Karma's a Bit*h Read online

  Karma’s a Bit*h

  Este Holland

  Karma’s a Bitch

  Copyright © 2020 by Este Holland.

  All rights reserved. Published in the United States of America. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  For information contact :

  (www.esteholland.com)

  Cover Design : Este Holland

  Editor: Flat Earth Editing

  Also by Este Holland

  Novels:

  First Priority

  The Artist’s Boxer

  The Marshal’s PI

  The Marshal’s Teacher

  The Marshal’s Mobster

  Deacon and the Dead

  Short Stories:

  Mik and Journey

  Nick and Ben

  Cameron and Gray

  The Perfect Gift

  Gannin and Kai

  Deacon and the Headless Ghost

  Thank you!

  C.S. Poe for allowing me to mention your wonderful character Sebastian Snow, from your amazing series: Snow and Winter!

  If you’re curious who Sebastian is, you can find out on C.S. Poe’s website here. It’s one of my absolute favorite series!

  Blurb:

  Karma's only a bitch if you're bad.

  Jake Michelson plays it safe. All he wants to do is keep a roof over his head and graduate from NYU in a few months. He can count on three things in life: his job at Dinkin’s Donuts, his best friend Marri, and school.

  Archer Ferraro plays by his own rules. The one thing he can’t stand is when bad people get away with doing bad things. He’s dedicated his life to righting the wrongs the police can’t or won’t handle.

  When Archer accidentally upsets Jake’s life, he vows to make it right and hires him.

  Together, Jake and Archer must work on a new case involving stolen jewelry and a womanizer, deal with a lawyer brother and a jailbird father, and stay out of the cops’ way.

  Should be easy…right?

  Triggers: Mention of domestic abuse not involving main characters, incarceration, parental neglect.

  Chapter 1

  Jake

  I couldn’t believe my life had come to this. I stared in a daze, hypnotized by the round shape in my palm. How could something so small be so destructive?

  “Don’t do it, Jake. It’s not worth it.”

  “I guarantee you, it is.”

  Marri Wilson shook her head, sending her lilac spiral curls flying. “You’ll regret it. Just like that time freshman year when you ate that entire pecan pie from the dorm fridge, and you hurled out your window. Remember?”

  “That doesn’t mean I’ll regret eating a donut.”

  “Oh, please. I know you. When you’re stressed, you overeat, and when you overeat, you purge. It’s not healthy.”

  “I know. But it’s not like it happens all the time. Usually just around finals.”

  Marri frowned and clacked her way—on four-inch heels—over the stained linoleum to a small table.

  “I love the dress today.”

  “Thanks!” She beamed and fluffed the collar of her fake chinchilla fur coat and spread out the skirt of her dress, so the rhinestones sparkled. Marri wanted to be an actress, and she’d always taken the saying “Dress for the job you want” seriously. I’d never seen her in a normal college student outfit. Most girls our age wore stretch pants and hoodies to class. Some went dressier in the summer, with skirts and shorts, but that was about it. NYU wasn’t exactly Fashion Week.

  I was the typical college guy, only gay, but that wasn’t exactly unheard of today. We were still a minority, but there were a lot more LGBTQ+ clubs and activities on campus and in the city than there’d been even a few years ago when I was a freshman.

  The door banged open, and we jumped. I shut the donut case and stood. “Welcome to Dinkin’s Donuts.”

  “Yeah, you have any oil?”

  I blinked at the man striding to the counter. He was beautiful, with hair the color of the chocolate I coated on the donuts every morning and round, hazel eyes staring at me with impatience. If this were a movie, the wind would blow his hair around in slow motion, and he’d wink at me.

  “Hello? Oil?”

  My stupid paper hat slipped, and I straightened it. “Oh, uh, well, it’s used to make the donuts, but we don’t sell it, if that’s what you mean.”

  “You will today.” He braced the heels of his hands on the counter and rounded his shoulders. “I need it. Badly. I have a pest problem I have to take care of.”

  “Um…” I glanced at Marri, who was watching the exchange over the top of her Jackie O glasses like off-Broadway dinner theater. “What pest?”

  The customer lowered his elbows to the counter. His black leather jacket fell open, showing off smooth olive skin over gently curved collarbones under a faded blue T-shirt. “Oh, he’s about five-ten, blond, gym rat. Dude bro. You know the type?” I opened my mouth, but he kept going. “Thinks he’s God’s gift to men. Thinks he’s got me wrapped around his little finger, because my neck isn’t the size of a tree trunk!” He slammed his hand on the counter, rattling the condiment jars. He cleared his throat and smoothed a strand of wayward hair. “Sorry.”

  I blinked. “No problem. So, what do you need the oil for?”

  The most sinister smile I’d ever seen stretched his lips, and I took a small step back. If I were Dude Bro, I’d be shitting myself.

  “I’m going to pour it over every inch of his precious Camaro.”

  Marri sucked in a breath. “Oh, damn.”

  “But you could get caught!” I cried.

  One of his manicured brows rose. “So?”

  My face heated, and I fidgeted with the napkin holder. “I mean, you could get arrested, or he could hurt you.”

  His eyes softened and he smiled with pink sculpted lips, making his already gorgeous face even more attractive. “You’re sweet. Now, how much for the oil?”

  We weren’t supposed to sell the buckets of oil used to make the dough, but I gave him one for forty dollars because I was a sucker like that.

  “Do you need help carrying it?” I don’t know why I asked. We weren’t too dissimilar in our slim builds. I was a few inches shorter, but he obviously worked out regularly. The only exercise I ever got was lifting those buckets and starting the industrial mixers in the kitchen. Oh, and walking up five flights of stairs to get to my studio apartment.

  “Nah.” His smile turned impish. “Thanks for your help.” A heavy gaze raked over my face and neck and kept going until it reached my nametag. “Jake.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  He waved as he shouldered the door open and disappeared.

  I blew out a breath.

  “Wow.” Marri’s voice brought me back to reality.

  “What?”

  “He was hot and feisty. You know I love me a feisty man.”

  “And gay,” I pointed out.

  She scoffed. “Like that’s ever stopped me.”

  “True.”

  We stared at each other. I scrambled out from behind the counter as Marri opened the door, skidding on her heels. She grabbed on to me, and I managed to catch her. We looked left and right on the sidewalk and spotted Oil Guy lugging the bucket over to a vintage, black Camaro parked illegally in a loading zone.

  He pried off the lid, straining and puffing, opened the fron
t door, and lifted the bucket to the driver’s seat. I closed my eyes, then squinted one open. The thick, yellow liquid spilled over the rim, flooded the front seat, and dripped to the floorboard and out onto the street. He lifted the bucket and slopped great globs onto the passenger seat, over the dashboard, and into the back seat.

  Marri and I cringed as we leaned out the shop door. Oil Guy threw the bucket into the car, slammed the door, and gave us a wink before marching off.

  We went inside, and after a few silent beats, started laughing and couldn’t stop.

  ***

  A few hours later, I closed the shop and headed home. I’d worked at Dinkin’s Donuts for three and a half years, ever since my dad left. We’d been planning on him helping me pay for college, but that all went out the window. So, I’d grabbed the first job I could get close to campus and left the dorms when it became clear it would be cheaper to rent a roach-infested hovel with barely enough room for a futon and a hot plate. Seriously, the housing situation in New York City was out of control.

  I sighed and groaned my way up the stairs. A few more months of school and I’d graduate with a joint major in Computer Science and Data Science. I was already scoping out jobs, and I’d done my unpaid internship last year. I had some promising leads.

  I banged around to scare off the roaches, then ran a hot shower. The water pressure sucked, but I hated going to bed smelling like yeast. I kept telling myself I’d get a better place soon. My Pinterest was full of ways I’d decorate. Of course, I was a long way from being able to afford most of it, but I loved to dream. Besides, I was used to living rough.

  My thoughts drifted to the oil guy as I lay in bed, and I couldn’t help palming my cock. God, he was hot. There were hot guys in and around campus, but none stood out in my mind. Oil Guy blazed like a lighthouse beacon, beckoning me closer and closer to those pretty lips.

  A foghorn blared. I bolted upright. “Get the life vests!” Oh, wait…alarm. “Fuck.” I turned it off and flopped onto my back. Just a dream. Eight a.m. classes sucked.

  I made myself get out of bed and dressed in unwashed jeans and layers of shirts. I didn’t bother with much of a beauty regimen. I brushed my hair and teeth, ate a few spoonfuls of Cheerios, and headed out the door. The dull, gray February morning weighed me down, and I tightened the scarf around my neck to keep the cold out. I stopped at the nearest coffee cart and marveled at the vendors who braved the frigid temperatures to sell the lifeblood of humanity.

  The walk to class was normal, if you counted a homeless woman wearing a stained wedding dress and carrying a ferret in a grocery basket normal. It was around my neighborhood. I grabbed a seat in the middle of the classroom, laptop ready to go. Math. I liked math, but not at bird o’clock. I rubbed my eyes and tried to concentrate.

  After class, I headed to work. My uniform hung in a small closet, so I didn’t have to lug it around campus. The place was empty, and the owner, Mr. Anastos, a Greek man with huge biceps from baking bread all his life, was already at the till, counting receipts.

  “Hello, Mr. Anastos.”

  He stopped counting and pinned me with a hard stare. I froze and gripped the strap of my messenger bag. “Jake. I’m going to have to let you go.”

  Blood rushed to my head. I staggered over to a table and collapsed onto a chair, putting my head between my knees. No, no, no. “I’m only a few months from graduation.”

  “I’m sorry, kiddo. You’re a good worker. The only one I’ve kept this long. But the police was here this morning, and I found out you sold a tub of oil to some guy who wrecked a car.” He skirted the counter and stood over me. “We don’t sell the oil, first off. Second, you undercharged. And the fact that it was used in a crime right outside…” Mr. Anastos shook his head. “Can’t be helped.” He gave me an awkward pat on the shoulder. “Come collect your last paycheck tomorrow.”

  I nodded and stood on wobbly legs. I didn’t remember leaving, but I started to walk, somehow ending up at Marri’s play rehearsal in a little theater in SoHo. She was standing on stage, in a period costume straight out of a Jane Austen novel, with a brown wig on. I almost didn’t recognize her.

  As soon as the director called for a break, Marri headed over to me. “Babe, what’s wrong? Is it your dad?”

  I shook my head. “I got fired.”

  Her breath hitched, and she leaned over to smother me in her bosom. “Oh, no. What happened?”

  “The oil. Police.” I buried my face in her shoulder, and the scratchy material of her costume dug into my cheek.

  “Oil Police? Is that a thing?”

  “No,” I said. “The police told Mr. Anastos I sold the oil to that guy.”

  “Oooh. That makes more sense. It’s going to be okay.” She patted my cheek. “You have a good work history. You’ll find something else right away.”

  I sighed and made myself sit up. “You’re probably right. I can’t help but worry, though.” I palmed my face. “This always happens.”

  “Getting fired for selling oil to hot guys so they can wreck their scumbag boyfriend’s car happens a lot?” Actors and stagehands scurried around us, but Marri kept her eyes on me.

  Ignoring her jibe, I stared into space. “Just as soon as I relax, thinking everything is going to be okay, something goes wrong. It’s happened my whole life.”

  “Listen, I don’t want you to freak out, okay? If by some weird fluke, you don’t find a new job, you can move in with me.” I opened my mouth to protest, but she held up her hand. “I know it’ll be cramped and awkward with my three roommates.” She rolled her eyes. She’d bitched to me about them many times. “But we’ll make it work until you find something else. Okay? Promise you’ll let me know if you need me.”

  Some of the weight and fear fell off my shoulders and I sniffed. “I promise. Thank you.”

  Marri held my hand until the director called them back on stage.

  “I’ll let you go.”

  “You going home?”

  “Yeah. I’d better start looking on Indeed or something. Or maybe I should start by walking around the neighborhood.”

  We said our good-byes, and I left and hopped on a bus to go home. Resting my head on the window, I watched people walking fast, dodging each other and glaring at the traffic. I was lucky to have Marri. Not having any family to rely on was difficult. Marri had become my family our freshman year. I still remember telling her my dad was in prison and how alone I was. She’d taken me under her wing.

  I tried not to feel guilty for making her my crutch, but life was hard when you were alone.

  Chapter 2

  Archer

  I headed out of the ninth precinct on Fifth Street into the gray February afternoon. My lawyer tucked my release papers into his briefcase and snapped it closed.

  “Hey, Archie. Stay out of trouble!” Greg Porter, an NYPD detective, had arrested me personally early that morning, after Brett had found his car and called the cops on me. A big-ass grin had stretched Greg’s rugged face, and he couldn’t hold in his laughter as he’d read me my rights. We’d been friends since he’d been a rookie in uniform. We’d vaguely dated years ago, but we’d been more comfortable watching the ball game than making out.

  I waved Greg off and turned to the suit standing beside me.

  “I can’t keep getting you out of trouble, Archie. You’re not my only client.”

  “No, but I am your only brother.” I smiled, but Phoenix returned it with a frown. “I’m sorry, but this guy was asking for it.”

  My brother sighed like the weight of the world was on his shoulders. “They always are.”

  I shrugged. “It wasn’t my fault. I was angry.”

  Phoenix stared with dumbfounded wonder. “I have an idea! Stop dating douchebags.”

  “You make it sound easy. It’s not like I knew he was going to cheat on me.” My heart broke a little, but I couldn’t tell Phoenix the truth. He’d feel betrayed after all the work he’d done over the years, keeping me out of prison and suc
h. He liked to bitch, but the truth was, I hadn’t been in court that many times. I’d been caught quite a few, but most of the time they dropped the charges when they realized how much they’d be paying in legal fees.

  “And it was too your fault. You chose to flood his car with oil, and it got down in the vents. That thing is destroyed. We’ll be lucky to get away with just paying for a new one.”

  “Eh.” I waved that away as we walked. “I have the money. Besides, it was worth it. He loves that car. A new one won’t ever replace it, no matter what it costs.”

  “Archer.” Phoenix stopped me with a hand on my arm. “You can’t keep doing this.”

  My brother was older than me by three years. We both took after our mother with dark hair and olive skin, only I had hazel eyes, and Phoenix’s were blue. He was a few inches taller than me, but that wasn’t uncommon, since I was five-foot-ten. Phoenix looked after me our whole lives—after our dad left, Mom had to work twice as hard to make ends meet, and Phoenix proclaimed himself my caretaker.

  I sighed and ran my fingers through my hair. I needed a shower, a shave, and some food. The guys at the precinct had given me coffee, but the pastries had been old. “I’ll try to be good, Phen. I promise.”

  Phoenix stared at me, trying to read the truth in my eyes, but I never made it easy for him.

  “I have to get back to work.”

  “Thanks for coming.”

  “Yeah, yeah.” My brother walked toward the curb. “Don’t forget our V-Day dinner with Ma!”

  Phoenix flagged down a cab on Second Avenue and disappeared into a sea of cars. The hustle and bustle of the street didn’t faze me. I shoved my hands into my zippered pockets and pulled out a pack of Camels. I didn’t smoke often, but I needed one now. Cupping my hand, I lit the tip.

  “Hey, Archie. Out of the slammer so soon? I swear you must be made outta Teflon.”