Maddox (The Italian Cartel Book 5)

by Shandi Boyes

  11

  Maddox

  “What do you mean there isn’t enough evidence?” I shout down the line, frustrated as fuck. “You saw her face at the restaurant. You know it wasn’t marked. Now fucking look at it.” I thrust my hand to the screen of my laptop as if Agent Moses can see the images I forwarded to him through my eyes. “Her eye is almost swollen shut.”

  He huffs like I’m being unreasonable. “His legal counsel could argue the puffiness was from crying.”

  “It wasn’t from crying.” I strangle the cabin’s landline phone as if it’s his neck. If I truly believed none of his annoyance centered around me not arriving for my fight Thursday night, I’d listen to what he has to say. But since I know more than half his grouchy attitude is because Dimitri, my part owner, would have chewed his ass out for my no-show, I’ll continue pushing until he gives me the answers I want. “She was assaulted on your fucking watch, Arrow. You could lose your badge over this.”

  When Caidyn suggests that I lower my voice, I jerk up my chin before moving into the kitchen. It’s the furthest room away from the one Demi is sleeping in. The cabin has been through four remodels since my family has owned it, but it still has its original super long springy cable my mom twisted around her fingers while talking to our dad during their courtship.

  Although Demi did cry last night—more than I ever wanted to witness—Agent Moses is wrong. The marks and cuts on her face I photographed an hour ago have nothing to do with the number of tears she shed. They were there long before the first tear spilled down her cheek, and to my fucking disgust, they’ll still be there days after her final tears.

  “Col didn’t just slap Demi, Arrow. He hit her, closed fist.”

  An undeniable urge to go on a murderous rampage slams back into me when Agent Moses murmurs, “According to Demi. This is a she-said-he-said case, but even if it weren’t, domestic altercations aren’t the Bureau’s field of expertise. We—”

  “Chase mass murders, terrorist cells, and cybercriminals. I’ve heard it all before. It’s the same fucking shit every time we talk.”

  His sigh agitates me to no end. “If you know this, why are you bringing this matter to me?”

  “Because Col has more of Ravenshoe PD on his payroll than the fucking state.” I rake my fingers through my hair before hitting him with the real reason for my call. “I also wanted to prove Demi isn’t a part of Col’s operation. She’s being forced to participate.”

  I want to ram my hands through the phone and wring his scrawny neck when he mutters, “Nobody held a gun to her head when she went on recruiting drives at local gyms.”

  My words are forced through a tight jaw. “No, they didn’t, but they have no issues shoving one under her ribs when she doesn’t jump on command.”

  I hear Agent Moses’s chair click into place. Considering it is almost two in the morning, I’m shocked to discover he’s still at the office. He doesn’t seem like the type of agent to hang around after everyone else clocks off. “You saw that? You witnessed someone pull a gun on her?”

  “Yes!” I answer, a little too loudly. “In the second lot of photos, you can see where the muzzle of the gun bruised her rib.” That evidence was harder to amass without Demi’s knowledge, but since she’s sleeping in only a pair of panties and my gym shirts, the loose fit helped me gather sneaky snaps of her injuries.

  Don’t misread what I’m saying. We didn’t do anything last night. I’m not a complete-fucking-asshole. I slipped my shirt over her head while she was still dressed, then she shimmied out of her dress under the bedding. I’m not entirely sure when her bra was removed. She was wearing it when I snuck out to speak with Caidyn. It was gone when I went back to document evidence of her abuse.

  Yes, I noticed things other men think are unimportant. I also liked the fact she felt comfortable enough to sleep in my bed as if it’s hers.

  The click of a mouse sounds down the line a mere second before Agent Moses’s indecisive sigh. “There’s no doubt that’s a muzzle indent.”

  “But?” I ask when I hear one hanging in the air.

  “But… I don’t know if it’ll be enough to convince my supervisor to take on this case.” He sounds as disappointed as I feel. I understand the Bureau wants to get Col on more than a battery charge, but something is always better than nothing, right? “With more credible evidence, we could get him on attempted murder.”

  “But…” I repeat when it continues to linger like a bad smell.

  “But…” He leaves me hanging longer this time around. “What you’ve given me is nowhere near enough. I’ll need a lot more to take this to the head of my department.”

  “More what? More bruises? More abuse? Exactly how much torture does she have to endure before you’ll do something to help her? Does he have to kill her, Arrow? Does she have to lose more than she already has?”

  Mistaking the annoyance in my tone as me being so desperate I’ll do anything he asks, Agent Moses replies, “Video footage would be great. Or catching him in the act. That could work, too.”

  “So you want to put her back in the line of fire to secure more evidence?” He can shove his next ‘but’ where the sun doesn’t shine. There’s no fucking chance in hell I’ll place Demi undercover with anyone, much less someone as incompetent as him. “That damage you see, those bruises, cuts, and grazes, they occurred in under five minutes. Five fucking minutes, Arrow. Yet you want to throw her into shark-infested waters without so much as an oar for protection. Fuck that. I ain’t doing that. If that’s all you’ve got up your sleeve to keep her safe, I’ll take the matter elsewhere.”

  His sigh this time around represents a dismayed man instead of an annoyed one. “How long do I have?”

  I stray my eyes to the grandfather clock next to the refrigerator. It reveals it’s precisely two in the morning. “Seventeen hours.” If you’re a kid counting down the hours until the fat man in the red suit arrives, seventeen hours seems like a lifetime. Now it feels as if I only have seconds left on the clock.

  “Give me until midday to work out a plan of attack.” When I attempt a rebuttal, Agent Moses talks faster. “I need time, Ox. Nothing happens in an instant.”

  I could call him out as a liar. It only took me looking into Demi’s eyes once when I was seven to be a goner, but I keep my mouth shut. Not even my mom could understand my immediate fascination, so why the fuck should I expect any different from a weasel of a man like Arrow Moses?

  “Keep me updated.”

  “I will,” he promises like his pledges are worth something. “And I expect you to do the same.”

  He can’t see me, but I jerk up my chin as if he can before I disconnect our call.

  “No good?” Caidyn asks almost immediately, exposing he was eavesdropping on my conversation. I can’t blame him. It took me promising to keep him informed on all aspects of Demi’s case before he would hand me the keys to his Jeep. He wanted to pummel Col into his grave just for backhanding Demi, so I’d hate to think how far he’ll go now he knows one of Col’s hits was with a closed fist.

  “He doesn’t believe there’s enough evidence for a conviction.”

  Caidyn rounds the island in the kitchen before he props his hip against it. “How isn’t there enough evidence? You saw her assault.”

  “I only witnessed the tail end of it.” I swish my tongue around my mouth to ensure my next lot of words can make it through the carnage unscathed. “And him forcing her to kiss him.” The swish of moisture did little to lessen the scorn of my tone. It’s as furious now as the anger that pumped through me last night. “What do you think that was about? That isn’t normal, right?” We’ve kissed our aunts on the lips before, but that all ended when our top lips grew as hairy as theirs.

  “If the look on your face is anything to go by, it was far from normal.” Caidyn moves to a stack of drawers before pulling out his wallet. “Ask Avery to have a word with her. If anyone can get her to open up, Avery will be that person.”

 
; “She’s talking to me.”

  He squeezes my shoulder more in support than to maim. “I’m not saying you can’t be there for her, Maddox. I’m just asking you to step back a wee bit so she can get all the help she needs.” My brows furrow when he adds, “You don’t want Saint and Landon conspiring against you again, do you?”

  “What the fuck are you on about?”

  It’s rare for Caidyn to show fear, but I’m confident that’s what he’s expressing now. “I thought Saint told you.”

  “Told me what?” His lips hadn’t stopped moving. I’m just too damn impatient to wait.

  He takes a moment to consider how best to tell me his news before he rips off the Band-Aid in one fell swoop. “Saint wasn’t crushing on Sloane all these years. He just veered for her when Demi freaked about his approach.”

  “What are you saying, Caidyn? Are you saying he wanted Demi? Are you telling me I’m in the process of mowing my bro’s turf?”

  In all honesty, I don’t know how I’ll respond if he answers with anything but a stern no. I don’t want to hurt my brother, but I sure as fuck don’t want to step back from Demi. She cried in my arms for hours last night. She’s sleeping in my bed right now. Even despite the fucked-up mess her uncle forced us to endure, we’ve bonded. I feel closer to her than my own blood. I can’t give that up.

  “No, that’s not what I’m saying, Maddox.” The relieved breath I push out is sucked back in when he adds, “I’m saying he cares about you so much, he wanted to save you from this.” The back of his hand barely touches my chest, but it feels like he sucker-punched me. “When you went against a bully double your age to protect Demi, your chivalry was awarded with a broken nose. How much worse would it have been if that bully was the same one you’re facing now.”

  I understand what he’s saying, and I get where his worry comes from, but I don’t have to fucking agree with it. “So I should just step back and let the bullies win?”

  Caidyn shakes his head. “That’s why Saint altered the direction of his course. He saw the fear in Demi’s eyes when he approached her, and he realized he’d fucked up. He wasn’t saving you from a bully. He was being a bully… to Demi.” He snags an apple out of the fruit bowl on the island, then tosses it in the air like our conversation isn’t half as serious as it is. “We all make mistakes, Ox. Even you.”

  After winking at my gaped jaw, he crunches his teeth through the apple before he walks away. I should go after him, his unusual use of a nickname is a sure-fire indication he’s on to me, but when his dramatic exit is quickly followed by Demi’s arrival, I can only get my feet to move in one direction.

  “Hey. How are you feeling?”

  Demi drags her teeth over her lower lip to lessen the size of her smile from the fumble of my words. I’m not known for being a jittering imbecile. It just appears as if I have no control over anything when Demi is in the picture. Can you blame me? Even with her face bruised and swollen, she’d still take out Seacoast Private’s most attractive senior title. “Good. I’m not sure what was in the pain medication you gave me, but it knocked me out for a good…”

  When she strays her eyes around the cabin, seeking a clock, I lower my eyes to my watch. “Almost a whole four hours. Not a bad effort for a first-time sleepover.” I hit her with a frisky wink, lowering the panic in her eyes before pledging, “I’ll aim for eight next time.”

  My reply has a double meaning, and if the heat on Demi’s cheeks is anything to go by, she knows it.

  I relish her bloomed face for a couple of seconds before guiding her deeper into the kitchen. “Are you hungry?” She ordered an entrée last night, but since I was being an ass, she more picked at it than devoured it. She must be starved.

  With a shrug, Demi replies, “I could eat.”

  I send a silent prayer to heaven when my briefest touch causes her voice to come out higher than normal before saying, “Great, because I’m starved, and I have no fucking clue how any of this shit works.” I wave my hand over the six-burner gas stovetop my parents had installed after one of the infamous Walsh parties ended with a kitchen fire. It isn’t what you’re thinking. No one was cooking. Saint was just seeking a new term for Fireball whiskey. “If you promise not to tell anyone how bad of a cook I am, I promise to make your super early breakfast half-edible.”

  “You’re going to cook for me?” I realize food is the way to her heart when the highness of her tone has me convinced someone put a helium tank in the air vents.

  I drag my finger down her nose that looks like a slippery slide since she has to crank her neck to peer at me. She’s a good foot shorter than me. “Under your supervision, of course. We may end up dead if you don’t guide me.”

  I’m lying. It isn’t my specialty, but I can see my skills flourishing if it maintains the smile Demi is wearing now. It isn’t a full grin, the busted lump on the side of her face won’t allow a full smile, but it’s clear she’s content.

  “Are you sure you have time for this now? It’s pretty early.”

  I do a singular dip of my chin. “I have all the time in the world.” For you.

  Her smile would have you convinced she heard my unspoken words. As would what she says next, “Then, I guess I better cook. I don’t want you dying on me.”

  Three empty plates of egg benedict and many, many flirty touches later, I test the authenticity of the zap buzzing between Demi and me.

  Get your mind out of the gutter. My lips aren’t going anywhere near Demi’s unless she forces them together. Then, all bets are off. I’m merely verifying she’s as strong as the little girl who kneeled on a fresh wound to comfort the boy hurt while sticking up for her.

  “Demi, can I ask a favor?”

  She stiffens for a mere second before she stacks the final plate into the dishwasher like she never froze. “Sure.” Her short reply can’t weaken the obvious. She’s never been given anything without expecting something in return for it. Not even a shoulder to cry on.

  Although the knowledge has me wanting to backtrack, I can’t. If I don’t do this, everything I’ve done the past six months is pointless, and her bully wins.

  “Will you let me photograph your bruises?” When fret fills her face quicker than fear, I talk faster. “If you want to hold your uncle responsible for what he did, you’ll need evidence to back up your claims.” I drift my eyes over her face that will heal but is far from healed. “If we don’t give them proof, it’ll be our word against his.” I have the proof I need. I just want to gather it without a heap of lies. A lie can’t hide the truth, but it can change the truth.

  Demi’s mouth remains shut, but I see her working the ‘our’ part of my statement through her head on repeat. Once she has it decompartmentalized, she strays her eyes in the direction Caidyn walked after devouring the meal we made together like I’m a sous-chef in the making.

  “He’ll be dead to the world the instant his head hits the pillow. Food comas do that to people.” If he isn’t, I’ll knock him the fuck out if it’s the only way I can get her to agree to this. “If you’re not comfortable with me doing it, I could ask my mom or Justine to come over later today?”

  She shakes her head so fast, I’m confident her eyes feel like balls in a pinball machine. I assume her denial centers around her not wanting more people to see her banged up than necessary but am proven wrong when she stutters out, “I’m fine with you doing it.”

  “You’ll let me take them?” I sound like a prepubescent teen instead of an almost twenty-two-year-old.

  Demi’s head shake switches to a nod. “You can’t beat bullies with silence.”

  That’s what my mom said when she was called to the principal’s office the afternoon my nose was broken. She wasn’t mad all four of her sons were being suspended for fighting, she was proud they stood up for what they believed in. She would have just preferred if it weren’t four against one. It wouldn’t have been if Glen’s friends hadn’t bolted the instant Landon and Caidyn showed up with their school blaze
rs pushed up to their elbows. Saint was close behind, he just had to detour past the crossing lady, so he could borrow her stop sign. He always brings a bat to every game we play. It’s just rare for it to be shaped like a bat since we’ve never played baseball.

  I’m bad at shoving my foot in my mouth, and it’s showcased in the worst way when I snatch my phone up from the counter before nudging my head to my bedroom. “We should do it now while they’re fresh.”

  Fresh? Seriously, Maddox! That’s the best you could come up with?

  “I’m sorry. That didn’t come out right.”

  “It’s fine,” Demi murmurs before adding on a set of words that reveals she’s anything but. “I’m fine.”

  12

  Demi

  I contemplated suicide by rolling out of a vehicle driving over seventy miles an hour, was almost sexually assaulted by my uncle, had my hair wrenched from my scalp by one of his hired goons, and cried in the chest of a man I’ve had a crush on longer than I’ve been a woman, yet my knees are wobbling more now than they did last night when I stumbled out of my uncle’s Audi.

  I’m not scared.

  I’m stupidly nervous.

  And perhaps a tad bit excited.

  I thought Maddox would look at me differently. My stomach convulsed when I caught my reflection in the mirror last night, but for some insane reason, the way Maddox stares at me would have you convinced my face isn’t as battered as it feels.

  Don’t get me wrong, the uncontrollable tick his jaw gets every time his hooded eyes float over my face indicates it’s pretty messed up, but I’ll take that response over the one I was anticipating. I’d even accept the look of disgust if it keeps him here with me instead of seeking my uncle in the shady shadows of the underworld.