Broken Promises

by I. A. Dice

  Instead of focusing on what eluded me, I wondered what she was doing. Was she having a good time at the ball? She promised to call if something happened, but I worried anyway.

  And I was tired of worrying. Tired of thinking about her. Tired of her, and the chaos she turned both of our lives into.

  Granted – unknowingly, but still chaos.

  I had it easy until she came along. Money, power, respect, and women. What the fuck was wrong with that? Why did I have to go and fall in love with Tinker Bell? Sassy, feisty, and hot-tempered. Not to forget the trouble. One got in it, the other caused it.

  My life would be so much easier if I hadn’t walked up to her that night in Delta. If I stayed in my seat, locked in my office, none of this would be happening now. No kill order, no worrying, no feeling.

  I could safely say I wouldn’t change the chaos for one peaceful day.

  Despite all the shit she put us through, I was glad she stormed into my life and showed me that there was more to it than money and power.

  She was my more.

  But it didn’t change the fact, that I needed peace, rest and a reset, so after returning home from Las Vegas early in the morning, I went straight to bed. My body must’ve missed sleeping. I was flat out for almost ten hours.

  After a quick shower, I ordered food from Layla’s favorite restaurant and sat in the living room with a bottle of cognac, drinking, and hoping to stop my mind just for a short while. Just so I could catch a breath.

  Jackson’s hunt for Morte continued. He employed the best of the best hackers in the country to track the motherfucker. I knew it’d be difficult. Morte was well trained, careful, and a master of camouflage. Jackson checked the footage from the cameras at the hospital in Dallas, but couldn’t locate him entering or leaving the building.

  Fucking Houdini.

  The son-of-a-bitch came prepared – knew where the cameras were, and purposely avoided them all. And thus it became apparent, that getting a positive ID on Morte was like a million to one.

  An hour later, I finished the bottle. I can’t go on without you by Kaleo played from the speakers, and I, seeing double, smoked a cigarette.

  The security alarm clicked once. My head fell backward, hitting the back of the couch, irritation spoiling my drunken bliss. I had little contact with reality and didn’t feel like talking to Spades tonight unless he came to relay some good news for a change.

  But it wasn’t Spades who appeared in the door a few seconds later. It was Grace.

  “What are you doing here?” I frowned.

  “I forgot my phone.” She stopped by the bar, eyeing the coffee table, and the empty bottle of cognac. “What’s wrong?”

  If not for struggling to focus on her face, I’d say she looked worried. I tried to tear myself from the couch to put out the cigarette but failed. Drinking wasn’t helping much. I was still conscious, still thinking about Layla. It’s been almost three weeks since she’s been gone. At least two weeks too long.

  “Are you okay?” Grace asked, coming closer. “I asked what’s wrong.” She took the glass out of my hand and sat down. A small, cold hand touched my forehead.

  “Make me a drink,” I said, moving away so she’d stop touching me.

  “Looks like you had enough.” She pointed at the table, eyeing the empty bottle. “Was it full?”

  Two wrinkles appeared on her forehead, and an exasperated huff followed when I failed to answer.

  “Get me a drink, please.” I managed to reach one of the two identical ashtrays to put out the cigarette.

  Grace crossed her arms. “Only if you tell me what happened that you drank so much.”

  I nodded, hanging my head low, and closing my eyes to stop the room from spinning. One or two more drinks and I’d be out. A dreamless state at last. A few hours of complete peace.

  “Where’s Dalton?”

  “At my friend’s house. He’s staying there tonight. I had some errands to run, and he fell asleep before I came back.”

  I smiled under my breath, lighting up another cigarette, and with great effort, I turned around to look at Grace. She stood behind the bar, a bottle of whiskey in hand.

  “Have a drink with me.”

  She raised her head, surprised.

  “Go ahead. Make yourself a drink. You’ll sleep in the guest bedroom, and come morning you’ll take care of my hangover. It will be huge, I promise.”

  A soft chuckle escaped her, and she shook her head, amused. “I don’t doubt it. It’s a miracle you’re still able to articulate properly.”

  “Bacardi should be there somewhere.” I waved my hand toward the bar, falling back against the couch. “Layla loves mojito. Try it.”

  “I’ll have a glass of wine if that’s okay. I don’t know how to make a mojito.”

  “Neither does Layla,” I admitted with a smile. “She can’t cook either. Or clean, or iron a shirt. And I love her anyway. She’s... She’s flawless. And she’s mine. I can’t function without her.”

  Grace put a glass in my hand, taking a seat beside me. “Yes, I can see that. You’re a mess.” She sipped on the wine, her eyes fluttering closed for a brief moment. “I envy her,” she said quietly.

  “Everyone used her in the worst possible way, and now everyone wants to kill her. There’s nothing to envy.”

  She looked at me from under the thick eyelashes. “You, silly. I envy her because she has you. The way you love her and how much you’re willing to do for her...” Her voice trailed off, and she pulled the sleeve of her jumper lower, covering her hand while staring out the window. “She’s only two years older than me, and that’s not much, but look, she already has her happily ever after. When this is all over, she’ll live like a princess. Your princess. I hope she appreciates what she has.”

  The note of exasperation in her voice came as a surprise. I hadn’t paid much attention to Grace since Layla came back, but it looked like I should have.

  “You don’t like her.” And I didn’t like knowing it.

  “It’s not like that,” she said, her eyes snapping to mine. “I just... I don’t like being here when you’re not around. Layla’s not a nice person.”

  Objection formed in my mind but failed to become audible. Grace had a point. Layla wasn’t a nice person. She was rude, bossy, and had an attitude. She only respected people she liked, and there weren’t many.

  But again – I didn’t care. How could I? Layla didn’t need to be likable. I’d take the honest, no-bullshit attitude of hers over fake smiles and acting friendly every time.

  I shrugged, inhaling a long drag. “If you went through as much shit as she has in your life, you wouldn’t be nice either. She’s cautious, it’s not easy to break through her walls, but deep down she’s a good girl.”

  “I’m not saying she isn’t. But I do prefer you. Now, keep your promise and tell me why you’re drinking alone.” She made herself comfortable, a sparkle in her brown eyes.

  “I’m trying to distance myself from her.”

  “From Layla? I don’t understand.”

  “That makes two of us,” I chuckled bitterly. “It’s fucking impossible, but necessary. I told her I won’t be calling her for a while. I thought it’d help me focus on the problem at hand, but instead of thinking about her less, I think more. I’m drinking to stop thinking.”

  “And? Is it working?”

  No. It wasn’t. Not one fucking bit. Layla was still the center of my world and occupied every conscious cell of my mind. I was tired of it. I wanted a moment of peace, a moment of rest, oblivion, but having slept all day, my body wasn’t ready to give up again.

  “You know…” Grace began, looking at her glass. “I’ve never seen a guy, as in love, as you are.”

  A frown and a hand movement urging her to keep going was my only answer.

  “She’s the first person you look at when you walk into the house. The first you speak to.” She glanced at me, ghosting her index finger over the rim of the wine glass. “Not once
and not twice you walked right past me, not a word, not a glance… Not until you kiss her.”

  She wasn’t wrong. When it was time to go home, all I could focus on was Layla. Seeing her, kissing her, touching her was all I waited for.

  What the hell had she done to me? People don’t change. Or so I’ve been told my whole life.

  Bullshit.

  Layla brought a different side of me to life. A side I had a love-hate relationship with. Feeling was great. But it was getting out of control. There had to be a way to put a cap on love. A way to stop the feelings from overpowering a man. A way to love just the right amount.

  It’d be good to find balance before I go mental.

  “You could stand right in front of her, and I wouldn’t notice,” I said, a hint of irritation in my voice.

  “Exactly. It’s intense. Do you even know just how deep she sits under your skin?”

  A bitter laugh left my lips. “Too deep.”

  “I can’t disagree. Why, though? I don’t understand it. It’s like you’re two different people.” She pulled her legs under her bum and turned my way, curiosity clearly visible on the thin, pretty face, a soft glow of pink heating her cheeks. “When she’s not around you’re quite scary…”

  “Scary?”

  Her cheeks burned brighter. “Yes. Intimidating. Commanding. Callous. But when Layla’s around, you’re even scarier. You’re territorial. I watch every word that comes out of my mouth to Layla because God help anyone who’d dare to disrespect her.”

  I groaned, annoyed at the involuntary reactions the thought had triggered – my body tensing, fists clenching, jaw working.

  Good job not thinking about her.

  I wanted to bang my head against the wall. A moment of inattention was what got me here. One moment of letting my guard down when the curiosity of the girl dressed in red entering my club got the better of me. I became weak and defenseless. And at the same time invincible thanks to the all-encompassing feelings.

  I could move mountains to keep Layla safe.

  Grace sat down, closer than before, and focused her attention on the framed pictures of Layla standing on shelves. With the corner of my eye, I saw her lips form a thin smile.

  “She’s beautiful,” she said. “I’ll give her that. “Perfect cheekbones, full lips, big eyes... You’ll have beautiful children.”

  Something squeezed my heart at the thought of seeing Layla pregnant. And then a throaty laugh escaped my lips, quickly turning into a groan, as a sense of dread followed. I was borderline psycho whenever I considered Layla to be in danger, and didn’t dare to imagine how bad my paranoia would become if she were pregnant.

  Another cigarette landed in-between my teeth, and a moment later, a gray cloud hung in the air. My hands weighed too much to lift the cigarette to my lips every now and then, so I settled for keeping it in my mouth, inhaling and exhaling as if on cue.

  With each drag, I was losing more and more of reality, sinking deeper into the state of weightlessness. One and a half bottles of cognac worked a treat. My mind finally waved a white flag, cutting me off from my girl.

  Reset.

  I stopped thinking and feeling, suspended in the moment, half-conscious of what was happening around me. Eyelids became too heavy to hold them up, head slumped to my shoulder, raising and falling in sync with my short, shallow breaths.

  A warm body pressed into me. Smooth thighs wrapped themselves around my legs, and my limp hands rested on warm skin. My lips, grasped by different lips, cooperated, struggling to kiss.

  Small hands wrapped around my neck, little fingers dug into my skin, warm mouth fought to deepen the kiss. Sweet sighs bounced about my overworked mind, and the petite body drew me closer.

  For a moment, I gave in to her efforts. For a moment, confused, and blinded, I thought it was okay. That those lips were familiar.

  It was only when my brain, among the plethora of information, granted me access to the fourth sense. I realized the perfumes I smelled didn’t match Layla.

  My eyes flew open, I managed to focus on the picture before me, and then, using all my strength, which I didn’t have much left, I pushed away from the girl who definitely wasn’t my star.

  ☐

  Grace lost her job the next morning. The minute I opened my eyes, and her stunt replayed in my head, I jumped out of bed, ignoring the headache, and, as expected, found her preparing breakfast in the kitchen. Thirty seconds later, she gawked at me, silent tears streaming down her face.

  I took everything from her. Work, flat, and the kindergarten for Dalton. I didn’t care about how she was going to stay afloat. She was given a chance for a good, fresh start, and instead of gratefully fulfilling her duties, she tried to take more.

  Don’t bite the hand that feeds you.

  By the time I finished with Grace, found the stash of painkillers, and freshened up it was already past noon. With a cup of black coffee, I sat in the living room, wanting to call Jackson and check if he was any closer to locating Morte or Sandra.

  My phone laid on the coffee table switched off. I plugged it to the charger, waited five more minutes, then powered it on. And I felt sick the second it turned on, and text messages started arriving, informing me about new voicemails. All from Anatolij.

  Again – cue in dark scenarios.

  My hands were shaking when I dialed his number, eyes closed, head hanging low.

  “Finally,” he answered, sounding relieved. “Is everything all right? I’ve been trying to call you all day.”

  I glanced at the clock and added eight hours to get an idea of what time it was in Moscow.

  “What happened?” The alcoholic roughness, together with anxiety distorted my voice.

  “Nothing,” he said immediately. “Layla’s fine, but I think you should come. She found a portrait of her mother in my office. I need to explain the situation, and it’d be better if you were here for it.”

  I exhaled slowly, calming down. “Are you going to tell her the truth?”

  “Of course. I’ve been waiting for this conversation for a long time. I just hoped to wait until after you close the hit. You should be here for her. It’s a delicate matter, and from what I’ve noticed, Layla is quite temperamental.”

  “Quite?” I chuckled. “That’s a polite understatement. Layla’s a small dynamite. Short ignition and a loud explosion, but that’s about it, Anatolij. She’s stronger than you give her credit for, cut from a different cloth than all of us. She’ll get to terms with it fast.”

  “Strong only on the outside, Dante. She’ll need you here.”

  “You want me to come over and hold her hand while she screams, or are you hoping I’ll take your side and calm her down? Layla has the right to know, and she has the right to hate you.”

  Hate was too big of a word. Layla wasn’t capable of hatred. She couldn’t even hate Frank, and he deserved it like no one else.

  “I know it’s too late for such declarations, but if I knew what her life would look like…”

  “You’re right,” I interrupted him dryly. “It’s definitely too late for if only I knew.” I rubbed my face, glancing at the suitcase I failed to unpack after arriving back from Vegas. “I have a few things to do before I can come over. Can you hold off the conversation for another twenty-four hours?”

  “Yes. I think I can avoid Layla one more day.”

  Fucking coward. He had hundreds of people working for him, he was making the biggest scams in Europe and Asia, laundered money for the most influential people in the country, and did business with the Russian elite alone.

  And he was afraid of a nineteen-year-old girl.

  The sound of a large engine revving came from the outside. The car that could only be a Dodge stopped on the gravel, and no more than ten seconds later, the door to the house burst open.

  “I’ve got her!” Jackson shouted, running into the living room with Rookie close behind him. “I’ve got Sandra.” He threw some pictures on the coffee table. “And it ge
ts better.”

  I looked at the pictures, and a huge weight lifted off my shoulders. Fate had finally decided to smile at me.

  “When were those taken?” I asked, looking at a photo of Sandra standing by the trunk of a white SUV.

  Next to her, stood a boy. A child. A six or seven-year-old child with black hair, and a face that resembled Morte so much it felt almost unnatural.

  “Today. They’re in Ohio.”

  I dropped onto the couch, squeezing the back of my nose. What happened to me to consider kidnapping a child? No more than six months ago the idea would’ve made me sick. A moral compass used to guide me in the right direction.

  And now?

  Now it was gone.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  DANTE

  The journey to Ohio took four hours. Optimist that I became not long ago, I booked a flight out to Moscow for six a.m. tomorrow morning, not expecting any speed bumps on the road to successfully blackmailing Morte into calling off the hit.

  “Is this it?” Nate asked, leaning out of the back seat to take a better look at the farmhouse Spades parked in front of.

  It wasn’t much – an ugly white house with wooden windows and a messy front garden. A large, barn stood to the left, and the same SUV I saw on the pictures Jackson brought, was parked out of the way, next to an old well.

  The next house was about three hundred yards away and hidden behind a small hill so I could only see part of the roof.

  “C’mon, let’s get it over and done with,” Spades urged, opening the driver side door with a frown.

  He wasn’t overly happy about kidnapping a child. His niece was Morte’s son’s age, making the job that much harder for him to stomach.

  “Took you long enough.”

  We heard, and all three of us spun around to find Sandra standing in the barn doorway, holding a riding crop in one hand, and a black helmet in the other.

  “I expected you here weeks ago,” she said, starting toward us, unfazed by our arrival. “Forgot about my existence, didn’t you?” Her eyes trained on me, and she strolled through the gravel, a knowing look on her face.