by Hart, Gemma
But before I could shut the laptop, Agent Truman spoke up, asking casually, “By the way, in the accounts you’ve been looking at, how’s the division rate? Pretty equal between the Desmond boys? Or is Daddy Desmond still the majority holder?”
Agent Truman and Hadfield looked completely natural as they waited for my response, as if they were asking for something inconsequential. But I could feel something tingling at the back of my neck. Something was off.
“Roy Desmond is still almost completely the majority holder of nearly all of the Desmond estate,” I said, watching their reactions carefully.
Both agents looked mildly surprised and very definitely disappointed. I kept my mouth shut on Roy’s recent request to transfer some holdings to his son.
“Oh,” Agent Truman said. “Fine then. We’ll touch base in a few days, Agent Margot. Good night.”
“Good night,” I said and then snapped the computer shut.
Leaning back against the headboard of my bed, I pushed the computer away. What the heck was that?
The way that the agents had offhandedly asked about the Desmond property was achingly familiar. That similar casual tone that hid something much bigger.
And then it hit me. Roy Desmond had just dismissed me from his office in the similar fashion. After telling me to draw up the legal documents of transfer, he had casually dropped the hint about a big deal coming up.
This kind of offhand but clearly not casual dropping of questions and hints was extremely suspicious. Especially since they were both coming from sources of immense power. Roy Desmond was incredibly powerful and nothing he said or did was small or casual in scale, ever.
And the FBI was no slouch either. They were a Bureau made up of some of the most meticulous and analytical people in the country. There were no casual questions when it came from an FBI agent. And certainly not when the agents asking those questions are leading a highly sensitive undercover mission.
I understood them being interested in what kind of holdings the Desmond Family had. After all, it’ll only corroborate the information we have on what other crime families they had taken out over the years. Baccali and Gregor were older mafia families that had been swallowed up by the Desmonds.
But Agent Truman had asked something very specific. He had asked who was the majority holder within the Desmond Mafia.
In regards to the raid, the Juarez Family, or to the rest of the case, the identity of the majority holder really held very little importance. After all, it was safe to assume the majority holder would be Roy Desmond. And if not Roy, then Marco. Either way, it was staying within the Desmonds.
But Agent Truman had wanted to know who it specifically was. He had tried to hide his interest by throwing the question out there like an offhand remark but I could see it for what it was.
Something was feeling off here.
Something that made me glad that I didn’t mention Roy’s request or just how lacking Marco’s name was within all the Family documents.
I knew the raid was being planned at the moment. A special team had been organized to plan the whole mission. In one fell swoop, the FBI wanted to grab up the Desmond Family and the Juarez Family. It would be a huge blow to the largest criminal syndicate of North America.
But I could feel something niggling in the back of my mind. Something just wasn’t feeling right.
I lowered myself under my covers, exhausted from the sheer stress of the mission. I needed to rest if I was going to think straight. And straight I had to think if I was going to make sure that nothing was really wrong.
Because nothing could be wrong. Because wrong meant mistakes. And mistakes in a place like this could mean my life.
Chapter Thirteen
Marco
There was a loud smack as his head hit the ground.
I had expected there to be some obstacles but I hadn’t expected five of them. Five guards all armed and patrolling the roof. I had had to act quickly and quietly.
Hunching low to the ground, I had made my way to one of the first guards who was the furthest away from the rest. Coming up from behind, I wrapped my arm tightly around his body, preventing him from using his weapon, an old AK that was clearly more for show than for use.
Before the guard could call out in surprise, I gave a quick punch to the throat with my knuckles, effectively collapsing his windpipe. The man made a sick clucking noise as he attempted to suck in air through his wrecked throat. Then all he needed was one good hard blow to the head.
And that’s what I did. Silently stalking the rooftop as I took out each guard. The last two ended up being the hardest since they were patrolling together. There was no way to finish them quietly.
As soon as I came upon them, they immediately cried out in surprise. “What the fuck!” one of the men grunted as I threw him a good hard blow into his gut, making him double over. The key to any kind of physical fight was to follow through in your attacks. Never hold back, never go half assed. You throw your entire weight into each punch and push through. Most men had a hard time standing back up after I punched them.
The other guard tried to aim his weapon at me but I knocked it out of his hands and then grappled him from behind, twisting his arms around his own body. I used him as a shield as his partner stumbled to his feet.
I had a blade under my jacket but I wanted to keep things as neat as possible. The cops in this area of L.A. were paid off and there’d be no intrusive questions but it didn’t mean I had to make a show of it.
Throwing the man I held against his partner to throw them both of their feet, I tackled the man closest to me and threw my elbow hard against the side of his neck. I could almost see exactly when his carotid artery burst, giving him an immediate hemorrhage.
After that, the remaining guard was no trouble.
All in all, five men dispatched in under half an hour.
Now it was time to take aim on the real target.
I went back to the roof door and grabbed my weapons bag that I had left there.
Finding the proper spot, I settled myself as I pieced together my sniper rifle, setting it carefully against the lip of the roof.
Taking in a deep breath, I aimed through the crosshairs of the sight. Two windows to the left, four floor up. The good thing about L.A. was that there were never too many tall buildings. Earthquakes. Tall buildings were a liability.
It made jobs for people like me easier.
I could see the dark head hovering just above a leather wingback chair. I just needed to wait till he turned.
I breathed slowly and evenly. To make a clean shot in one go meant you had to put yourself in an absolutely meditative state where you could literally remain in your position all day. You were there only to wait. You were there only to kill.
Finally, after a few minutes, the chair slowly swiveled and a clear profile came into view.
Perfect.
Releasing a deep breath, I kept my body still as I squeezed the trigger. A muffled pop echoed through the night followed by a shrill shattering of glass. The man in the chair slumped forward, his body heavy and still.
Done.
I quickly broke down my weapon, ready to head on back.
Mick Travers had been a floater. A floater usually meant a man who was not recognizably claimed by any mob or Family but often did contract work for them. He had been a good reliable floater for the odds and ends the Desmond Family threw him.
But he had somehow gotten wind of a big deal coming up with the Desmond Mafia. He had no idea it who it was with or when but he just knew something big was happening. And he wanted to use that information to threaten Roy Desmond for money. Lots of money.
Mick Travers was a good floater but he was obviously dumb as shit.
You don’t threaten Roy Desmond.
Immediately I had been dispatched to take care of old Mickey.
During my initial reconnaissance, I had been impressed. For an odds and ends man, he certainly knew his security. He not only had
a personal guard living with him in his huge East L.A. studio loft but also had hired a team of guards to patrol the building next door since he knew ingress-wise, that would be the most optimal place to stage a hit.
The fucker had known he was playing with fire and had taken precaution.
But five poorly trained and underpaid guards is no match for a well trained killer. Especially one who literally been born for the role.
As I picked up my bag to go, I saw the inside of my jacket light up. By habit, I always kept my phone on silent. I reached in and pulled it out. I swiped it open and saw a text message.
Jamie.
Clicking on it, I saw a picture of a huge wooden theater in the round. It was an impressive circular structure completely built in the round.
Below the photo, the caption read, Did you know this isn’t even the real Globe? Lame!
I shook my head, my lips curled in a wry smile and, after taking another good look, immediately deleted the text. I never kept anything on my phones.
When was that fucking Juarez deal going through?
After nearly a year of planning, things were so close to the end. But I needed that deal to go through.
It had taken an incredible amount of stealth and patience to acquire the Erlösung plants. I had had to set up company front after front to bury the purchase of the German plants. And with its modest income, it had barely raised a flag for Roy.
I walked down from the roof and out onto the cold gray streets of L.A. Zipping up my leather jacket, I walked down the several blocks towards my car. I passed right under Travers’ window.
Sometimes, I was amazed at the foresight I had had years ago.
Although I had always had a knack for crime, that definitely didn’t mean I reveled in it. I had my fair share of booze and women but that was usually as a distraction. It was hard to forget that as a Desmond, I had less options and less freedom than the men that worked beneath me.
Because of this, I had always gone by aliases. Roy had initially been glad of my peculiar habit. He wasn’t sure if I could prove myself worthy of the Desmond name and if I liked going around hiding my true identity, even better. Less clean up for him if I eventually ate it.
But the habit stuck. And the benefit of that is that hardly anyone has a straight record of what I’ve done for the Desmond Mafia. They know my reputation. They’ve heard of some of the bigger hits. But no one can incontrovertibly say they knew exactly what I’ve done since I always worked alone.
Roy eventually used this alias habit of mine against me when I grew older. “Jax, Max, Larry, Barry, whatever the fuck you’re calling yourself today,” he grunted. “There’s no way you can take the 5% of this deal when you did the job under that name. Only Desmonds take a cut. And on that day,” he grinned, his gold teeth glinting at me, “you weren’t no Desmond.”
I had been pissed at first. I had orchestrated the entire drug deal and had lined up the producers. I had fucking earned my 5%!
But all I could do at the time was just grit my teeth and bear it and aim to get my cut in the next deal.
But Roy again let his greed and his generally sadistic nature get the better of him as he took the entire pool again.
I had nearly begun doing jobs under my own name so I could see what other fucked up reasons Roy could come up with to deny me my fucking cut but I had stopped myself at the last minute.
And then…it happened.
I remembered the sirens and the blood. I remembered the cold, clammy skin. I remembered Jamie’s large eyes, bigger than usual, as the light began to flicker in them.
After that, he never mentioned giving me a cut ever again. It was just understood that I worked for the Desmond Mafia. Period. Cut or no.
But now this was all to my benefit. Miraculously, it had all been a blessing in disguise. I had almost no tangible trace within the Family. Besides my name, not much else connected me to the Family.
With my plants in Germany, I’d have enough to live on and provide the life Jamie deserved. It was enough.
But I needed that fucking Juarez deal to go through!
A big deal like that was just what I needed to cover my escape. It was implicitly understood that in big deals, Roy and I were never in the same place together. You couldn’t have both heads of the Family in one vulnerable place together. We would make too big of a mark.
With the Juarez deal, I knew Roy would go himself to close. With the cover of the deal and the busy chaos of organizing the transfer of funds and holdings, the extraction of a small string of German plants would go completely unnoticed. Once I pulled everything out, I had a plane ready to take me to England. To Jamie.
And with the Juarez deal finalized, it would make the Desmond Mafia one of the most powerful crime syndicates in the nation. But it would also make Roy Desmond a bigger target for every governmental branch. Together with the Juarez Family, the scrutiny on them would be ridiculous. They would have to set up an even more elaborate relationship with authorities than they already had.
Roy would find it nearly impossible to lay hands on me then.
I popped the trunk of my car and threw in my gear bag. I had worried when I first saw Halle.
I threw the car into gear as I zoomed away. Alright, not worried. Shocked. Fucking furious.
It was a wrench in my carefully laid out plans. A fuckable and curvy wrench but a wrench nonetheless. With a set of new and curious eyes, things could become foiled and tangled.
But so far, the only thing that was getting tangled was my heart. So with the deal so close, I had to just hope she wouldn’t get any further involved. And that you don’t get further involved as well, asshole.
I sighed. Yeah, that too.
I just had to be patient. Carry on as usual. Arise no suspicion.
After that speech at the dinner, I could tell Roy was onto something. He was keeping me more in the dark than usual about things. But I knew the deal was close. I knew it was happening.
I just had to be patient.
Chapter Fourteen
Marco
I heard a breathy sigh from the office.
Pausing, I looked in from the doorway.
The office looked chaotic. There were boxes of old files stacked on one side of the large desk. Papers were strewn across the top of the desk with pens scattered between them.
And behind the mess was Halle. Leaning her head against a hand, her long blonde hair came falling down her back in a riotous mess. She pursed her lips as she carefully scanned her computer’s screen. The glow of the screen illuminated her dark oceanic eyes and her soft pink lips.
“Numbers not acting right, are they?” I drawled from the doorway.
Halle jerked up in her seat, surprised. Her eyes widened once she caught sight of me.
What are you doing, Desmond? I railed at myself. Since the night of the dinner, I had kept assiduously away from her, knowing it was the best for both of us. But seeing her face, so light and sweet, drew a stirring in me that I couldn’t resist.
Halle bit her bottom lip in a way that made me want to reach out and grab her, filling my hand with her full breasts, squeezing those nipples till I heard her moan.
I tightened my jaw as I walked into the office, forcing myself to clear my thoughts. My cock could only take so much teasing.
“Kind of,” she admitted finally. “I didn't realize there’d be so much work for me.”
I lean my hip against the side of her desk. I could see the flush in her cheeks rise as I closed the distance between us. Fuck, she was gorgeous. There was something about her that made you want to protect her in your arms while also pinning her down and filling her with your cock. It was an arresting allure, to say the least.
“We’re very prolific in business, Miss Margot,” I said in a mock formal voice.
Halle blushed a little at my teasing before raising a brow at me. “Yes, I can see that,” she said primly. “But clearly not too talented in hiring capable account managers.”
&n
bsp; I grinned. “Are we besmirching the Desmond name here? I’ll tell you,” I said, lowering my voice confidentially. I saw a smile play at her lips, “not many people would risk doing something like that.”
Halle gave in and smiled widely as if amused. “And most definitely not to the boss’s son, right?”
“Definitely not,” I said sternly.
Halle huffed a laugh before shuffling the papers in front of her, organizing some of the chaotic mess into something of a more manageable mess. I watched her quietly. Her hands were petite but her fingers were long and graceful.
