Dirty (Raw Family #2)

by Belle Aurora

  Nox’s face softens at the mention of his wife. “Asking about you. Wants you over for dinner sometime soon.”

  Casper shakes his head slowly, his blue eyes full of mirth. “You’re not careful, I’ll steal your girl.”

  Nox clicks his tongue, leaning back in the booth, smirking. “You can sure try.”

  Small talk. Meaningless small talk. It drives me nuts. A part of my brain jitters and I do my best to not grind out, “Are we gonna talk business or what?”

  Casper loses his smile and turns to face me head on. “What’s to discuss? You want me to take you in, and being that Nox is an old friend, I’m going to do that in a respectful way, no cuffs. You’re not gonna get that from anyone else, Antonio.”

  “Twitch.” My jaw steels and the damaged part of my mind lashes out. “It’s Twitch.”

  “Okay, Twitch.” Good guy Casper throws his arms out. “So, are we doing this or what?”

  I look over to Nox, and he eyes me warily. He doesn’t think I’ll go. I can see it in his eyes. He’s looking at me like I’m a wild animal. Placing an arm on my shoulders, he leans closer to me and mutters quietly, “Stick to the plan.”

  The plan.

  My fucking plan.

  I’m taking a big risk here, and for the first time in my life, I’m anxious at the thought that things may not go my way. It’s enough to make my stomach coil, because this time around, I actually give a fuck. The uncertainty kills me.

  I take my time standing while weighing up my options. I must be taking a while, because Nox clears his throat.

  No risk, no gain.

  The thought settles my nerves.

  If this goes my way, I have a lot to benefit from it.

  Besides, you’d risk it all for them.

  I take a deep breath and let it out slowly, turning to face my captor. “What are you waiting for, Detective Quaid?” I lean my hip on the booth and cross my arms over my chest. “Let’s fuck shit up.”

  We wait in the parking lot by Quaid’s standard white guy sedan while he wakes the police chief of his precinct to discuss the willing surrender of one Antonio Falco. When Quaid returns to us, his eyes shine with enthusiasm, locked on me, eyes on the prize, and he tries to maintain his calm as he speaks, his voice low. “Chief wants you brought in discreetly.” He turns to Nox, a look of awe on his face. “You got contacts in deep places. Deeper than you ever let on.”

  Nox lowers his gaze to the gravel-covered ground. “It’s all about who you know.” He’s shutting down, avoiding me.

  I don’t like that. My brow lowers a fraction. “What?”

  Casper eyes me good, blinking in surprise before his lip lifts and he laughs softly. “He doesn’t know, does he?”

  Nox sighs, running a hand down his face, suddenly aging ten years, but it’s Quaid who fills me in, a sly grin on his face. “According to Interpol, you’re dead.”

  “Yeah, and?”

  Casper grins. “According to the US government, you’re very much alive, Mr. Falco, with a residential address in Nevada.”

  Nox tries to shut him down with a, “Cas, you don’t know what you’re talking about,” but Quaid goes on. “Only thing is, you’re apparently a sixty-one-year-old man.”

  “Cas,” Nox grinds out, catching both our attention. His glare firmly set on his friend, he growls out a slow, “You don’t know what you’re talking about.” He pauses a second before adding, “Stop.”

  My voice scathing, I peer out to my friend and blink. “You keeping shit from me, brother?”

  The look that crosses Nox’s face, accompanied by the earnest sincerity of his response, tells me he isn’t. “Never, brother.” Nothing but honesty. “Never.”

  My racing heart slows knowing Nox would never betray me.

  He wouldn’t dare.

  I’d hate to kill his woman. I like Lily, but Nox isn’t stupid. Liking a person has nothing to do with causing the death of said person, and Nox… he knows I’d do it. That’s the price you pay for duplicity.

  We exchange a look of understanding before Nox turns to Quaid and mutters, “Take care of my boy,” then jerks his chin toward me, and says quietly, “Get your hood up.”

  I listen to my friend and reach back with both hands, gripping the cold material of my hood, slowly pulling it over my eyes, leaving only my nose and mouth visible. I take a long, slow breath before letting it out slowly through my nose.

  Nox jerks his chin toward me then turns to leave.

  My hand darts out, and I grip his forearm tight. He turns, a look of confusion creasing his eyes. I speak low, only for his ears. “Owe you.”

  It takes everything I have in me to not scowl when I say it.

  I fucking hate being indebted to a person.

  Nox, knowing me well, predicts my internal struggle and shakes his head. “Let my woman cook for you, listened to my girls read, taught my boy how to pick a lock.” His brows rise, and he grins at that last one. “Not too sure Lily will be overly thrilled about that one”—his smile softens—“but no marker. We’re good.” He steps forward, his hand gripping the back of my neck, squeezing affectionately. “Watch your temper.” He shakes me by the scruff of my neck, then whispers, “Take care of business, man.”

  I’d rather die than admit it, but I’ll miss the asshole.

  Watching Nox leave, I turn to Quaid, watching, waiting for the change of character, waiting for him to kick the shit out of me and cuff me.

  But it never comes.

  Instead, he opens the front passenger door and waves a hand toward it. “Your chariot awaits, princess.”

  Motherfucker.

  With a silent glower, I get in the white guy sedan.

  The short, stout police chief is waiting for us out front with a single uniformed officer. Quaid parks in front of the station, but when I think he’s going to move to exit, he spares a nod for fatty police chief before speaking low.

  “I’m going to get out of the car, make my way around to your side, and then you’re going to step out. I’m going to take you by your arm, lead you in.”

  My eyes slice over him in a tight glare.

  He turns to me, catching my scornful stare and shrugs. “Best I can do with no cuffs.”

  “I’m not running, man,” I say quietly. “Don’t fucking touch me.”

  Quaid nods in acknowledgment. “Know you’re not running, Twitch, but I got a job to get back to.” He lets out a short sigh. “Help me out.”

  My hackles rise. “I don’t know you.” My shoulders tense. “Don’t owe you shit.”

  “No, you don’t,” he admits. “But if this works out…” he pauses a moment before adding calmly, “I’ll owe you.”

  He gets my attention.

  Having a cop owe a criminal is nothing to sneeze at. Sure, I’m aiming to get out of the life, but I still have shit to take care of.

  I let him stew for a minute then, in perfect calm, mutter, “I’m ready.”

  My eyes close of their own accord as Quaid steps out of the vehicle and moves around to the passenger side. He opens the door and, without hesitation, I readjust the hood covering my head and step out. The feel of his hand gripping my forearm pulls a knee-jerk reaction from me.

  Much like a rabid dog, I snarl.

  His grip loosens slightly, but I still don’t like it. I want to throw him to the ground and kick the shit out of Detective Quaid in front of his boss. And laugh while doing it.

  The fact that I haven’t done that reminds me this is all a chink in a long chain of events to come, and that I’m a changed man, no longer selfishly thinking of myself.

  As we walk up the few steps to stand in front of the police chief, the older man takes one look at me and laughs.

  My fists clench tightly by my sides with that mocking laughter.

  The chief reaches up and pushes my hood back, blinking at my appearance, before turning to Quaid and uttering a cool, “Is this some kind of joke?”

  Quaid stands taller, showing all the respect a
white guy can show. “No, sir.”

  The chief looks me in the eye but speaks to Quaid. “I know Antonio Falco.” He pauses, sharpening his gaze on me. “I’ve dined with Tony Falco, played cards with the gentleman, been to his home and shared forty-year-old whiskey with the man.” His eyes meet Quaid’s. “And this ain’t him.”

  Quaid’s hand tightens on me in a way that tells me he’s pissed. “Sir, I—”

  I can’t fucking handle it any longer. I snatch my arm out from Quaid’s none too lightly and talk directly to the chief. “So you know a guy named Falco. My bet is there’s a few of us out there. Especially in New Jersey.”

  Silence.

  I have him there. He knows it. I know it. We all know it.

  The chief blinks at me, then asks, “Where were you born, son?”

  “New York Methodist, April ’75.”

  He sucks in a hissing breath through his teeth, steps back and blinks at me in what can only be called controlled confusion.

  Licking his lips, he takes his time saying what he has to say. “Detective Quaid, you didn’t bring me Antonio Falco.”

  I feel Quaid panic by my side as he starts, “Sir, I didn’t kno—”

  But he’s cut off as the chief adds in deathly calm, “You brought me his son.”

  What the fuck did he just say?

  The chief takes a step toward me, unblinking, and says the words I know are coming but dread to hear. “Antonio Falco. Junior.”

  Shit.

  Motherfucker knows my pops.

  It’s funny how some moments can change your life, shape it, mold it into something unfamiliar, going somewhere foreign, and all you can do is accept the fact or lose the fight.

  Well, I don’t accept the fact. Nor do I anticipate losing the fight.

  My thinking right now?

  Bring it the fuck on.

  I am tired of being the weakling, told where to go, what to do, how to dress. For once, I am taking control of my life, and if that means smiling through my suicide, then so be it.

  Julius had it wrong.

  I am never going home. Not willingly.

  If he truly believes he’s going to take me back there, the only way I’ll let him is by escorting my cold, lifeless body to my father’s front doorstep.

  As I half lay on the leather chocolate-brown chesterfield with Julius sitting close on the coffee table, facing me, watching me with those cold blue eyes, his elbows resting on his knees, covering his mouth with the tips of his fingers, I’m quietly reminded that this man is far more dangerous than he looks.

  His calm demeanor has my mind working a mile a minute, and alarm has me whispering a quavering, “Who the hell are you, Julius Carter?”

  Light blue eyes narrow on me, but I don’t receive an answer.

  From the open doorway, a confident voice purrs, “He’s the guy you call when the very best manage to fuck up.” Ling steps forward, smiling widely, and for a single moment, I wonder how a woman with balled-up tissues stuffed up her nose can still look beautiful. She sits on the matching chesterfield opposite mine, a fraction to the left so as to still intimidate me with her vicious, happily cruel stare. Crossing a dainty leg over her knee, she smooths her black dress with delicate, red-painted fingers. “JC is judge, jury, and executioner.” At the paling of my face, her pearly whites flash. She loves what she’s doing to me. “Julius doesn’t make the laws of our world, Alejandra. He is the law.”

  My insides churn painfully.

  Well. That surely makes me feel better.

  Thank you, Ling.

  In an unconscious action, my hand grips at the thin material at my stomach, and I fight a grimace. Nerves have always been a killer for me.

  Julius’s gaze travels down my body and lands in the exact region where my hand is resting. Slowly sitting up straight, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out an orange tube of pills. In a swift motion, he throws it to me, and I catch it easily. My brow furrows in confusion as I look down at the white label and read aloud, “Doxylamine.” I open my mouth to ask what they are, but I can’t find the words. I’m so tired.

  Julius speaks for the first time since our rancorous fight out in the front yard. “It’ll help you keep food down.”

  “Food?” What?

  The man holds himself tall, the picture of patience. “My friend’s girl had the same issue. Take the pills. You gotta eat.” He adds, “For the baby.”

  The baby?

  Oh, God.

  My stomach works itself into a knot, and it hurts so badly that I don’t bother fighting the contorting of my face that time.

  “The baby,” I mumble, gripping the material at my front with one hand while clutching the orange tube of pills with the other. I stare at the wall over Ling’s head.

  My short list of options weighs on me.

  Julius eyes me solicitously, but Ling… she sees me. She sees what Julius doesn’t.

  That I’m a fraud. Dishonest.

  If I have any chance of repairing the damage I’ve already done and making Julius see me as a person, not a lying sack of shit, I have to start being honest. I need him to trust me enough to let his guard down. I need him to let his guard down so I can get hold of his gun and end this on my terms.

  Before fear immobilizes me, I throw the orange tube back to Julius. He shakes his head and begins, “No shame in needin—”

  My voice finds me, but it’s weak. “There is no baby.” Even quieter, “I lied.”

  He blinks at me, disbelief heavily set in his watchful gaze.

  The moment his body turns rigid and stills, my heart pounds. When Julius stands, reaching down to grip the edge of the coffee table, my chest aches, and my body turns cold as ice. I scramble back, knees up, reaching up quickly to cover my ears with my balled up fists.

  I know what’s coming. I’ve seen this expression before in the face of my husband.

  It’s the calm before the storm.

  The coffee table flips, crashing into the wall with an echoing boom, the force of which leaving a gaping hole at the point of collision.

  Julius booms, “Goddamn it, Alejandra!” The veins in his neck strain with every coarse word. He begins to pace in the space where the coffee table used to reside. He opens his mouth and lets out a stream of curses. “Motherfucker. Fuckin’ hell! I don’t believe this shit.” He resumes pacing, shouting some more, but something pulls me from reality. “Was everything a lie?”

  He turns to face me, hands on hips, his sky blue eyes flaming. “Answer me.” My mind tugs at my subconscious, cocking a finger, whispering, “Come with me,” and the lines between reality and hallucination blur. I can’t hear his voice anymore, but I see his lips moving. “Answer me.”

  A hidden memory resurfaces from the dark, shadowed place I’d long past buried it.

  A trip to New York for your twenty-second birthday would sound like a dream. Sure, it sounds like a fun way to celebrate. In theory.

  When Dino approached me the week prior, telling me he had business in New York and would likely miss my birthday, I must’ve forgotten my game face, having been all too happy with the arrangement.

  With Dino away, I’d be able to spend time with my family, my brother and sisters, and I didn’t get a lot of time with them anymore. Dino didn’t like me spending too much time at my father’s house.

  I was his wife. My place was with my husband, as were my loyalties.

  My husband’s paranoia had reached a point where not even his closest friends and family were allowed to be left alone with me. Of course, he never came out and said the words, but his trust in others had diminished greatly.

  The next night, Dino returned from a family meeting at his family’s restaurant and, spotting me in the kitchen, came up from behind to curl himself around me.

  Being lost in my own world, I jumped when his arms banded around me.

  Dino laughed softly at my cheek, nipping my ear playfully. “Scaredy cat.”

  He was in a good mood. My relief, palpabl
e, I let out a thankful laugh. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

  Smiling, he turned me to face him and bent low to take my lips in a firm kiss. “Guess what?”

  He was so handsome when he smiled from his heart. My hands came up in a familiar motion to rest on his chest. “What?”

  “You know I’m going to be in New York for your birthday—” he started.

  I cut him off, smoothing the front of his jacket with soft hands, “Honey, it’s okay. I get it. It’s just business.”

  “That’s just it.” His smile intensified. “You’re coming with me.” His smile turned into a grin. “We’ll go out for dinner, maybe see a show, go clubbing. We’re gonna party in New York for your birthday, baby.”

  Well, shit.

  My hands stilled on the front of his jacket, and my face fell.

  I wasn’t getting much-needed time with my family after all. My heart sank, and I felt the cold sting of tears behind my eyes. I blinked them back.

  Dino’s expression grew icy, and I knew the exact moment his anger started to stir at my reaction. So I did the only thing I could do, and I did it well. After all, I had years of practice.

  I faked it.

  Sniffling loudly, I forced the tears forward, blinking rapidly, and clutched at his shoulders. “You would do that?” I let a single tear fall and whispered a weepy, “You’d do that for me?”

  Before he could gauge my reaction, I threw my arms around him and squeezed tightly, hoping to God I was pulling this off. My voice earnest, I sighed into his chest. “I didn’t want to say anything, but the thought of you being away for my birthday…” I pulled back and smiled shakily up at him. “Thank you, Dino. It’s going to be great.”

  When his stiff arms loosened, cradling me, I knew I had him. He looked down at me, his brow furrowed crossly. “I would do anything for you, baby.” He pulled me close and vowed, “I love you.”

  So New York came, and from Dino’s constant good mood, on a Saturday night at a club called The White Rabbit, I made a fatal error.

  I smiled at the bartender when he handed me my drink, tipping my head back and laughing when he winked at me and told Dino he was a lucky man.

  Dino responded kindly, left an unnecessarily large tip, took my hand and guided me to the edge of the dance floor. I sipped my cocktail, smiling to myself at how much I’d dreaded this trip. I was actually having fun.