the SUV and climbed in.

I’ll just wait until he comes out, she said tossing her purse, which looked more like a backpack, onto the passenger seat and turning the vehicle on. He can’t stay in there all day.

I sat forward. No, I guess he can’t.

She screamed, grabbed the wheel with both hands, and then glanced behind her. Well, she tried but the hat was in the way. She tried to move the hat out of the way but I reached around the side of the seat and put my gun on her ribs. I hated doing it but she wouldn’t cooperate if I weren’t armed.

She tensed at the feeling of it. I’m broke. This isn’t even my ride!

Drive.

I can’t! she yelled.

Drive, I growled and pushed the gun into her ribs harder.

I’m broke! she yelled again, then pulled that stupid hat off and tossed it aside. No money. Not me. Got the wrong girl.

Don’t want your money, I said putting the gun in the back of my pants and sitting back. Put your seatbelt on.

Why should I? You’re going to kill me anyway.

Do I need to remind you that I’ve got a gun?

Whatever, she huffed, but buckled up and pulled away from the curb. Why don’t you let me go and take the ride?

Don’t want it either.

What about your bike? she asked nodding at the passenger window.

So you were following me, I said then I told her to turn left.

Maybe, she said shrugging a shoulder.

You were.

Fine, she huffed, I was. But not because I wanted to.

Tell me more.

I needed to know who she worked for and to figure out if my cover was blown. I’ve been working this case for over two years now and wasn’t going to let this ruin my chances of bringing down the largest MC Club in the city.

Why does it matter; you’re just going to kill me.

I’m not going to kill you.

Rape me?

No.

She lowered her voice, Sell me?

What the fuck?

She kept going. Trade me for drugs?

I told her to turn right and pulled my phone out. I shot a message to Jaxon. Don’t think she’s a threat.

He replied instantly. Good, now hurry the fuck up.

I put my phone back in my pocket and she was still rambling on. It was kind of cute. Hell, she was kind of cute.

You’ll probably rape me, then trade me for drugs. My new master will grow tired of me quickly, then I’ll be sold to someone from a foreign country. He’ll probably be rich and handsome, but an asshole, she paused but not for long. You’ll have to change my name. No one’s gonna buy me with a name like Marvey. Marvey Korelsta. Most people can’t pronounce it either. You better pick something sexy-

Woman! I roared and sat forward. Shut the fuck up with that bullshit and tell me who you work for!

No! Tell me why you kidnapped me!

You know why.

I do? She tried to turn around and I pointed out the front window. Keep your eyes on the road, we’re turning soon.

I told her where to turn and we headed down the dirt road that took us to my house, my real house and not some rented shell of a condo. Not that I didn’t like the condo, but it was all a front.

I’ve been hiding Randy at my house to keep him safe in the witness protection program, kind of. He really wasn’t part of the program, but I owed him my life so I was doing this as a special favor. We had a mutual understanding. He was a crackhead, witnessed a few murders by the same person, making him a key witness in the investigation. He’s been laying low out here for a year now, anxiously awaiting the trail to go to court. He decided he wasn’t ready to die, so he got clean and got his shit together. I allowed him to have a gun because I trusted him and wanted him to be able to defend himself just in case a situation arose that would require it. Giving him a gun was against policy, but Jaxon and I were the only ones that knew where he was. Not even the captain knew, and it would stay that way.

There are very few people in the world I trusted. Three people to be exact.

This is a nice house, she commented as we pulled