“Your clothes...”
“Don’t matter to me right now,” he finished her sentence. “It’s the last time. Ever.” Alex wrapped his arms around her waist and kissed her shoulder, oblivious of the dampness that was quickly spreading along his shirt and pants.
You controlling piece of shit. She opened her mouth, then shut it. Any inclination...
Emma wrapped her arms around his neck. If Alex truly was the sociopath she considered him to be, she needed to satiate him until she could get away from his psychotic personality. And flee with Isaac. The sureness of the thought startled her. Yes. Fuck this. Isaac is right, we have to at least try. Finish the infiltration, get the insane amount of money from the job, get out from Alex’s radar, and run. Start over. Her mind was set. Emma took a deep breath and leaned her forehead against his. “Last time. I promise.”
Alex looked up at her. She tried to keep the fear and defiance she felt from her gaze.
“Baby, your clothes.” Emma stood. “Come on. I’m exhausted.”
Alex took Laska out as Emma toweled off the remaining wetness from her skin, brushed her teeth, then washed her face. When he returned, she led him by the hand to the bedroom. She undid her hair when she reached the bed and watched him undress.
“You know.” She slipped underneath the covers. “I had no doubt in my mind that you’d be the first one through that door tonight.” Emma hesitated, then snuggled up against his chest after he had taken his place on his side of the bed. “How did you know where they took me?” she asked.
“I was instantly informed, and Nate tailed them flawlessly. They were amateurs, easy to track.” She felt his dishonesty, heavy between them, but smiled.
“You planned the entire rescue, too, didn’t you?”
“Of course I did,” Alex said. “They took you from me. They hurt you.” He pulled her face to his and kissed her on the mouth. “I would have torn down Earth itself to get you back.”
Of course you would have.
Emma closed her eyes. Long minutes passed, and she had just begun to drift when Alex shifted. Crap. I’m asleep I’m asleep. She felt him gently disentangle himself from her legs, and lowered her head to a pillow as he slid out from underneath her. Emma listened to him rise, dress, and exit the bedroom. She opened her eyes and sat up, head tilted. He’s leaving. But to go where?
Telling herself she didn’t care, Emma lowered herself back on the mattress and was asleep within minutes.
—-
Shawn rolled onto one side, bringing his bed’s comforter with him. He gripped the fabric in a tight clutch, replaying the night’s events as he struggled to find sleep. His consciousness, however, refused to shut off, and Shawn found himself arguing with his paranoia.
Jaxon’s been acting off.
He’s been acting off since Julie was killed. He’s still mourning.
Two years later? While showing interest in Cassie? No, something else is going on with him, something darker.
Frowning, Shawn’s mind flashed back to earlier in the night, when his brother had dropped the shaker he was using for their father’s drink. The crash had cut through the laid back atmosphere, bringing Shawn to his feet instantly. As had happened before, a blackness had flowed before Jaxon’s blurred smudge. Unsure of what to do next, he had paused, staring at the vision, cursing his blindness, cursing his stupidity.
It’s getting worse. What if it consumes my entire vision someday? What if it happens with the mask on someday, in the middle of a fight?
His mind then wandered to the prank call.
What if it wasn’t a joke? He said I’m not blind.
Shawn sat up suddenly, his queen sized bed making the barest groan.
What if the darkness is my vision trying to come back?
No, that’s freaking stupid. If it was, your sight would be getting clearer, not worse.
Maybe. Maybe...but what if...what if...
Frustrated, Shawn slipped his legs out from underneath his sheets and stood. He began to pace, thoughts awhirl with different possibilities, different explanations.
He froze. What if Bruce held back information? What if he didn’t tell me the truth about how I was blinded?
No. Why would he lie about something that big?
Because you were a kid when he adopted you. Maybe he did that whole grown-up thing where adults lie to their kids to make them feel safe.
And then never told me the truth.
What if?
Only one way to find out.
Disbelief flooded his mind, but desperation for answers drove Shawn out of his room and down the hallway to the guest bedroom where Bruce slept. Trailing his fingers lightly along the wall as he walked through the darkness, he raised his right hand to knock when he heard a sound. Shawn paused. Bruce’s voice was just barely audible through the closed door.
“You were right.” His adoptive father sounded ragged, almost despairing. Shawn frowned and lowered his hand. He shuffled closer to the door.
“I know, I know,” Bruce was saying. There was a pause, then, “Give me your word neither will be hurt.”
Shawn’s heart stuttered. What the fuck? He reached out and grasped the door’s handle, the smooth metal cool underneath his touch.
“I know you did, but do it again,” Bruce suddenly snapped.
A longer pause ensued. Shawn tightened his hold on the handle and slowly, quietly, turned it. The door opened without a sound, but he only pushed it forward an inch or so, the better to hear his adoptive father.
“All right,” Bruce said suddenly. “All right. Send them.”
Without realizing it, Shawn drew in a sharp breath.
“Who’s there?”
What the fucking fuck?
The door opened, its handle pulling out of his grip.
“Shawn?” Bruce sounded shocked. “Shawn, what are you doing?”
He opened his mouth to speak, but couldn’t.
“Are you okay, son?” Bruce’s hand closed on his forearm in a gentle grip.
“Send who?” Shawn felt anger rise inside of him. “Don’t hurt who?”
Bruce was quiet a moment, then he chuckled. “Oh, that? No one. That was nothing. You weren’t supposed to hear that.”
“Don’t hurt who?” Shawn repeated. He pulled his arm back and moved away from the door.
“Shawn, hey. Don’t get upset.”
“Who were you talking to? Why won’t you tell me?”
“What, a dad can’t have any secrets this close to Christmas?”
Shawn almost laughed, but kept his wariness at the front of his mind. “That’s a month away.”
“Look, I’m having something shipped here for you and Jax. I’m not going to tell you what or when it will get here, but—”
Bruce’s words were cut short as Shawn reached forward and pulled him into a tight hug, relief warm in his chest.
“Hey. You sure you’re all right?”
“I’m fine.” Shawn grinned into his adoptive father’s shoulder. “I just couldn’t sleep. I was wandering around when I heard you.”
Bruce clapped him on the back, squeezed him once, then let go. “Well, I’m sorry if I startled you.”
“It’s no big deal.”
“Want a beer? I can’t sleep myself.”
Shawn shook his head. “Nah. I think I’ll try lying down again.”
“‘Kay. Holler if you need me, bud. I mean it.” Bruce’s hand came down on Shawn’s shoulder. “I love you.”
“Love you, too, Bruce. Night.” Shuffling to his own room, Shawn shut the door behind him.
Just making plans to send us some weird Christmas gift.
He walked to his bed, hands outstretched.
After midnight.
His fingers touched the side of his bed.
On a holiday.
Shawn stood with his legs pressed against the mattress.
He’s lying.
Chapter Eleven
“So,” Alex said with a smile. “Ha
ve we learned our lesson yet?” He glanced at the blade of his folding knife, noting in the reflection how rhapsodic his eyes were, vividly green in the early morning light. Not a wink of sleep last night and I still look wide awake. He cleaned his lenses on his black polo shirt, which he’d changed into after leaving Emma’s earlier in the night. He’d also dressed in a pair of dark gray jeans and old black sneakers. His hands were covered by blue latex gloves mottled with blood. The stains on his dark clothes, however, were nearly impossible to see.
Alex sat backwards on a folding chair, his long legs spread. He replaced his black frames. Once they settled over the bridge of his nose, he crossed his arms over the back of the chair and raised one eyebrow at Dean Slatter.
The district attorney was tied down to a long, white, sturdy table covered in thick, heavy duty plastic strips. His hands and legs were immobile, and a dirty white cloth was stuffed in his mouth. Additional plastic had been placed along the entire area of the living room in the vacant, run-down apartment in Redborough’s Chinatown district. Nate had forced a terrified Slatter into the place at concealed gunpoint, sedated him slightly, and set up a makeshift torture table, all before Alex’s arrival. The DA’s green shirt was soaked through with sweat, and he’d wet himself half an hour ago. Three of the man’s fingers lay scattered under the table, which groaned under his weight, and his left hand dripped a constant trickle from where his digits used to be.
Blood pooled underneath Slatter’s head. It had accumulated as Alex happily pulled out four of the man’s teeth before he had gagged him. Tears streamed down Slatter’s plump face and snot clogged his nose, but he glared at his captor with a dope-filled hate.
“I don’t think you have.” Alex stood. He wiggled the knife he held. “Let’s see. First they threatened to remove her teeth. Then one of them had nearly taken her finger. I believe the last thing one of your men did before we arrived was kick her. Here.” He slid the blade into Slatter’s left side, and grinned as it buried into the man’s flesh, muscle, and fat with little resistance, until coming to a rest at the hilt.
Alex kept his eyes on the DA’s the entire time, took great pleasure in the howl of pain that leaked around the gag, and the mask of shock that swept over Slatter’s face.
“Shh.” Alex raised a bloody finger and let it hover near his own lips, then let out a manic giggle. “No wait,” he said suddenly, with feigned surprise. “It was her right side. My mistake.” He withdrew the blade, careful to step away from the ooze of blood that flowed from the wound, and slowly wandered around the table.
“It was here.” Alex slid the knife into Slatter’s right side, above his hip. The DA cried out again and his body shuddered.
“No, no. That’s not right. Higher up. Here.” The DA’s eyes rolled back in his head and his lids fluttered as the blade stabbed into his right side again, this time right below his ribcage. A fountain of blood spurted from the wound when he removed the knife, and Alex cursed. Oh, shit. No no no.
“You can’t leave yet. I still have to cut off more fingers for touching her.” Alex gripped the DA’s thumb and bent it back until it let out a satisfying snap. Slatter screamed and his eyes, glazed and distant, snapped open. Sweat beaded on his forehead and dripped down his face to the plastic on the table. He stared at his captor for a moment, then the light in his eyes quickly faded. His head dropped to the side, his cheek resting against his shoulder.
“Shit,” Alex muttered. He leaned over the table. His lip curled at the stench of drying urine as he felt along the DA’s large neck for a pulse, his gloved fingers leaving smears of blood on the skin. Moments ticked by as he waited, his mouth turned down severely at the corners.
“Fuck!” His voice echoed around the small living room. Alex let out a frustrated sigh and, to be sure, slid his blade into Slatter’s neck where his fingers had rested moments before. He retracted it quickly, and moved back around the body, his shoulders squared. He rolled his head back and forth on his neck, then attempted to wipe his blade clean as best he could on Slatter’s shirt. As he did so, his phone buzzed in the front pocket of his jeans. Irritated, he stood, shut and pocketed his knife, peeled off his gloves, and pulled out his cell.
“Yes?”
“What in holy fuck is wrong with you?”
Alex winced as Vance’s voice pummeled his eardrum.
“Sir?”
“Why have you not answered my calls until now? Where is the DA? Where is he?”
Alex’s eyes rested on the body of Dean Slatter mere feet away. He didn’t reply.
“Where is he?” the Russian repeated. “Instead of you, Marcus reports to me about the meeting with Slatter. You, who were too busy fucking around with a woman to do your job. Then, you go against my wishes and disappear along with the DA.”
“Ivan, he took her. Took Emma. We had to help her. He’d sent men after her and—”
“That is your fault. You fucked up the meeting, not her, yet she still suffered from your idiocy. What is the matter with you?”
Alex inhaled sharply through his nose, held his breath a moment, then let it out slowly through his mouth. “Sir, I know I made a mistake with the meeting.”
“Mistake? Mistake!” Vance’s harsh laugh ripped through the phone.
“I don’t want to upset you. I just...made a mistake. It won’t happen again.”
“Where is the DA?”
He glanced at Slatter once more. “I tried to reason with him. I had a discussion with him, one-on-one, to apologize. Told him we should start fresh, but he came at me. I had no choice but to defend myself, sir.”
The line went silent. Long seconds stretched between them before Vance spoke again.
“You killed him.” A statement, not a question.
“He attacked me, sir. I had no choice.”
“Ublyudku. Do you realize what you have done?”
Alex hesitated, chilled at the sudden calm ferocity in his boss’ voice.
“With Slatter dead, you have guaranteed his successor will rise to the vacant position. We do not have much hold on this man. You could have crippled my work, and you better believe I have killed other employees for much, much less. Tell me right now why I should not end your life today.”
His mouth moved up and down, but no sound came from Alex’s throat. His existence depended on his answer, and he knew he had to choose his words very carefully.
“Because, sir, I know what I’m doing,” he finally said.
“Explain.”
Alex’s mind sped up. “Slatter was tainted, spoiled. The work I did uncovered he was more than just corrupt. He thought he owned the Acerbi, and they weren’t very happy with him. True, the other two families are all but wiped out, but the Acerbi are still strong, and they want, demand, respect.”
“Hurry up,” Vance growled.
“With Slatter out of the way,” Alex continued, “his replacement will rise to power, yes. But he is a fresh face, eager to please the city. I was to contact the head of the Acerbi, this morning in fact, to work out a truce with Slatter’s death, and, should they accept, discuss plans to meet with the new DA the moment he takes his new position.” Alex was out of breath from talking quickly, and his hands trembled slightly.
“You better pray you do not fuck the rest of this up, Weston.”
His body relaxed, although he felt his lips twitch at the use of his first name. No matter how many times I’ve asked him to stop calling me that...
“I will not overlook one more ‘mistake’ of yours. I do not care who you are or what you have done for me.”
“Understood, sir.”
“And you are to leave Emma alone.”
“What?”
“I do not want you going near her again outside of business. Your idiotic infatuation threw my plans into chaos. She makes you weak. Am I clear?”
Alex opened his mouth, but no words came out. Rage twisted his intestines.
“Am I clear?”
“Yes.”
“Am
I fucking clear?” Vance roared.
Alex’s head twitched to the side as if he’d been slapped through the phone. “Y-yes, sir. Yes sir.”
“Never disappoint me again.”
The call ended. Alex leaned one palm against the wall and lowered his head. He waited until his breathing slowed and his heart calmed, eyes focused on the wad that was his latex gloves on the floor beneath him. He didn’t remember dropping them. He took one last, deep breath, picked up the gloves, scanned his eyes around the room, then exited the apartment, leaving Slatter’s body. He’d contact Grant and Isaac after leaving the scene. In this part of town, where junkies and drug dealers ran rampant, where no one called the police for anything short of a shootout, Alex didn’t have to worry about anyone intruding. He exited the building and quickly made his way to Nate’s waiting vehicle. His mind on his now forbidden lover, he slid into the backseat. Looking up at the driver, Alex said, “We have a few stops to make. Then I want you to take me to Emma’s.”
—-
How many times do I have to tell you I’m fine, Isaac? Emma’s text read.
He replied with: Over and over until I can see with my own eyes.
Oh, hush. You’ll see me tomorrow and we can talk then, okay?
I’m coming over.
NO. I’m about to go out. And Alex might come back before I leave.
Seriously? Fuck that guy. I’m coming over, Emma.
Stop it. Don’t. Please, for me. Let me do what I need to do.
He’s a fucking lunatic.
I think I’m getting that. I have to break it off with him as nicely as possible, so he doesn’t snap.
Emma, if he hurts you, I will tear him apart with my bare hands.
I’m scared of Alex, but he’s never hurt me.
No, just manipulated, used, and forced you into things. Never hurt, though.
I can feel your eye roll from here.
GOOD.
Hush. I’ll be fine and we’ll be out of here if I just play along with Alex a little longer.
What makes you think he won’t snap?
I don’t know. I’ll just tell him I don’t want a relationship while I’m doing my infiltration. Then I can distance myself.
Cuz that won’t send him over the edge...
Grim Ambition Page 14
