by Kim Karr
“Who was the supplier?”
He shook his head.
I rolled my eyes. “Okay, so what happened next?”
“I told Lizzy that we couldn’t leave. That I was going to make so much money it would be worth staying. She agreed and even offered to help me unload the product. We started pushing the coke and just like I thought, were making money hand over fist.”
He said the last part with a pride that nauseated me.
“It wasn’t long before I was able to increase my buys. The supplier was happy. I was happy. I was doing a fucking great job. But Lizzy wasn’t happy. She still wanted to leave town. She didn’t like her life and she was ready to start over somewhere else. The thing was, I wasn’t.”
“Who was the supplier?” I asked again.
He laughed, but this time he answered. “Come on, you have to know. The Priest.”
“What’s his fucking real name?” I demanded.
He shook his head. “I don’t fucking know.”
Doubtful, I narrowed my eyes at him. Was he feeding me a bunch of bullshit? Maybe. Still, I didn’t stop him. I wanted to hear what he had to say. ”Go on.”
“One morning when I was about to make my biggest buy yet she shows up. Said she couldn’t stay in that house one more minute. I was in a hurry. She had parked behind me. We took the Mercedes and the five mil and went to make the buy.”
Five mil. The missing money. It was beginning to make sense. “But,” I interjected.
“The shit storm that followed is still a blur. The exchange went off without a hitch. On the way back to my place, I was out of cigarettes and asked her to stop at a corner store. When I went inside, she fucking took off with the drugs and left me there.”
Doubt coated my brow. “Let me get this straight—she stole two hundred fifty kilos of cocaine from you?”
“She called me as soon as she took off. Told me she was going home to get that kid and then it was time for us to leave town.”
“So she blackmailed you?”
“No, she’d just had enough of that husband of hers.”
“Why not just leave the guy?”
“Come on, she had a record. She was a drug addict and a prostitute. She knew no court would award her custody of that kid and for some reason she wasn’t willing to leave her behind. Her only option was to run.”
I shook my head. “Okay, so then what happened?”
“Then she never showed up.”
“Why?”
“Because the fucker hijacked the drugs.”
“And what happened to Lizzy?”
“The Priest took her.”
“Took her?” She’d been taken? Hadn’t she disappeared on her own? That I wasn’t buying.
“Aren’t you listening to me? O’Shea sabotaged the whole fucking thing. He took the drugs and arranged for her to disappear.”
Surprisingly, the events were making more and more sense. Patrick was demanding both the money and drugs as retribution, which I always found odd. How could both disappear? Obviously, just the drugs had been stolen. Oddly, I got the feeling Tommy wasn’t feeding me a complete line of bullshit except for one thing—I’d seen Tommy with Lizzy, and recently. I kept that to myself. “So what happened next?”
“I went to the Priest, told him what had happened. Hoped he’d help me, and instead he laughed in my face.”
“Not a surprise I suppose.”
Tommy narrowed his eyes at me.
“What did you do next?”
“I sat on it for a while, waiting to see if Lizzy showed up.”
“So you weren’t sure she’d actually been taken then?”
He looked annoyed. “She had been taken. I just didn’t know it at the time. I found out later what had actually happened to her after she escaped.”
I still wasn’t buying it. “Okay, so you sat on it. Then what?”
“When I couldn’t take it anymore, I told my old man what I could without cutting my own dick off. I knew once he found that the money used was his, he’d make something happen. But he fucking sat on it forever.”
“Why did he wait?”
“How the hell would I know?”
“Maybe because he wanted to see you squirm?” I taunted.
“Fuck you. He told me it was because he wanted me to handle it, but more than likely it was because he was afraid of stepping on the wrong toes.”
Skeptical, I raised a brow. “Whose wrong toes?”
“Like I said, you don’t have a fucking clue.”
“Then enlighten me. You want my help. Tell me.”
Hatred seethed from his pores. I could practically smell it. “He took his time deciding because he was afraid of starting a war. Word on the street was that his old gang, the Dorchester Heights Gang, was reassembling, and that they were about to step up their game. He was afraid if he got involved in the drug side of things, they’d have reason to go after the Blue Hill Gang.”
Anger rising at his lies, I shouted, “The Dorchester Heights Gang has been out of play for years. Stop bullshitting me.”
“You, your old man, and even the DEA are in the fucking dark. They’ve been gearing up for years and they’re about ready to reemerge bigger and better than they ever were. Probably even stronger than the Blue Hill Gang ever was, even in your grandfather’s day. Rumor has it they have political ties.”
“How the fuck would you know that?”
“Have you not been listening to a goddamn word I’ve told you?”
My mind spun. “The Priest is the mob boss of the Dorchester Heights Gang?”
He gave a huff of laughter. “You’re a smart one.”
Made sense that Patrick would be fearful. Drugs were the most lucrative venue for mob business, and being in that business would put a huge bulls-eye on his back. “And you’re trying to tell me you were involved with them. Why would they want you?”
His expression became pure hostility. “Because I’m an asset.”
“A pawn,” I mumbled.
His lips pursed. “You have no fucking clue what’s happening out there, and neither did your grandfather when he made that worthless deal with Patrick.”
Something twisted in my gut and I jumped to my feet. “What worthless deal?”
That fucking smile was back. “To end his legacy. His shadow was too large for Patrick to live under, especially from inside here. So Patrick had to get rid of him. Killian gave his life for the return of your old man’s.”
Oh God, I thought I might be sick. My old man was indentured to Patrick’s service because of my fuck-up, because when I was fifteen, I may or may not have gotten his daughter pregnant, and then instead of telling her father, she killed herself at my grandfather’s house, in his bathroom. And instead of me giving my life, which is the way it should have gone down, my father took responsibility for her death and gave his unlimited legal service and whatever else the Blue Hill Gang, or Patrick himself, needed.
A life for a life.
Dead or alive.
Tommy glanced at the clock on the wall. “Your old man should be free right . . . about . . . now.” He clicked his tongue in the most chilling way. “Tick tock.”
Anger boiled in my blood and before I knew what I was doing, I soared across the table and slammed his head down on the metal, over and over. “What do you mean? What are you talking about?”
Words were sputtering out but I couldn’t understand what he was saying.
That’s when I stopped the pounding. Switching gears, I wrapped my hands around his neck and brought his face right up to mine. “What the fuck are you talking about?” I screamed in his face.
His eyes were like flames of hatred. “Now you’ll know how it feels to lose someone you love,” he laughed as blood gushed out his nose.
“No, no, no!” I kept squeezing.
He was sputtering, choking, gasping for air, but all of my control was gone.
The doors burst open and I found myself being peeled off Tommy. “I’m going
to fucking kill you!” I screamed.
“Hey, you need to calm down,” the corrections officer said to me as he shoved me out of the room.
Even in the hall, I lunged for the door. My plan had gone to shit. There would be no visit from the Attorney General’s office now. But really, that plan had gone to shit the minute he started talking. We weren’t buddies. I wasn’t going to help him. This was never going to end well.
The officer shoved me against the wall. “You need to leave, now.”
Leave.
Yeah, I needed to get the hell out of there.
Hyped up, I moved quickly. My shoes slapped the pavement until they reached the parking lot. Hopping in my truck, I gunned it. Slamming on the gas. Go. Go. Go. I opened the window so I could breathe. Go. Go. Go. A sharp breeze whipped around me and jolted me out of the crazed reality I was swimming in. My hands gripped the wheel and my foot slammed on the brake as I skidded to a stop at the traffic light. Change. Change. Change. That burning red circle felt like a hot poker searing my skin.
Change. Change. Change. My eyes were shifting. Looking for signs of the oncoming traffic slowing. That’s when I caught a glimpse of myself in the rearview mirror. My shirt and face were splattered with blood. With one hand on the wheel, I yanked off my tie and wiped my face.
That’s when it hit me.
Killian can’t be dead.
Killian isn’t dead.
Killian will not be dead.
But even as I said it, I had a sickening feeling in my gut.
No. Tommy was fucking with me. This was a game to him. This whole thing was a fucking game. My frustration was escalating. My desperation to get to my grandfather felt so crippling that my hands were shaking.
The light changed and I didn’t hesitate to pound the gas. Back on the road, I pulled out my phone and hit speed dial.
“Brighton House. How can I help you?”
My voice was shaky. “Can you connect me to Killian McPherson’s room?”
“One moment please.”
It started to ring. One, two, three times.
Come on, answer the fucking phone.
Four, five, six.
Answer the fucking phone.
Seven, eight, nine.
No answer. I threw my phone at the windshield.
Weaving in and out of the lanes of traffic, speeding as fast as I could, I finally arrived at Brighton House.
My head was swimming as I bolted out of the car and ran into the building.
“Judy, have you seen him?” I asked, trying not to sound as panicked as I was.
She smiled. “Yes, he had a breakfast date with a nice younger gentleman.” She looked at her watch. He arrived over an hour ago.”
There was no time for niceties. I took off like a bat out of hell toward his room. Fuck, I left my gun in the truck. No time to turn around. My breath was coming in short, ragged bursts and my eyes were stinging by the time I reached his door.
I froze with my hand on the knob.
Somewhere deep inside me, the spark of hope I’d held onto the entire drive over here died.
What replaced it was a really bad feeling that Tommy wasn’t lying about anything and my blood felt like ice in my veins.
Images flickered through my mind.
A little boy in a Red Sox cap walking down the street and holding the giant palm of a man he wanted to be just like. “Understanding what it’s like down here will help you make better decisions from up there,” he said, pointing to a high-rise office building.
A child sitting next to a much-respected older man learning what a flush was, what it meant to fold, and what it meant to bluff. “The bluff is key,” he told me.
A young teen at the top of a mountain named Wildcat who had decided to walk down the mountain instead of ski down. “You have to conquer your fear, Logan—it’s the only way to survive in this world.”
I drew in a deep breath and pushed the door open.
My stomach heaved.
My body swayed.
My vision blurred.
Lying on his bed with his bloodshot eyes wide open was the lifeless body of my grandfather. On the floor was a pillow. Someone had smothered him to death.
I wanted to scream louder than I ever had in my life, but I knew I couldn’t. It had to look like he’d died of natural causes. The last thing he would want was a police investigation into his death—he’d had enough of those during his life.
It was my turn to take care of him.
Thoughts hummed in my head. My heart slammed against my chest. A sound leapt from my throat. I picked up the pillow. Made sure everything was in place. And then I threw myself beside him, pulled him onto me, and closed his eyes.
No. No. No.
No. No. No.
No. No. No.
ELLE
I know what they say about secrets.
That nothing good can come from keeping them. That they’ll eat you alive. That they destroy even the strongest of relationships.
All of which worried me because I was keeping one from both of the men in my life and the time had arrived to come clean.
The secret I had yet to share with Logan would reveal just how broken I am, and then, as with my first boyfriend, it might just tear us apart. I could only hope it wouldn’t. To be fair, I should have told Logan before I ever let those three little words slip from my mouth. I should have learned from my mistakes. But everything that happened between us happened so fast and it never felt like the right time.
And then there’s my brother-in-law. Michael held all the cards when it came to my niece. If he decided I shouldn’t see Clementine again, there was nothing I could do about it. So pissing him off wasn’t something I wanted to do. But after yesterday, I thought it was time he knew I was involved with someone. No, not just someone—Logan McPherson. I wasn’t sure how he would react, but I hoped he knew me well enough by now to know that my relationship with Logan wouldn’t impact my relationship with Clementine in any way.
My mind was a web of worry, sorrow, and confusion. And I took the quiet of the morning to contemplate everything in my life. The good, the bad, and the ugly.
It was well after eleven before I drifted into the bath to let the steam and heat take away some of my hesitation about the confessions I planned to make today. After a long while, I submerged myself and allowed the scented water to wash me clean. I took my time shaving my legs and rinsing the soap from by body.
When I finally emerged from the tub, I felt much better about what I had to do. My secrets were eating at me and I had to get them out. Telling Logan about Michael’s advances didn’t rank high on my priorities, and I figured once I told Michael about Logan and me, that issue should naturally put itself to rest.
That was if there was something to tell him—if Logan stayed with me.
My skin was a warm shade of pink and the steam in the room was still thick. I wrapped a towel around myself, patted my wet skin until it was dry, and then I ran a comb through my still damp hair.
The door creaked loudly when I opened it and stepped into my darkened bedroom. I had yet to open the blinds and let the sunshine in.
The dark figure in the room caused my heart to stop and I screamed at the top of my lungs. Its beat didn’t even jump-start during that one moment it took me to realize it was Logan sitting on the end of the bed, cradling his head in his hands.
At the sound of my scream, his head jerked up.
“It’s just me.” His words were barely audible.
Even in the darkness, I could see right away that something was wrong. A flip of the light switch confirmed it. I’d never seen him like this before. His face was drawn, his eyes red-rimmed, and his body looked utterly defeated.
With my heart in my throat I ran over to him and fell to my knees, taking his hands in mine. At first I recoiled. Blood stained his shirt, his neck, and his fingers. But I pushed my dread aside and focused on him. “What happened?”
“He’s dead.” His voice wa
s scratchy, not his own. He cleared his throat like he, too, knew it sounded weird.
My heart was now thumping hard. “Who’s dead, Logan? What are you talking about?”
“A life for a life,” he mumbled.
Frightened beyond belief, I took his face in my hands. “What are you talking about?”
“Patrick had my grandfather killed.”
A chill ran through me and my entire body began to tremble. The shaking in my arms caused my hands to fall to my lap. “Why? I don’t understand. He wasn’t a threat.”
Logan’s head was moving back and forth. “Patrick saw him as one. He offered my grandfather a choice: his life for my father’s eternal freedom. And he took it. The stupid old son of a bitch took the offer to free his son.”
“But Patrick’s in jail.”
Logan dropped his head and his voice was low. “Elle, I’ve told you, the Blue Hill Gang still functions no matter where the mob boss is, or who he is for that matter. My father’s servitude was for life, indentured to the Blue Hill Gang. My grandfather freed his son by trading his own life.”
I had to swallow, hard, before I could force myself to speak without my voice crumbling. And even then, “I’m so sorry, Logan. I’m so sorry,” was all I could manage.
“I knew something wasn’t right when I went there yesterday. I should have pushed him more. I should have seen this coming.”
I shifted to sit beside him and I drew him to me. “It wasn’t your fault.” I stroked his hair the same way he stroked mine when I was upset.
“Yeah, it was,” he said, his voice flat and sounding very far away.
“No, it wasn’t.”
“I told you how it—” he started to say but before he could finish, he bolted off the bed and ran toward the bathroom, slamming the door in his wake.
In a rush, I hurried after him. When I turned the knob, it was locked. The sound of solid splashing against liquid could be heard through the door. A flush. More splashing. Another flush. Dry heaving.
I knocked lightly. “Logan, let me in. I want to help you.”
Silence.
“Logan, please, let me in.”
The sound of water running.
I flattened my palm to the door and pressed my forehead against it. “Logan, please,” I said softly.
