Closer to the Edge

Rowan should’ve been used to it. She should’ve been used to the glitz and the glamour, the trained hairstylists and make-up artists that paid her a visit before her father threw any sort of extravagant party. But she wasn’t. And, truth be told, she really didn’t want to get used to it. It was a part of her life that she had to deal with, even if she didn’t want to.

Now, her father’s business? The back door meetings, the under-the-table drug deals, all of that? That she could do.

While it was a part of her father’s life that he had tried to keep from her for years, it didn’t work. Rowan wasn’t an idiot. She knew what her father did for a living, what it entailed, the advantages and the disadvantages. She knew. And while she knew it was wrong, illegal, whatever, she couldn’t help but find it more than a little bit thrilling.

Maybe that came from watching one too many mob movies growing up. Or maybe from reading one too many books on organized crime in her early teen years. She wasn’t sure. But where most girls didn’t want to take over the family business, Rowan was trying to convince her father (and herself) that she was ready, capable, and more than willing to do so.

And maybe that, that sense of come-what-may, that sense of not fighting it, maybe that came from years of not having a choice. But Rowan would have preferred to think of it as personal choice. Because she wasn’t the type of girl to do something if she didn’t want to. But she had convinced herself at an early age that if her father wanted her to do something, she might as well tell herself she wanted to do it as well. The less arguing that went down in the Delvecchio household, the better.

It was four-fifty-two and her hairstylist-slash-make-up artist was supposed to show up at five. The box containing the dress she was supposed to wear was left lying in the center of her king size bed, long forgotten since it had been dropped off that morning near eleven. The box containing her shoes was lying to the side; she didn’t have the heart to open either one of them yet. If the life she was promised didn’t include ridiculous dinner parties, she would be fine. But she didn’t like being paraded around in front of a bunch of her father’s business associates that looked at her with the glad eye.

And really, it was the glad eye that got her. Perhaps that was why her father usually insisted upon floor-length or long-sleeve gowns. But she was sixteen and her seventeenth birthday was only in two weeks. It was time that she stood apart from her father in some way to show that she had the initiative that the family business so required. Though, maybe it wasn’t the right way to go about it.

With a sigh, she sat down on the padded stool in front of her vanity. She eyed her two monroe piercings and her lip ring with a careful eye; it would be easier to take them out, use a clear stud, and put the real ones in later. But she couldn’t be bothered to do it. She changed the colorful studs to simple black garnet and the blue hoop to a silver one before deciding that was enough. She ran a hand through her hair before standing up and walking over to her bed, slowly undoing the thick black ribbons on the box that contained her dress.

Her hands were soft and light as she pulled the fabric out of the box, unraveling it as she went. The black satin unfolded perfectly, without a crease, and Rowan smiled. It was exactly what she wanted. The neck was high, where it would brush across the top of her collarbone, the gray fabric separating at the nape of her neck left the middle of her back exposed, connecting it to the black fabric that would fall to just beneath the middle of her thigh. It was perfect. And in spite of not wanting to attend the party, there was a portion of her that couldn’t wait to try the dress on.

At exactly five o’clock, there was a knock on the door of her bed chamber, and she shouted a loud “come in.” She turned towards the door expecting to see Claire, the girl who always did her hair and makeup, but instead she came face to face with a girl she had never seen before; long brown hair and bright brown eyes. The girl smiled warmly, a bag in hand, and waved.

“Who are you?” Rowan asked. She didn’t care for manners either; it was one of those her-house-her-rules scenarios.

“I’m Aislynn, Ms. Delvecchio. Claire was unable to attend tonight and asked me to cover for her,” the girl said.

“Aislynn?”

“You can call me Ash, everyone else does,” the girl said with a laugh, setting her bag down on the bed. “Oh, this dress is gorgeous!” she exclaimed, picking up the dress and examining it.

“Thank you,” Rowan said, gently taking the garment from her and laying it back down on the bed. “You can set up over here,” she said, waving a hand dismissively towards her vanity. “I’m going to go wash my face. I’ll be right back.”

“You got it, boss,” Ash said with a smile, giving her a thumbs up.

Rowan didn’t suppress rolling her eyes as she walked towards her bathroom.

Ash watched as she shut the door and she quickly pulled out her cell phone, sending a quick text. She walked over to Rowan’s dressers and started pulling out a couple pairs of jeans and shirts, tossing them into the bottom of her bag, before she grabbed some undergarments and the closest pair of boots, hiding them under her makeup and hair supplies. Her heart was thudding—she wasn’t exactly used to stealing. Though, okay, it wasn’t really stealing. But still. She glanced around the room, knowing she didn’t have a lot of time, and made a mental blue-print, and she pulled her phone back out, sending another text. Right as she hit send, the bathroom door swung open and Rowan walked out, wearing a black robe instead of the jeans and v-neck that she had previously been wearing.

“Texting your boyfriend, I presume,” Rowan muttered, sitting down on the black stool in front of her vanity.

Ash blushed. “Sorry. I was just telling him goodbye,” she told him, shoving the phone back into her pocket.

“Good idea.”

Ash smiled and gave her a once over. “So, I was thinking big, loose curls since you have such great bone structure. And then maybe some blues and greens around your eyes to bring them out,” she suggested.

Rowan shrugged. “That sounds fine to me.”

Ash bit back a sigh. Yeah, this was going to be interesting.

+

Martin pulled his phone out of his pocket, reading the text he got from his girlfriend, Aislynn. “Her window faces the west. There’s a terrace that we should be able to climb on,” he said, pulling his sunglasses over his eyes, even though the sun was already setting.

Paul nodded, his own sunglasses hiding half of his face, and his black hood pulled over his head. “Her room’s in the back so we should be able to get her out without too much of a problem,” Paul said, his tone void of emotion.

“You okay, bro?” Martin asked, looking over at him.

“Are you sure it was a good idea to get Aislynn in on this?” Paul asked suddenly.

Martin let out a laugh and nodded. “Yeah, I do. We needed eyes inside, Paul. No amount of blue-prints would be able to help if we didn’t know the exact layout. One wrong move and we’re done, bro,” Martin told him. “Ash won’t fuck up, I promise.”

Paul sighed. “I know. And I don’t want to be a dick but we have a lot riding on this.”

“I know. And I trust her,” he said. He read through his other text and smiled. “She packed a bag with some of her clothes and told us to be there within thirty minutes so we could get her before the party.”

“Yeah, that’s gonna be a lot easier than trying to get her during,” Paul commented.

Martin reached over and rested a hand on his best friend’s shoulder. “We can do this, Paul, okay?”

Paul nodded, taking the keys out of the ignition of his car and shoving them into his pocket. They had parked behind the Delvecchio house, in the woods, because, really, where else would work? Thankfully his car was black, a brand new Dodge Charger that he was not thrilled about taking in the mud, but he knew the car could always be washed. He got out of the car, adjusting his hood. He did a quick double check to make sure his knife was still in his boot and the shiny Glock was tucked into the back of his pants.

“I feel like a ninja,” Martin said, striking a horrible imitation of a karate pose, causing his friend to laugh.

“Never do that again,” Paul said. “You packin?”

Martin nodded, patting a hand on the Uzi pressed against his hip. “You ready to do this?”

Paul nodded, exchanging a fist bump with Martin. “Let’s do this.”

With a nod, Martin followed Paul through the trees and towards the house. They paused at the edge of the trees, only for a minute, before Paul crouched and started walking slowly towards the back of the house. Rowan’s room was on the second floor, a terrace in front of it, and vine-covered white lattice trailing along the back of the house. Sucking in a deep breath, Paul hooked his foot on the bottom of the lattice and started climbing up, Martin following close behind him. When they reached the terrace, he felt the adrenaline kick in; there were windows all along the back wall, and he swung a long leg over the balcony, sitting on it and waiting for Martin to join him.

“That was intense,” Martin whispered, pushing his sunglasses to the top of his head.

Paul did the same before he hit his best friend’s shoulder, motioning him to shut up, before nodding towards the windows.

Martin nodded, winking. “Wait until Ash gives us the signal.”

Waiting was always the hardest part.

+

“You look beautiful, Ms. Delvecchio,” Ash said, finishing her makeup and taking her hair down from the curlers, letting the dark strands fall in soft curls across her shoulders.

“Thank you, Ash, you did a lovely job,” Rowan said, admiring her own reflection for a minute before she shook herself out of it. No, she wasn’t the girl to sit there and tell herself how beautiful she was; she didn’t have the time. Although, okay, she did look beautiful; the green that surrounded her eyes matched the green on her fingertips (and toes, of course) and the pink of her lips was just enough.

Ash smiled. “Thank you, Ms. Delvecchio.”

“Call me Rowan, please,” she said, standing up and walking over to her bed.

“Do you want me to leave while you change?”

Rowan shrugged.

Ash bit her lip; she had been hoping to be excused for a minute. She turned towards the window, her eyes widening when she met those of her boyfriend, and she quickly turned back around to face Rowan. “Do you…need any help?”

+

Martin ran a hand through his hair as he watched Ash try to keep Rowan’s eyes away from the terrace. “Atta girl,” he whispered, motioning for Paul to stand up.

Paul stood by his side, both of them just out of their view, hidden by the walls, and waited for Ash to signal them in. His eyes widened when he watched Rowan drop the robe shamelessly to pull on her dress. He muffled a curse when Martin’s hand slapped over his eyes.

“It’s not polite to spy on a lady while they’re changing, Paul,” Martin said, his tone mocking.

“Why do you get to look?” he asked, trying to keep his voice quiet.

Martin laughed softly. “Because I don’t want her.”

“I don’t even think she’s cute,” Paul protested.

“Sure you don’t,” Martin said, rolling his blue eyes.

Paul scoffed. “Please. She’s not my type. I like…blondes.”

“You do not.”

Paul groaned, slapping the back of Martin’s head when his friend finally moved his hand. He glanced back into the room to see Rowan putting her heels on and Ash running lightly over to the door, motioning for them to be quiet, as she flicked the lock so the doors would open. Paul grabbed the door handle, sucking in a deep breath, as Martin shoved a black bandana into his other hand.

“Don’t think, just do,” Martin told him.

Paul opened the door, the sound causing Rowan to turn around.

“Who the hell are you?” Rowan asked, taking a step back.

“It doesn’t matter,” Paul said, the bandana hanging loosely from his hand.

Rowan turned, ready to walk towards the door, but Ash was blocking it. “You—“

Paul rolled his eyes and walked over to Rowan as she faced the other way, slipping the bandana over her eyes and tying it tightly behind her head. “It’ll be a lot easier if you don’t fight us,” he whispered in her ear.

Rowan frowned, elbowing him in the stomach, causing him cough.

“Now that wasn’t very nice,” Martin said, grabbing her wrists and tying them together. “Do try to be nicer, won’t you?”

“Fuck off,” Rowan spat.

Martin tsked. “That just will not do,” he muttered. “Ash, do you have anything we can use to shut her up?”

“Yeah,” Ash said, digging through the bottom of her bag and pulling out a black scarf. “This is all I have.”

“It’s perfect,” Martin said, giving her a quick kiss. “You did wonderful.”

Rowan scoffed. “Oh, of course. Why didn’t I see it coming?” she muttered.

“Be a good girl and shut your mouth,” Martin said, handing the scarf to Paul. “Will you do the honors?”

“What honors—?”

Paul wrapped the scarf around her mouth, tying it against her neck and he patted her shoulder. “There. Now this will be a lot easier. Just walk this way.”

Rowan took the chance to shove her heel directly onto the top of his foot, indicating that, no, she was not going easily.

Paul cursed under his breath and picked her up, tossing her over his shoulder. “Guess we’re gonna have to do this the hard way, then.”