Maddox (The Italian Cartel Book 5)

by Shandi Boyes

  That’s all set to change now.

  I can’t hold in the rage anymore. I can’t brush it off with a cocky grin and a couple of well-rehearsed lines. I’m a murderer. Those advantages are no longer mine to use. I can only hope my new title won’t change how Demi looks at me because, if it does, I may as well have let my opponent kill me. I was only there for her, just like I’m only here for her now too.

  “I need you to wait here, okay?” I say to Demi after parking my bike at the side of a rusted bar on the outskirts of Hopeton. It’s attached to a twenty-four-hour service station that looks like it went out of business in the eighties.

  Before Demi can answer me, I lift my shirt to my midsection, stealing her words. She isn’t just gawking at my bruised abs, she’s stunned into silence by the wires strapped to my chest.

  “You were wearing a wire?” she asks after a couple of hearty swallows. “Oh my God, Maddox, if they find out you were wearing a wire, they’ll kill you…” The stomping of my boot into the recording device steals the rest of her reply.

  The ancient equipment agent Moses wired me with should have been the first indication I was being played. Regretfully, Saint was right when he said I have tunnel vision when it comes to Demi. That was his excuse for keeping us apart this long. He thought it was the only way he could protect me.

  If the last twenty-four hours are anything to go by, I hate admitting he was right.

  Does that mean I’ll go back and let Demi leave when she raced out of the restaurant last night? No fucking chance in hell. My dad fell in love with my mother in under an hour. I think I broke the family record with Demi.

  After removing the stolen plates Saint hooked me up with, I dump them into a bin at the side of my bike before cupping Demi’s cheeks in my hands. It kills me that her face is more banged up than it was last night. I’m dying to ask her what she endured during our absence, but I can’t just yet. If I know the full extent of her injuries, I’ll be on track for my second murder tonight.

  “No matter what you hear, I need you to stay here, okay?”

  She looks like she wants to deny my request, but instead, she awards me the blind faith I gave her last night when she asked to store Col’s card into my wallet. She could have found anything in there—condoms, hotel room receipts. Hell, I’m reasonably sure there are a handful of numbers tucked away for a rainy day in my wallet, yet I gave her unhindered access like I did my cell phone. “Don’t be long.”

  “I won’t,” I assure her.

  It only takes two seconds to kick a man’s ass, so Agent Moses should take half that since he isn’t close to being a man.

  I press my lips to Demi’s like they have the power to switch me back from a murderer to an everyday civilian. Although they do lower my anger by a smidge, it isn’t enough to alter my plan of attack. I was fucked over tonight, in more ways than one. I can’t ignore that.

  Old-town blues music blasts into my ears when I push through the swinging door of Charlie’s Pub. It isn’t the place you’d expect to find a bunch of federal agents. I guess that’s why they frequent here. They take up more of the floor space than the regular folks, and the wisdom frustrates me to no end. If they had done their job, my hands wouldn’t be stained with another man’s blood. They let me down, and the weasel at the back of the group was the main culprit.

  “I can explain,” Agent Moses blubbers out when I join him at the end of the bar, away from prying eyes. “I took it to my supervisor. He said there wasn’t enough to work with. I tried to call you. Your cell rang out.”

  A fool would believe him.

  I’m no fucking idiot.

  I only left his side when I commenced the hour commute to the warehouse where the to-the-death fight was being held. He said a crew was on standby. They were supposed to raid the warehouse before I got close to the ring.

  He left me hung out to dry.

  Now he’s about to be hung by the same wire.

  I kick up a barstool in a way Saint would be proud of at the same time I fist Agent Moses’s preppy-boy shirt. When the top two buttons in his shirt pop from my brutal clutch, I imagine Demi being grabbed in the same manner. The neckline of her dress goes down to the wire in her bra because her buttons were forcefully removed from her clothing. They’re no longer there to fasten.

  Acting oblivious to the number of weapons on me, I snarl out, “You said you had a crew in lockdown. I only had to prove the matches were taking place, then you were gonna get us out.” Those were the exact words he spoke to me when he flagged me down half a mile out from Dimitri’s private residence this afternoon. He said if I knew the location of the fight, he had a way of getting Demi out uninjured.

  I stupidly believed him.

  That isn’t happening this time around.

  “You fucked me over, Arrow.”

  He signals for his fellow agents to stand down before returning his eyes to me. “I called you, Ox. I told you to pull back, that we didn’t have the resources. What more could I have done?”

  He tries to weasel his way out of my hold like words alone will suffocate my anger. His misjudgment only makes me clutch him even firmer. “A lot more! That’s what you should have done. I can’t come back from this! Demi can’t come back from this! You fucking ruined us!”

  His terrorized eyes bounce between mine. “What happened to Demi? Did something happen? Did Col hurt her?” My stomach gurgles during his last question. Even if I hadn’t seen the exchange between Demi and Col in his Audi, his tone ensures I’d never be uncertain as to what his question is referencing.

  The genuine concern for Demi in his eyes sees me breaking the barstool over the bar instead of his head. Just like earlier, don’t misread my actions. I’m fucking ropeable. I want to beat him until his eyes blacken with death, but my focus needs to be elsewhere right now.

  I killed a man to save Demi, but I have no clue if I was too late. Was she hurt before I arrived? The relief in her eyes when I made a beeline for her after breaking the neck of my opponent has me skeptical, but I’ll never know if I stay here.

  The fret in Agent Moses’s eyes when I grabbed him doubles as I end his bullshit with a handful of words. “I’m done. Whatever this is, was, or could have been is done.” I clutch his shirt for a few more minutes before I push him away from me with a grunt.

  Like a fool not in fear for his life, he straightens his disheveled shirt and tie before he attempts to barter with me, “You need to think about this, Ox. My recommendation will get you in the door. If you don’t have it, you may not make it through the initial interview process.”

  “It’s not like the Bureau hires murderers,” I mumble before I can stop myself.

  Agent Moses replies, but I miss what he says since I’m heading for the door. Even with Arrow demanding for his colleagues to stand down, our exchange has gained too many onlookers for me to feel confident I’ll make it out of this bar without handcuffs circling my wrist. Considering Demi’s well-being is at the forefront of my mind, I can’t let that happen. Not even the manifestation of the badge he’s been promising me the past seven months can detract from that.

  I work my jaw side to side when Agent Moses halts my exit with a snarled comment. “You either continue doing as requested or face life behind bars.”

  “Life for breaking the buttons on your shirt?” I ask with a laugh. “Send me your tailor’s bill. I’ll pay for the repairs.”

  “You wrecked more than a handful of buttons tonight. An entire family’s life was upended in an instant. Perhaps even more than one.”

  I don’t need to spin to know what he’s referencing. I can hear the sickening details. The squeak that popped from Demi’s mouth when she was dragged away from the ring by her hair. The crack of Igor’s neck. His final breath. I hear it all, and it’s coming from the direction of the cell phone in Agent Moses’s hand.

  “Where did you get that footage?” My voice is thick with anger. He could have only gotten that footage two ways. He was either at th
e event that changed me in an instant, or he knows someone who was. Either way, I’m pissed as fuck he has proof of how far I’ll go for a girl some may believe I’ve only just met.

  “Where I got it from isn’t the issue.” He saunters my way, all pompous and shit. “Who I give it to should be your sole concern.”

  “Being in possession of such evidence and not handing it to the authorities is a crime in itself. If I go down for this, so the fuck will you.” I could be way off the mark, but I’ve got to try something. If I don’t, who will defend Demi when her uncle comes to?

  When Agent Moses doesn’t bother with a reply, acutely aware he has me backed into a corner, I open and close my fists two times before asking, “What do you want?”

  “The same deal we already have,” he replies without pause for thought. “Just on a bigger circuit.”

  I scoff, confident my fists won’t make him enough coin he’s willing to lose himself in the process. There has to be more at play here than I’m seeing.

  My inner monologue trails off when a disturbing thought enters my mind. He had images of Demi schmoozing men who lost their lives in the ring. That means he’s known of Col’s operation for months, and he’s done nothing about it. That makes him as corrupt as Col, and in a way, he’s partly responsible for my opponent’s death tonight. He has the resources to stop Col, yet he doesn’t. If that isn’t proof I can’t trust him, nothing will convince me.

  Needing time to work out a plan of attack, I mutter, “You have my number.”

  Agent Moses bobs his head like a bobble-head toy, unaware I’m not straight-up agreeing with his plans. “You made the right decision, Ox,” he shouts as I push through the swinging entry door.

  Just as I’m about to round the corner I left Demi on, my path is blocked by a man I’d guess to be mid-twenties with blond hair, a wiry beard, and icy-blue eyes. The fact he steps back in my way when I try to move past him reveals he bumped into me on purpose, much less what he says next, “What happened to your knuckles? They look a little busted up.”

  Even without him carrying a weapon, I know he’s an agent. They have a scent I plan to scrub from my skin the instant I get home. A smell that makes me as pissed as fuck I ever thought I wanted to be a part of their operation.

  “It’s nothing,” I reply with a smile, acting as if his narrowed gaze isn’t bouncing between my bloody knuckles and swollen cheek. “Some dude was sniffing around my sister. I told him to back off with more than words. I’m sure you’d do the same for your sister.”

  He lets me sidestep him this time around, but I only make it two steps before a name stops me in my tracks. “Justine?”

  After wiping the riled expression off my face, I spin back around to face the unnamed agent. I’m pretty good with faces. If I’ve seen his before, he must have had plastic surgery. That’s how unrecognizable he is.

  I jerk up my chin as if my blood isn’t boiling. “How do you know Justine?” Since she’s the only common denominator we have, I work with it.

  “I don’t know her,” he replies, way too cockily. While smirking at my stunned expression, he digs a photo out of his pocket like it’s a portrait of his family, then unfolds it. “I’m just surprised the guy you beat up doesn’t have a single mark on his face.” He waits for me to absorb Justine sitting across from Dimitri Petretti in an intimate setting before he adds, “If she were my sister, I wouldn’t have let him get that far.” When I snatch the long-range photograph out of his hand, he mutters, “You can keep it. I’ve got plenty more where that came from.”

  He hits me with a cocky wink before he saunters away. As he breaks through the front entry door, I stumble upon Demi being held up by a tall man with a shiny head. He isn’t holding her up with any part of his body. He’s talking—a lot.

  “I-I-I’m sure,” Demi stutters out when I join them next to my bike. “But thank you for the offer.”

  I picture the horror on my mother’s face if she ever discovers what I did tonight when the man in a plaid shirt shifts on his feet to face me. He doesn’t say anything, but the look on his face reveals he thinks I’m responsible for the marks on Demi’s face. In a way, he’s right. If I hadn’t fallen into Agent Moses’s trap, Demi would have been uninjured, so every mark on her face is my fault.

  The agent’s Russian accent is thick even with the gun on his hip being government-issued. “Enjoy the rest of your evening.”

  Demi waits for him to join the other agents in the bar before she updates me on what their conversation was about. “He’s a federal agent, Maddox. He wanted to know who hit me and asked if I’d like to press charges.” After shoving a card for Special Agent in Charge Tobias Brahn into my hand, she scrubs a hand down her face like it isn’t battered. “Jesus. If my uncle finds out I spoke with anyone in the FBI, he’ll—”

  “He won’t find out,” I assure her, confident the men she thinks are her uncle’s enemies aren’t. “But you need to be careful who you talk to. It’s just you and me, all right? No one else.”

  Her brutal swallow reveals she understands my underhanded request. I don’t want word getting out that I’m a killer.

  “I won’t tell a soul. You have my word, Maddox.”

  Some may say I’m a fool for believing her.

  I’ll tell you it’s a Walsh trait.

  19

  Maddox

  As we reach the road my family cabin is on, I lower the revs of my motorbike. I’ve taken every back road known, whizzed past the main entrance three times, and rode the last two miles without headlights, hopeful our arrival would occur without fanfare. I should have realized Sloane would detect Demi’s presence half a mile out. She barrels down the front stairs of the cabin before we’re halfway down the driveway, and even quicker than that, she tugs Demi off my bike before removing her helmet.

  “He’s dead,” Sloane states matter-of-factly after taking in the bruises on Demi’s face. “Saint, get my gun. I’m going to fucking kill him.”

  “You have a gun?” Demi and Saint ask at the same time.

  Before Sloane can answer, her focus shifts to the set of keys Caidyn hands me. They were passed over with two overflowing suitcases of clothes. “What’s that? Were they clothes? I’ve told you before, you don’t need to pack clothes for a weekend trip. My parents have everything we need at my family’s country estate.” After bouncing her eyes between a silent Caidyn, Saint, and me, she locks them with Demi’s. “We’re not going to my family’s estate, are we?”

  The fact she thinks a couple of days at a country manor is a solution for our predicament shows how little she knows about Demi’s family. Saint didn’t question me when I requested for him to pack Demi’s things. Caidyn was a little more vocal, but more on the location of our hideout than the fact we need to bunker down while planning our next move.

  Gratitude smacks into me when Demi slips her hand into mine before she tilts into my side. I thought seeing me kill a man would have her pulling away, not drawing closer. I’m as grateful as fuck it seems as if nothing has changed. “Maddox and I need to get away for a couple of days.” She wets her dry lips before forcing out a set of words I’m certain will hurt her friend but must be said. “I want to go with him. I feel safe with him. He will protect me.”

  “Okay,” Sloane replies, her one word groggy. “Then why don’t we come with you guys? We can pretend we’re ranchers living off the land. I’ve got my boots. I’ll go grab them. Anything else we need, I’ll buy on the way.”

  Demi stops her dart up the stairs by shooting her hand out to caress her arm. She doesn’t speak. She doesn’t need to. Her best friend can see the pleas in her eyes, so I won’t mention the constant shake of Saint’s head.

  With her lower lip protruding, Sloane asks, “Can we at least text?”

  Demi throws her arms around her neck and hugs her tight. “Every single day. I promise.”

  While she adds additional words to her pledge, I jerk my head to the side, wordlessly requesting an impromptu Walsh
family meeting. We’re missing Landon, but considering he’d spend the next three hours lecturing me on responsible decision-making, I’d rather he be absent. I don’t have time to burn.

  “Has Mom and Dad gone to the Four Seasons?” Our parents have had a timeshare in a two-bedroom condo for over a decade. They usually only visit in the summer, but Saint has the gift of the gab. He convinced them there’s no such thing as too many vacation days.

  Saint lifts his chin. “And Landon promised to take Justine back to school this morning, but I still have a bad feeling about this.” He joins me near the trunk of his car. “Running won’t change anything. If you made a deal with Dimitri, then go against it, you’ll have all sides coming at you.”

  “I don’t have much choice, Sebastian. I can’t stay here.” The fact I use his real name exposes how blurry my head feels.

  “Why not?” Caidyn intervenes, unaware of the full story. He knows I fought tonight, but he has no clue it was a deathmatch. None of my brothers do. I kept that snippet of information solely between Demi and me. Well, so I thought. My altercation with Agent Moses this evening exposed tonight there’s a massive leak in my boat.

  With my head still in the disbelief stage of my remorse, I give a less murderous excuse for my cowardice. “I hit Col Petretti. It wasn’t a fairy tap. I’m reasonably sure I knocked him out.” For the first time in my life, my voice doesn’t have an ounce of cockiness to it. “I think I broke his nose.”

  Saint hisses out a cuss, whereas Caidyn straight up shouts his. Their responses expose I was right to hold back all the details of my night. If they think hitting a mobster is bad, imagine their reaction when I tell them I killed a man.