by Soraya Naomi
My fist clenches, and Tara sees the movement. “Or isn’t she?” When I don’t answer, she continues, “Well, either way, it won’t work. Because no one knows you like I do, Henry Pierce. You used to look at me the way you’ve been looking at her.” She shifts closer. “She doesn’t know who I am, does she? I think Mary would be disappointed to see that you glare at the love of your life the way you’re looking at me right now.”
I snarl in agitation. Wanting her to believe Mary’s just one in the string of women I’ve used to get over her, I lie, “You think I fucking care what anyone thinks, including you?”
Tara’s the reason I don’t want intimacy anymore; it weakens a person.
She sneers, “Oh, have you finally gotten over me? After fucking half the population of the Loop?”
“You made me this way. You fucked everyone when we were together, so I learned from you.” Hateful memories invade my mind.
“Get over that. I also taught you a lot of things,” Tara retorts. “You wouldn’t have half the knowledge you have today if you’d never met me.”
Regrettably, that’s true. I fell in love with Tara when I was a naïve seventeen-year-old, living in foster care and without a future, and I was captivated by her maturity since she’s twelve years older than I am. She was also the first small-time black hat hacker I’d ever met, and in order to make me one too, she secretly enrolled me in night classes – my foster parents paid little attention to what I did or whom I did it with – while also teaching me everything she knew about computers. Apparently, Tara saw something in me that told her I’d be a better hacker than she was, and she’s always been motivated by personal gain.
We dated on the sly until I turned eighteen and was released from the system. Then we lived together while she educated me about sex and the ease of hacking, after which, we stole passwords, exploited bank accounts, and forged debit cards, amassing substantial amounts of cash.
Unfortunately, within a year, I caught her cheating in our own bed. And despite our volatile relationship, I stayed since she already had me in her clutches. Besides, I had nowhere else to go. However, she kept cheating, and when I found out months later, we had an ugly fight and I left her. I knew that without me, she couldn’t continue with the same illegal activities. And neither did I. I focused on a new plan after moving to the West Loop: initiating into the Syndicate.
Once in a while, I’ve seen her around town and stayed as far away as possible. But when she discovered I work at Club 7, she suddenly showed up at the beach on Sunday, and while I haven’t seen her in years, we still have unfinished business. Of course, she doesn’t know the owner of Club 7 is the boss of the Syndicate, because if she did, I’d never get rid of her.
“Why the fuck are you even here, Tara? I told you the last time I saw you that I don’t want anything to do with you unless you’re willing to give me the one thing I want.”
“Maybe I’m ready to concede, Henry Pierce.” Her voice becomes sultry, just like it used to in the past when she wanted to seduce me.
And it fucking grates on my nerves how she consistently uses my full name. I hate the way she reminds me of the inexperienced boy I was all those years ago – before I started to learn from the Syndicate men how to read and manipulate people.
Back then, I was a boy blinded by love, by a beautiful face that hid a dark soul, although my soul might be just as dark as hers is these days. I’m a fully pledged mafia member, and my way of thinking is altering. For now, though, I need to keep her away from Club 7. It won’t go over well with the organization if they uncover the fact that I lied and have unbroken ties to regular civilians.
“I miss you. I miss working with you. I have a proposition, but we can’t discuss it here,” she utters, piquing my interest. Her features soften, reminding me more of the woman I fell in love with so many years ago. When I felt things I’ve long since suppressed.
Goddammit, I don’t need this on top of already being infuriated about Mary.
I must regain some control over my emotions to avoid allowing Tara to interfere in my relationship with the Syndicate. She could become a liability and has no fucking clue how much power I yield. How, if pushed, I could get rid of her at the drop of a hat.
“Tomorrow. I’ll come to you. Noon,” I suggest, and she smiles slowly before nodding and swaggering away as men gawk at her behind.
At that moment, a bulky guard comes up to me and reports, “Henry, you’re needed in Adriano’s office. It’s urgent.”
“On my way. Tell the dealer I won’t be back to play,” I instruct, brushing past him, down the hallway and toward the corner office.
After I knock twice, the door is unlocked by our counselor, Carmine, and I enter to find all of the Syndicate’s high ranking men waiting for me. Adriano, his underboss, Luca, and his head Capo, Logan, are standing behind his desk.
As Carmine closes the door, I ask, “What’s going on?”
Uneasiness fills me. Did they see Mary and me?
“A silent alarm went off in the system, and they told me to call you,” Adriano explains, leading the way into the adjacent security room.
Surreptitiously, I inhale a calming breath.
“Henry, someone’s fucking with us,” a soldier says, seated in front of the panel of a fifty-two inch display with a computer screen and footage of all the cameras in the club, as he slides his chair back from the desk and vacates it.
I sink down onto the chair and begin typing away on the keyboard, opening a new screen to log in to the backend of the system and finding an unknown source in one of the servers. Trying out different programming codes, I attempt to decipher where it’s located.
“What’s happened, Henry?” Adriano stands to my right side.
“A DDoS attack,” I explain, fixated on the screen while clicking various settings to change them.
“In plain English,” he throws back blandly, and I grin.
“There’s a virus attacking your server.” My fingers halt for a split second when I notice that settings are being reprogrammed at that very moment. And not by me! There’s someone else in this system besides me.
What the fuck?
“We need to go offline.” I click enter to confirm to shut down one server.
“But what will happen?” Adriano inquires.
“Nothing. There’s a backup server. But if I don’t shut down the other one, it’s going to cost you a shitload of money.” It works successfully, so I clarify, “I bet this is why your numbers aren’t adding up.”
After I take care of the server, I change all the passwords, effectively kicking the other hacker out. Everyone else just sees rows of data, except Logan. He must’ve also seen that someone other than me was programming.
I wheel around in the chair and catch Logan’s frown. He’s a CIA agent who defected to the Syndicate, and he and I built this system with software he stole from them. I tested and tweaked the software, and we implemented it together.
“We’re clear,” I announce.
Adriano and Luca each raise a brow, prompting me to explain further.
So I add, “Someone was hacking into your system.”
“Can you find out who it was? Trace it?” Luca observes the screen.
“I’m trying that already, but my guess is that it won’t be easy. I changed all the passwords and some settings to enforce the firewall.”
“How’s this possible?” Adriano asks.
“This is all digital, Adriano. Nothing’s one hundred percent secure. But if someone is interested in Club 7’s system, it’s most likely linked to the Syndicate.”
And Tara suddenly showing up while there’s a hacker trying to access Club 7’s system can’t be coincidental. Although Tara isn’t nearly computer-savvy enough to decode my software, and on top of that, she was with me just now. Something else is at play here, but I can’t rule out that Tara might be involved.
“By the way,” Carmine says, and my attention switches to him leaning against the do
orframe, “a soldier informed me earlier that he discovered a bar that’s rumored to be selling our heroin, but it’s not on our list of distributors.”
“Well, this is becoming more interesting by the second,” Adriano grumbles and exchanges a glance with Luca.
Carmine continues, “It’s only a rumor, so I ordered him to investigate the place and report back to Logan or me as soon as possible.”
“Fine. Well, until we have an update, everything’s under control. Right, Henry?” Adriano concludes, wanting me to confirm.
Nodding, I swivel back around and check the screen once more. “Yes.”
Then I take off my glasses, since I only need them for reading, and toss them onto the desk. As I pinch the bridge of my nose, my brain is flooded with images of Mary with Keano until I hear Logan asking Carmine, “Which bar is it?”
“Cocktails & Heels,” he replies, and I leap up.
All gazes land on me when I grind out, “Jesus Christ, that’s where Keano took Mary.”
“When?” Adriano demands at the same time that Carmine fumes, “I don’t like that guy.”
“Just now,” I tell Adriano.
Sprinting out of the office with Adriano and Carmine on my trail, I hear Adriano say, “I guess we’re all going...”
“Yes,” everyone answers his rhetorical question, and he grunts but lets it go.
Adriano rides with Luca and Carmine as Logan jumps into my passenger seat.
When your only role models in life are the most powerful members of the mafia, it changes you to your very core. They twist fate into their favor and live like gods among ignorant civilians. And the power seems to be seeping into my psyche as well, because after I fire up the engine and hit the gas, I have only one goal in mind as I hightail it to Cocktails & Heels.
CHAPTER 7
Mary
I thought I was prepared to see Henry at Club 7 until I saw his current flavor of the month. The ridiculously beautiful Tara.
And now, sitting in a booth in this loud bar, I feel more dejected than ever. Keano’s talking to his friend, who’s settled across from us, while I wonder what the hell I’m doing here. I need to end this relationship and stop allowing Keano to convince me otherwise.
Then, to my amazement, a skinny bartender gives a plastic bag of white powder to Keano’s friend and he empties it and arranges the contents on the surface of the table, right out in the open.
Keano snorts a line before he hands me a rolled up dollar bill. “Maybe this will help you unwind.”
“What is it?” I ask. I’ve never seen him use drugs.
“Heroin,” he answers curtly – we’ve been at odds ever since leaving Club 7, where I so clearly used him to make Henry jealous.
Affected by everything that’s been going on tonight, I take it and lean forward to sniff up one line. Grimacing, I swipe my nose when it burns, and as the drug is carried to my brain, I lounge back against the booth cushion, recalling Henry with Tara. Urgh!
I shake my head, and after a few seconds, I begin to feel relaxed. Euphoric. And for the first time in days, I succeed in forgetting my unrequited attraction to Henry, who’s not even my friend anymore. Somehow, all we do is make each other angry.
When the other guy leaves the booth, Keano reproaches me, “Are you going to be cranky all night, Mary?”
I’m too relaxed to let him provoke me. “If you don’t like my company, you can leave.”
“Maybe I’ll do that!” He slides out and marches away, leaving me gaping at his retreating back.
Meanwhile, my head is clearing entirely of my scattered thoughts. It’s a weird sensation that I’m thoroughly enjoying until I glimpse toward the entrance of the club and see Henry and Logan hurrying through the throng. Sitting up in panic, I scoot to the end of the booth and duck down on my hands and knees as they peruse the crowd.
“Gross,” I mutter, touching the sticky tiled floor.
Shit! Are my brothers here too? If they find out I’ve used heroin, they’re going to kill me. Even if I tell them it’s the first time.
As I crawl around, I try to focus through my drug infused haze, skirting around people and slinking forward until a pair of polished black shoes block my path. I go left, but the feet move too, and then I go right, but they mirror my action yet again.
With infinite slowness, I look up over pressed slacks and into the penetrating silver-grey eyes of Henry. He’s still wearing his dashing poker attire, untied bow tie hanging around his neck and exposing his powerful throat. In addition, his hair that was sleeked back earlier is now tousled as if he’s been dragging his hands through it.
Next to Henry is Logan, watching me with amusement.
“Mary.” Henry tilts his head as I surge upward, stumbling, so he grips my arm to steady me.
“Hey, guys.” I try to sound cheerful but suspect it comes out a little slurred when a crease forms in his forehead. Recalling the night and how he seems to have forgotten all about me, I attempt to loosen his hold by jerking my arm, to no avail. “What are you doing here?” I snort when my nose tickles.
“Are you alone?” His tone sounds just as irritated as it did when we argued over an hour ago.
“You’ll be happy to know that Keano left after we had a fight.”
He lifts one brow, then the other, as though this fact surprises and then angers him. “Why the fuck would I be happy about that?”
“Because you’ve made the way you feel about Keano perfectly clear, not that it matters since you had your own date to demand your attention,” I grumble, and Logan smirks, evaluating us in an odd manner.
“She wasn’t my date.”
“But she’s a woman you’ve slept with, isn’t she?” I say softly.
He glances away – that’s an affirmative answer. Sighing, Henry let’s go of my arm, but I’m weak in the knees and deliciously lethargic, so I start to topple over.
Henry catches me effortlessly and holds me flush against him, cupping my cheek. “Are you drunk?”
“Noo...” I reply as Logan presses two fingers against my neck, checking my pulse.
Then he nicks the tip of my nose and inspects his finger, sending a knowing glance to Henry.
Henry’s jaw is clenched as he combs my curls from my face, and I lean my entire weight against him, loving how his strong frame anchors me.
“Mary,” he says in that inflexible tone I’ve come to recognize. “Did you do cocaine or heroin?”
There’s no need for denial. “Heroin.”
“When Keano left?” Henry probes, stroking the side of my face soothingly.
“No. With Keano. But we had a disagreement, so he bailed.”
“Son of a bitch!” both men snarl.
“Do you know where he got it?” Logan asks, and I rest my head against Henry’s toned chest.
“Yes. One of the bartenders here sells it.”
“Which one, Mary?” Henry nudges my chin up with his thumb.
I turn around and he tucks me into his side while I scour the room, catching sight of the bartender at my booth in the corner of the bar. I point straight ahead. “Him.”
As Henry navigates us around the people and objects in our path, I sense his tightly coiled body; he’s vibrating with anger.
Unexpectedly, my stomach starts churning, and just as we reach the booth, I push my nose against Henry’s chest and feel his palm caressing my neck as he asks, “What’s wrong?”
“I’m nauseous.”
“Breathe slowly. In and out,” he instructs, skimming his hand over my curls, and as it subsides, I wind one arm around his middle.
My touch on his back is innocent, so no one would guess that all my attention is focused on my fingertips, which feel like electricity is flowing into them. Especially after missing him for a whole week and the horrible way we treated each other at the club earlier.
When the bartender glances up, Henry’s pressed against me and takes out his gun from his ankle holster while Logan’s standing behind us t
o block us from the view of other customers.
Without releasing me, Henry digs the barrel of his weapon into the guy’s temple, his hands flying up in surrender as Henry threatens in a sinister tone, “Sell her drugs one more time, motherfucker, and I will end you with one bullet through your head. Do you understand me?”
“Y-yes. B-but I didn’t sell it to her; I sold it to the men.” Panic flashes in his eyes.
“Where did you get it?”
“T-the owner orders us to distribute it,” he stammers.
Logan warns Henry, “Stash the gun. People are watching.”
“Where’s the owner?” Henry finishes, tucking the weapon into the back waistband of his slacks and pulling out his shirt to hide it.
“Down the hall. His office is at the end.”
Without another word, Henry releases me from his embrace and I immediately miss his warmth. He tangles our fingers and tugs me along, down a poorly lit hall to the office, smashing open the door with his fist and making it bang against the brown painted wall.
Regrettably, we’re outnumbered. Three men are beating up another one who’s sprawled on the floor in front of a scratched up wooden desk that has a few plastic bags of drugs stacked on it.
“What the fuck!” yells the medium built guy with a nasty scar beneath his eye. He’s hunched over the man on the floor, letting go of his collar so that he collapses, unconscious, and the other two guys flank him like dogs. I guess he’s the owner.
As Logan shuts the door, Scarface screams, “Who the fuck are you?” And he takes out a pistol from a holster at his waist, leveling it at Henry, who shields me calmly, showing no fear.
I study Henry’s profile as he aims his glare at the man. He stands tall and dominant, like a pillar from ancient Rome, personifying supremacy and confidence. “I’m the Chicago Syndicate.”
With that statement, the whole mood changes. The owner’s eyes widen so that the whites are entirely visible. The power has shifted; they’re all immediately wary of Henry.
Then the door opens and Adriano, Carmine, and Luca step inside before Luca coolly closes it again. Holy shit! All the high ranking men are here, and the three opposite them are motionless with Scarface still directing his gun at us. And although we’re in the middle of a tense situation, I can’t help but notice the vast difference between my five family members, all in tailored suits with controlled, furious expressions, and the three thugs in jeans and t-shirts.
