by Jessica Joy
“Well, I’ll start with the good news. I’ve pulled together a group of Brothers I know we can trust. Bones, Bowie, Cotton, Tully, and Padre. All of them agree that what's been goin down around here isn’t right, Cotton especially.”
“Gettin’ the shit kicked out of you by your Brothers can have that effect on a man,” Sawyer says, anger at the situation slipping into his tone again.
“Yeah, basically. I’ve got them working their way carefully through the rest to get a read on where they stand,” Tinker explains.
“Good. Never doubted any of them would be on the wrong side anyways,” Sawyer admits, and I nod in agreement.
“It’s true. And now for the… less good parts. So, I know you both were pretty busy getting ready for the Pikesmen raid before you left for Seattle this last time, but do you remember hearing about the new contact down in Tennessee?” Tinker asks.
“Seriously, does everyone forget I’m a feckin Officer? A’course I know about the Tennessee contact, I’m only the feckin’ Road Captain, asshole,” I growl.
“I... well… I umm...” Tinker bumbles, clearly uncomfortable with my question.
God fucking dammit, these fuckers. They all forget about my job cuz I’m fucking good at it. Not a one of them ever has to worry about jack fucking shit while we’re on the road and they know it, wanna know why? Cuz I spend hours prepping for each run, setting the route, planning contingencies, lining up backup, checking over the rigs and each and every fuckin’ bike. While we’re on the road I wake up at the ass-crack of dawn and check over everything again before we hit the road for the day. A good Road Captain is one the Brothers have complete faith in without a second thought and I take fuckin’ pride in the fact that I am damn fuckin’ good at my job.
“Oh, fuck off Tink. Just keep goin’,” I grumble, deciding I’ll make him pay once we get back to Minnesota and I can wipe the floor with his sorry ass next time we have a game night.
“I… yeah. Okay. Well. Axel was running point on that one. He, Subzero, Mike, and Ike, were going down there to establish contact and finalize the deal,” Tinker explains.
“Yeah, we know. They took off same time we did, supposed to be our alibi for the Pikesmen job,” Sawyer says.
“‘Supposed to’ being the operative phrase there. I did some digging and turns out, there is no Tennessee contact. The info Axel had given us leads to a shell corp set up to look like a military contractor, but when I dug a little deeper, I found there is nothing backing it. Just a couple of empty warehouses full of scrap and a bank account routed through the Caymans but fuck if that means jack shit. Hell, we have a dozen accounts just like that just to launder money let alone actually use.”
“Wait, so if there is no Tennessee job, where the fuck did Axel go?” I ask, a pit settling in my gut.
“That right there is the million dollar question. From everything I could pull up it shows they made it to Nashville on schedule, and they were all back here as expected. I pulled the GPS logs on each of their bikes and it all checked out. So on the surface it's all copacetic. Something doesn’t feel right though. My gut tells me there’s more. I can’t explain it yet, but I think there is more to it than what we’re seeing,” Tinker says.
“I agree. Something isn’t right here. We need to find out why,” Sawyer agrees.
“And how exactly do you propose we do that? We can’t very well send Tink in to have tea with Axel and ask him to spill his guts,” I grouse, the pit in my stomach only growing. I know something, I know I do. There is something locked away in my memory that I can’t fucking access. I want to rip my hair out and send my fist through a wall.
“Well, we do have a certain psychopath on our side…” Tinker says, an evil grin spreading across his face.
“Ya thinking Bowie needs to have a conversation with one of em?” Sawyer asks with a little chuckle. We all know what Bowie’s conversational skills look like… mostly they consist of the big ass bowie knife he favors getting to know some of their fleshier spots.
“Aye, ye read my mind Tink. Sic Bowie on the fuckers and see what he finds out. I’m sure Cotton may have a suggestion on where to start.” I say, my smile downright giddy, I only wish I could be there to watch. “That man has a way of turning tortu… I mean interrogation, into an art form,” I muse. There is an unspoken rule around the Club that we never directly call out the fact that Bowie has a talent for getting information from people. The man was an “interrogation specialist” in the military. Which branch you ask? He won’t say. When or where did he serve? He’d tell you but then he’d have to kill you. And make no mistake, he would kill you, and they’d never find the body, if there would even be a body left to find.
“I’ll be sure to pass along the compliment,” Tinker laughs. I incline my head in acknowledgement while I laugh right along with him.
Sawyer clears his throat and attempts to rein us back in. “So, we have Axel, Mike, Ike, and Subzero. We obviously can’t sic Bowie on Axel, Mike and Ike don’t have two brain cells to rub together between the two of them, so that leaves Subzero. Think we can make that happen?”
“Oh, ya know what? I think I just got a note from one of my contacts out in Omaha that he has a shipment of those audio scanners with the backdoor encryption I’ve been trying to get my hands on. He needs someone to meet him out that way for a supply drop, maybe three-four days from now? And... you never know how that kind of run may go…” Tinker supplies, nodding his head as he starts typing something into one of his computers.
“Yeah, those black market guys are a bit skittish, like to play spy vs spy on pickup,” I chime in, picking up the story that Tink is puttin’ down.
“Sometimes those runs take a few extra days, with all that back and forth. Probably better to take a smaller crew, so things don’t get too out of whack with regular business,” Sawyer chips in, finally on the same train of thought.
“Is that so? I think this would be a perfect chance for Subzero to stretch his wings and take on a bit more responsibility, don't ye think Spartan?” I ask, my tone jocular, enjoying this entirely too much. I have missed this, missed plotting together with my Brothers. I miss the club. I can’t fucking wait to go home.
“I think you’re right Gage; he’s been itching to be a little more involved. Sounds like a great idea. Tink, why don’t you and Bowie go fill Subzero in on his new assignment and get back to us,” Sawyer says, a smile across his broody face. “Oh and Tink, one last thing. We need a list of every single name on Axel’s side. Every fuckin’ name. No guessing, no misses. We need to know. Whatever we do, it needs to be quick, decisive, and painful. We can’t leave any room for questions or retaliations. We finish this in one fell swoop.” Sawyer explains, his tone serious, deadly so. The last time I heard him like this, Evan was gone and Tessa was laid up in the infirmary.
“Aye boss. Tinker, over and out.” he says before the screen goes black.
“Well, this should get interestin’. Scary Spartan is comin’ out te play. He’s the fun one.” I laugh, settling back into the couch.
Chapter 14
Lexi
I woke up this morning, as I have each of the last three mornings, alone in my bed and snuggled into a pillow that smells like Gage. Just once I wish he would stay the night, let me wake up wrapped in his arms again, wake to the warmth of him. Instead, I’ve woken up to a cold pillow and the fleeting scent of a memory.
After that first night watching You’ve Got Mail together, Gage has shown up at my door every night once everyone else has turned in. The first night I tried to argue with him, albeit rather half-heartedly, saying I didn’t want to keep him up and I didn’t want him to feel like he had to entertain me. The big Irish oaf just shot me one of his ‘ya wound me lass’ pouts and pushed right past me, settling onto my bed before I could say another word. Knowing I could never dislodge him if I wanted to, which I don’t, I simply closed my door and finished getting ready for bed while he flipped through the streaming choices for a movie.
When I finally climbed into bed next to him, I was shocked to see he had landed on another chick flick. Instead of arguing, I decided to just roll with it and enjoy the feeling of his fingers tracing my arm.
I managed to get five chick flicks in, FIVE, until he caved from all that ooey-gooey movie love. I couldn’t help but rub it in that he didn’t remember the alternating deal, I made it two movies further this time. These movie nights have become my favorite part of the day, and are also the absolute worst kind of torture. I get a glimpse of him every night, a flash of who he used to be, who he really is, for those couple of hours we spend together. At the same time it’s nothing but a reminder of what we had and I have lost. Selfishly though, I have relished the opportunity to seize this relationship wholeheartedly, not like last time where I drug it out, ignored him, and otherwise was an awful bitch to this wonderful man.
I refuse to let myself dwell on that side of things though. We are moving forward, he is getting stronger, and we are building something new with every frame of every movie we watch together. I don’t know what the “new” will be in the end but I am sure enjoying the ride on my way there and that’s what matters. But, as much as I love him and our time together, I’m pretty sure that if I stay inside this glass and chrome box any longer I’m gonna blow my brains out. And on that note, I call Leo and ask him to meet me outside in five.
Heading down to the lobby to meet Leo, I’m lost in my own thoughts when I step out of the elevator and all but run into a wall of well-dressed muscle surrounded by a fog of expensive cologne. I start to apologize but notice the ridiculous, and obviously insanely expensive, sand colored loafers the wall of muscle is rocking. I quickly take him in as I raise my gaze, from the loafers worn without socks, slim cut no break trousers in a deep teal, unassuming low profile belt that matches his shoes, a crisp white dress shirt with two buttons undone at the collar, and a teal suit coat. I don’t even need to look up and see his face to know who this dandy in front of me is.
“DiMarco,” I say, attempting to sound as unimpressed as possible.
“Ah, Miss Hayes. What a pleasant coincidence. I was hoping to connect with you while you were here, it seems the fates have smiled upon me today,” Salvatore DiMarco says in that too smooth rolling accent of his.
“Lucky me,” I deadpan. “What, no pimpstick today Sally?” I ask, throwing as much sass as I can muster his way. Salvatore laughs, and not just a little chuckle at my comment, no, he full on belly laughs with his head thrown back and a hand on his stomach. Ok, not what I was expecting, but it’s hard not to feel lightened by that great laugh. He’s still a greasy slimeball of a man, but he looks so much younger, so much more approachable when he laughs. There are laugh lines around his eyes that make him seem so much more human than the cold mob boss he is on the inside.
“My dear Alexis, it is a rare person who can make me laugh this way. We got off on the wrong foot when we first met; I would like to rectify that. Would you do me the kindness of having coffee with me?” he asks, smooth as silk. Damn, he’s good. The last thing I should be doing is going anywhere with this man, but for the life of me I can’t think of a single concrete reason not to at the moment.
“Just coffee?” I ask lamely. The grin DiMarco sends my way says he knows he’s won. Dammit. Not wanting him to see my resignation, I turn away from the bank of elevators and head toward the sleek glass doors of the ultra-modern lobby.
The ding of the elevator sounds behind me and I hear DiMarco call, “Ms. Hayes, this way.” Turning, I see him stepping into the waiting elevator car and holding it open, a look of quiet patience on his face as he waits for me.
Does he seriously think we are going back up to the penthouse for this little coffee outing? Yeah, I’m sure me walking back in with DiMarco in tow will go over just swimmingly. Gage won’t blow a gasket, not at all. Wouldn’t that be just what we need right now? Gage committing murder, and then the Chicago mob takes out a hit on all of us for taking down the head honcho so we all have to go into witness protection or something. That would mean Evan would have to grow up in some backwater town in bumfuck Idaho and I’ll end up the crazy cat lady living in my sister’s attic because I will have murdered Gage within the first week and…
“Are you coming Alexis?” DiMarco’s silky baritone breaks through my little spiral and pulls my attention back to him, still standing holding the elevator door open for me, one eyebrow cocked in a patient question.
Great job Lex make him think you’re insane. Well done.
Pasting on what I hope is a reassuring smile, I give him a tight nod and slip past him into the lift, bracing myself for the confrontation I feel brewing. I’m too lost in my own thoughts to notice which floor he calls, and I spend the entire silent ride up staring down at my feet, trying to get my racing thoughts under control.
When the doors slide open I take a deep breath and step out, expecting to hear Gage start ranting any second, but instead of the soft click of shoes against the hardwood in the penthouse like I’ve become accustomed to, my steps make no sound against plush carpet.
“Wait, where are we?” I ask in confusion. DiMarco is already several steps ahead of me walking toward what looks like a mix between a gourmet kitchen and fully stocked coffee shop.
“You haven’t been down here yet?” he asks, turning back to me with a look of genuine confusion on his features.
“Ummm, no.” I say, looking around like I have stepped into another dimension. I don’t know where we are, but it's insane in the best way. The elevator spit us out into a giant living room-esque space, with the kitchen/coffee bar off to the left, a bank of windows straight ahead showing a similar view of the city to that of our penthouse. Most of the living space in front of us is set up like a mini movie theater, with a row of overstuffed recliners on a riser and a couple couches in front of that all facing a massive floor to ceiling movie screen. There is a doorway off the kitchen to the left and a hallway that snakes away to the right off this first space. “Where the hell are we?”
DiMarco lets out a little chuckle and motions for me to follow him to the barstools at the counter in the kitchen area. “Why am I not surprised he didn’t fill you in,” he chuckles as I take a seat and he moves around the counter, starting to make coffee for us.
“Okay, I am officially lost. Care to fill me in?” I ask, not in the mood to play detective and 20 questions today.
“Yes, yes. First, let me apologize, Alexis. I should have ensured all of you got a proper tour when you moved in. Just because you are here under less than ideal circumstances does not excuse my poor hospitality. I fear your last few weeks here would have been much more comfortable had that happened. I am surprised Leo never mentioned it though. I will have to have a word with him.”
“Don’t blame it on Leo, the puppy has been following me around like a good little guard dog. Knowing him, he never even thought to suggest anything different from whatever stupid plans I dragged him along with,” I say with a smile. “Leo has been the only thing keeping me sane since we got here. I don’t know what I would do without the pseudo sibling rivalry thing we have going.”
“Hmmm, interesting. I’m glad the two of you have hit it off. He’s a newer addition to my payroll, a cousin of a trusted friend, you know how it goes,” DiMarco explains, waving his hand over his shoulder dismissively. “Well, let me get you up to speed at least. We are currently one floor down from your penthouse. You have full access to this floor from the elevator you usually use. This floor is known as ‘The Rec Room’ to those who have access to it, which is mainly my family and a handful of other trusted individuals; most of whom are summering outside the city, so you have no need to worry about running into anyone down here.” DiMarco explains as he finishes pouring a shot of espresso into a coffee mug that he slides across to me. Turning my attention from the lavish, and totally unexpected venue, I finally notice what he’s made for me. Pulling the glass up to face I take a deep inhale of the sweet and spicy steam wafting from the
mug. “Pumpkin spice latte huh?” I ask with a quirked eyebrow. “Of course, a favorite of yours, I know,” DiMarco says hoisting his dainty espresso cup in mock salute, “Saluti.”
What the actual fuck is going on? This man knows way too much.
He comes around and settles himself on a stool next to me before continuing, “As you can see, we have a kitchen that is fully stocked at all times and the screening room here.” he says gesturing behind us to the massive screen. “Down the hall is a fully equipped aerobic space with showers and a sauna. Through that door, there is a fully stocked wet bar, pool table, poker table, and I believe my younger brother installed a few pinball and upright gaming consoles. I'll admit I don’t frequent that space as much as I’d like.”
“Hold on, this rec room has been here the entire time I’ve been cooped up in my twelve by twelve bedroom watching movies on that tiny ass TV?!” I can barely contain the frustration at how much more fun this could have been. “This has been here the whole fucking time I’ve been sitting upstairs bored out of my mind or when I’ve been dragging poor Leo around?” I ask incredulously. Seriously, how did no one mention this until now? Leo is so totally going to pay for keeping this little secret from me.
“Have you not wondered where Gage goes for his physical therapy every day?” DiMarco asks, raising a questioning brow toward me while slowly sipping his espresso.
“Son of a bitch! He’s been down here every fucking day, hasn’t he?!” That’s it, Gage first, then Leo, they are both getting an UGG clad boot shoved up their respective asses. I am soooo picking the chickiest of chick flicks tonight. And no, I’m not acknowledging the fact that I want to rip his face off at the moment but am still planning on watching a movie with him tonight. In my bed. Cuddling. Nope, not acknowledging that at all.
DiMarco lets out another long laugh before taking a sip of his coffee, giving me one of those pedantic “oh look how cute and stupid she is!” looks. I am not a fan. I decide to buy myself some time by taking a drink, which is probably the best latte I’ve ever had. Silence stretches between us, the stubborn streak in me resisting every urge to break it. DiMarco sits sipping his espresso with a bland expression on his face, seemingly unbothered by the silence. Time stretches and I realize that I’m fencing wills with a man who kills people just because they became ‘inconvenient,’ and I’m not going to win this particular battle.
