Beneath one dim drum light, I see the thin line of smoke wafting up from the holder. The black wide-brimmed hat conceals her hair, but there is no denying the muscular ass tucked in the short black dress. My heart stops. With my mouth gaping open, I step forward as she slowly turns towards me.
“Ghost…”
“Phoenix,” she whispers with a delightful red-lipped grin. Her sky blue eyes dance as I dart across the room and swoop her in my arms. She is an athlete – trained to kill – with firm flesh everywhere I touch. “How are you?” she asks, planting little kisses over my fuzzy cheeks. “Tell me you’re okay.”
“I’m okay,” I say as our fingertips graze one another and break through the invisible shield. She laces her fingers with mine, and I mutter, “But you shouldn’t be here.”
I glance at her expression shifting to one of grave concern. “What happened?”
“I beat up a wall,” I casually mention with a shrug and a smirk. “It won.”
“You have stitches.” The pitch in her voice rises. “And bandages.”
“Ya, I need to put them on.”
“Sit,” she requests, pulling out two chairs and taking the bandages from my hands.
“Can I bum a smoke or half dozen?”
“I have three packs in my purse,” she informs, smiling.
“I’m surprised they let you come in with your bag.”
Her wide eyes blink with a sly sparkle. “They took my Glocks and my two shivs.” She leans closer and lowers her voice, “But I have a blade in my shoe.”
The five-inch high stilettos awaken parts of me I do not want to think about. “They didn’t check you?”
“Of course, they did, but I’m a girl.” She winks and unwraps the bandages before applying them to my left hand. I pull a cigarette from her pack and light it. “You haven’t been to the unit yet?”
“Not yet.”
She carefully applies three more bandages to my left knuckles, and I quickly drop them to her knee. Sliding my fingers up her leg, I rub the ruffle of her lace stockings beneath the pads of my fingers.
“You’re so fucking bad.” I grin as she spreads. Reaching further under her skirt, I find her bare skin, cleanly shaven, without a hint of stubble. “Jesus fucking Christ. You do realize you were the first one to visit with no ulterior motives.”
“I’m aware,” she counters with a tilt of her head. “Give me your right hand.”
Holding the cigarette between my lips, I lay my banged-up paw in front of her. She quickly goes to work. There is no way I’m washing my hands anytime soon.
I watch her playing nursemaid until she declares, “You’re done.”
Immediately, I snatch her hat and put it on. “Why in the world are you wearing funeral attire?”
“… Because this isn’t a good meeting, Sal.”
“Do I need to stop fingering you?”
“No,” she thoughtfully remarks. Tossing her hat onto the table and pulling her hair down, she implores, “But you have to listen.”
“Tell me,” I say, easing my fingers further in and gaining access. I slip one between her damp lips and slide inside. She gasps. “Talk to me.”
“I’m being reassigned.”
The reminder of the loss is as heavy as a pallet of bricks being dropped on my shoulders. I want to collapse under the pressure. I can’t do this without my partner—Prissy Pants. She’s been with me since the beginning, and I never imagined her not showing up for battle.
Shit is going south fast.
A June arrest. The loss of Jaid.
With my fingers soaked in her wetness, I stutter, “Unfortunately, I already knew. Dom told me. Where are you going?”
“… Under Lex Conrad in international trade.”
“Drugs?” I bark out, louder than expected. “You’re doing narc?”
“Cargo shipments, anything coming onto our soil.”
Their stories were the same, but I couldn’t fathom why Dom would do something so unbelievably stupid. She had to have requested it and asked Dom to take the blame. Nothing else made sense.
Do I trust Dom?
Depends on the topic. But this—this he wouldn’t have done—because it pulls her away from our watch. Delarte Cristos’ daughter—Jaid—becomes extra work if we are trying to keep eyes on her.
In essence, she becomes another Iris. And maintenance on her will be challenging and expensive. We don’t have the gold standard of resources to spread between two, and Jaid knows this.
She clearly wants off the grid.
“But you’ve done sex trafficking since you were fifteen,” I argue, knowing it is too late. I’ve already lost.
“It doesn’t matter,” she insists with a light shake of her head. “I cannot stop what is coming. Dom wanted me with Eric Monroe, but he ended up dead. So now I’m working with Lex.”
Her words may as well have been daggers puncturing my heart. To think, I considered confessing the truth of my incarceration, the theories with Vega, and the elusive Violet, but I can’t because I don’t understand her motivations. My trust levels with her zigzag like an EKG.
“I want you with me,” I admit, not holding anything back. I ease closer and kiss her lips. “I always want you with me.”
Her sky blue eyes fill with tears. “I know, but it just isn’t that easy anymore. Things are…complicated.
She means things are complicated with Iris.
Despite Jaid being my partner for years, I worry that we’ve crossed the friends who fuck line one too many times, and she’s fallen for me. The thought causes self-inquiry, and I’m not sure I like the answer.
How much do I care about Jaid?
Too much. Way too much.
If my father ever caught wind of my relationship with Jaid, my bachelor status would cease. Her access to old money would whet his palate and make my life a living hell.
“It’s never so complicated that you should need to run from me.”
“That’s why I came to see you one last time,” she whispers as her tongue smooths over her lip. Savoring the kiss, I know we are capsizing. We are sinking. Our partnership of six years is dying fast.
And there is not a goddamn thing I can do to stop it.
“You have to marry Dominic. He’ll keep you safe and sound.”
“The same way you are keeping Iris?”
“That's not fair,” I bite hard, pulling my hand away. “I've kept my girls alive and breathing.”
“You've kept your girls on the run,” she rebukes, angrily.
Her fingers move to my dick, hard and throbbing with need. Our chemistry has always been off the charts hot. While we skirt the edge of love and sex as partners and friends, I never imagined we would end like this.
The reassignment of Jaid is unimaginable. She is the closest remaining connection to my past. With her splitting away from me, I feel disjointed and off-kilter. She is my better-half on the field with her brilliant mind and tenacious spirit. She is a fighter, and I don’t want to do this without her by my side.
“… What can I do to make you change your mind?”
She smiles. “Nothing but don’t make me stop.”
I don’t plan on it.
His Ghost
“Sal,” I whisper, catching his steady gaze. “I’m always here for you.”
He shakes his head. “It’s not the same, Jaid. You will be working your cases, and I will be here doing my thing.”
“I’ve got to get away from things,” I confess, stroking my fingers over his stubbled cheeks. “I can’t sit around and watch you suffer and not do anything. I’m not trained to let my partner go down.”
“You think this is a bad idea?”
“I think…I wish you would’ve consulted with your people. You made this decision all on your own and declared this was happening without any back-up resources. You didn’t care what our opinion was. It was your way or the highway.”
“Iris and Deacon knew.”
“The Unholy are nine-s
trong, not three!” I counter, realigning him. “This is nothing but a cry for help and the only one hearing you is your father. So, I need to know what has you running scared?”
He slides his hand from under my skirt and paces about the room. “I don’t know who I trust anymore.” He falters, waving his hands about wildly. “The solid tribe I built has big gaping holes. Things aren’t lining up.”
Rising, I go to meet his match, knowing I’m the one he finds balance in. If he wants a fight, he came to the right girl because I won’t go down easily. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, what the fuck is Dom doing?”
“Honestly?”
“Ya,” he mumbles, trying to tighten his wounded fists. “Do you know?”
I cross my arms and stare at him. “I think he is trying to dismantle the entire Gennaro/Campanelli operation and bring it home to you.”
“He’s not taking his seat?”
“Why would he do that, Sal? I mean, think about it. He’s been loyal to you for years. Going against you now makes about as much sense as…”
“You are leaving,” he interjects.
“I’m leaving because of reasons we aren’t discussing.”
He snickers angrily. “You’re leaving because you are in love with me and hate the fact we can’t be together.”
“I’m leaving because it is the only thing I can do. You, Iris, and Deacon completely eliminated Amber and me from any decisions. That is why I’m encouraging her to go to Arkansas because I’m fucking pissed off at you. If she wants to become Daddy’s Girl or run Rampage, who am I to stop her? The Unholy was a group effort to take out our fathers, and that isn’t what it is anymore.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means how much of my father’s load have you swallowed for the sake of taking down your Dad? You seem to forget Delarte Cristos is still in the show. If you go through with the deal on the fourth of July, you are getting into bed permanently with my father, and you will never be able to uproot him.”
He arrogantly plops in the chair and leans back, spreading his legs and putting his hands behind his head. “Do I look like I have the kind of money to take out your father? We always knew he would be last because he’s the richest son-of-a-bitch I know. You knew it, too. I will eliminate his power when I’m done using him, but until then, I’ll swallow and beg for more if it gets us one step closer to taking out Cesario, Campanelli, and the remaining Gennaro cronies.”
“You have such tunnel vision,” I spit, grabbing my hat and purse. “You’re not even listening to me. This conversation is over.” He grips my hand and pulls me to his lap. “Let me go, Sal.”
“I’m not letting you go,” he soothes, pressing his lips to mine. “I’ll let you go play with drugs, but you don’t get to leave me.”
I hate how much I want to protect him from his stupidity. He’s blind to everything but his focus. He’s missing the big picture because he’s all about Iris. “We aren’t doing this here.”
“We aren’t?” he asks, spreading my legs and rubbing my thigh again. “I’m not your last fuck.”
“But,” he says, grinding his hard cock against my hip. “We’re so good together.”
“And you are in love with Iris, Sal,” I remind, pushing him away. “You have been in love with Iris for a long time, and I’ve been ignoring it because it was easier that way, but I can’t now.”
“What’s changed?”
I giggle and sigh. “Well, gee, maybe because you are about to start a war for her… Amber may have kick-started it, but you will finish it for Iris. And you will take down anyone who gets in your way; I know that look in your eyes. You are a man in love, a man on a mission, and a man prepared to start a war so you can take that girl to the altar. You want to be Mr. Salvatore Nakamura Kettles more than anything else in the world, and you want little demon RanKet spawns.”
“What look?” he asks, brushing off my theories and lifting his hands. He isn’t listening to me. He is doing this—all of this—for the love of one girl. “Tell me because I want to know.”
“The intense determined stare of winning; losing isn’t in your vocabulary.”
He sits back again and thoughtfully looks at me. “You think I can win?”
“I know you can,” I say with a smile. “But you need me off your trafficking team and on narcotics. Trust me. If you think about it, you will see why.”
“I feel like I’m anchored to you,” he confides, squinting up to me as I gather my things again. “Tell me what you know.”
“I know your enemy is dealing a lot of drugs,” I sass, smirking and walking for the door. I wink. “And Sal, I will love you for all eternity, but the one thing I want more than anything is to make sure you wind up happy with the girl of your dreams. I’ll handle my heartbreak. Not everyone gets to go home with the dark knight of their dreams. I’ll be okay. Stop taking my placement personally and start thinking about it in terms of strategy. Pull your heart out of the equation because we will never add up to divine love.”
“… Why do you think we’re so impossible?”
“Because Kaci programmed you to go after a girl and she wasn’t me.”
10
Sinner, Sinner, This Ain’t No Chicken Dinner
“Raniero,” Martinez says in the small interrogation room. Jaid left, and it hits me—I am alone. Really fucking alone. “You ready?”
“Ya,” I reply, lost in the conversation with Jaid. If Dom is moving her off my team, things are bad. This was never in the plans. Eric Monroe—dead. Lex Conrad—new team leader. I wish I had my computer to research these guys.
“You okay?” he asks as we walk through sterile hallways.
In the distance, I hear the noise of the inmates carrying on. It’s ear-blistering loud, enough to deafen the sludge of fears splashing through my brain. “I’m fine.”
“Look, Lucas,” he says as we step onto the elevator. The door shuts. “If you need help, ask. But whatever you do, don’t get on the Warden’s bad side. You will regret it. There is a lot of quiet support for Warden Jolly.”
“… Warden Jolly?” I stutter out, laughing.
He grins and shakes his head. “You’re not the first person to make that joke. Most of the inmates are allowed one two-hour visit every four weeks. Those awaiting trial are three two-hour visits unless the Warden gives prior approval. You’re not our typical prisoner, but we need you to keep your shit together. You’ll fall under awaiting trial. Use the time wisely. Calls are thirty minutes.”
“Don’t tell me. Warden Jolly has no idea Cinco is running my show.”
He winks as the door opens to reveal a double set of gates. He unlocks the first set where a long hallway exists on either side.
Behind a podium desk, a middle-aged black woman smiles at me. “This must be Sal Raniero,” she says, nodding. “My name is Deputy Rousseau.” Leaning closer, she whispers, “First name is Rhonda. You can call me Ronnie, though.”
I smirk. “Nice to meet you.”
She knows.
“Rousseau will be showing you to your holding cell after you grab some food in the chow hall,” he informs, patting my shoulder. “You’ll be okay.”
He exits through the gate, inserts the key for the elevator, and disappears behind the doors.
“How are you doing, honey?”
I blink several times. “I’m not sure yet.”
“Come on,” she says, hopping off the stool and unlocking the main gate. She’s short. I mean like super short, barely five feet tall short, and round like a barrel with an incredible rack. “This is the lunchroom – chow hall,” she says, rolling her eyes with a big smile. “From here, all the inmates can get to where they need unless they’re in the private block. You’re staying for a few nights in a holding cell until you adjust.”
“That’s not necessary,” I say, wanting to immerse sooner rather than later. Memories flood in of being alone in a cell in upstate New York for six weeks. “Really.�
�
She touches my arm. “Trust me, it is. When they find out who you are, you’re going to want the holding cell. Unfortunately, I can’t keep you there for more than seventy-two hours.”
Worrying about the boredom, I nod. The silence in my mind will drive me insane. “Will I get a job?”
“As soon as you’re out of holding, you’ll be assigned.” She stares at the bandages across my knuckles. “Will you be able to work with your injury?”
“Yes, Ma’am,” I say, raising my hand for her close inspection. “I had a little run-in with a wall.”
“Okay,” she nods. “Try not to run into any more walls or anything or anyone else. Got it?”
“Not planning on it.”
“Help yourself to some food; it’s not the best, but you get used to it. They’ll be shutting lunch down in about ten minutes.” Her thick eyelashes and dark purple lipstick distract me as she’s probably gorgeous out of the uniform with those splendid curves. “You’re gonna be okay, Sal,” she reassures, squeezing my arm and tucking a couple of smokes in my hand. “I’ll see you after you eat. Feel free to go out in the yard.”
“Thank you,” I reply. “Where do I get a lighter?”
“You’ll have to find your own fire source.”
“How do I do that?”
Her broad grin shows off the small space between her two front teeth. “Easy. Go make friends. You’ll be good at it. Just remember those old days up on that stage.” She suggestively lifts her brows. “Network it, baby.”
“You’ve been to one of my shows.”
“Hell ya!” She giggles, dancing her way back through the gate. “Now, go work it!”
Ronnie’s pleasant reminder of who I once covered me in an overwhelming sense of confidence. I can do this. Some things a boy like me just knows.
Different gender—all men—but the same concept as working the Juliet stage.
The keys are always the same: respect and listening.
Standing in the small line for a bag of food, I don’t feel particularly hungry. I researched all of the units; this is one of the cleaner, minimum to medium-security facilities. We get three meals a day. Basic breakfast, simple bagged lunch, and a hot dinner.
Famous Last Words (a Tomb of Ashen Tears Book 2) Page 9
