Innocent Eyes

by Charlotte E Hart

  We head up the gravel driveway to his house and he’s out of the car and helping me before I can even attempt to pull myself out of the low seats.

  “Is that yours as well?” I nod towards the mansion that stands proudly overlooking the grounds below.

  “Everything in the Cane name is mine.”

  “Who lives there? Your brothers?”

  “Enough with the questions, Emily.”

  “I’m just trying to understand you. You do all of this… stuff to me, and I want to see more of the man I first met on our date.”

  “Johnathon.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You had a date with Jonathan.”

  “No, I saw you. You weren’t pretending. Otherwise, I’d have never gone to your apartment.”

  “Believe what you like, Emily. Now, get your ass inside. My patience is about worn out.”

  He stands in the driveway, waiting for me to obey like a good girl. Well, tough. Not today. He’s given me an inch, and I want my mile. I wander up towards the bigger house, intrigued as to who lives inside all those windows.

  A flick of movement catches my eye, and I stare up at the third floor. The curtains move again, and my feet are taking me closer before I can stop myself.

  “Emily!” Quinn shouts, his patience gone.

  I ignore him, wanting to get a closer look at who’s in the room. Does he have a wife? A mistress? My body runs cold at that thought. Not just because of his behaviour, but because I don’t want him to belong to anyone.

  A woman comes into view, and my heart thunders in my chest. I need to see her. I need to find out who could love Quinn. I grab the camera that’s still swinging around my neck and twist the lens to focus on the window. An older woman, dressed in a cream nightgown looks out. She’s frail, or at least looks unkept. Her hair is a tangled mess, running down in a messy plait to the side of her head.

  “Put the camera away, Emily.” Quinn’s beside me.

  “Who is she?”

  “None of your business.”

  “Your mother?” It couldn’t be his wife. She is much too old for him. The relief is painful to take.

  I accompany him back to his house with no further upset.

  He doesn’t say a word. No explanation or clarification.

  We go inside, and I drop into the nearest chair, but jump at the clatter of metal hitting the glass table in front of me. A matte grey gun sits looking at me, the barrel facing away. Fear slices through me at the thought of what Quinn will do. Perhaps I pushed him too hard and now he’s fed up with me.

  “W…why do you have that?” I ask.

  “I’m always carrying, Emily. Don’t go anywhere without protection.” His words remind me that no matter what I try to believe, Quinn lives in a world so far removed from mine he might as well be on another planet. “Have you ever held a gun before? Or even seen one?” I shake my head vigorously, drawing myself away from the weapon. “Well, maybe it’s time I introduce you to my other slice of heaven.” He stands and grabs the gun from the coffee table before grabbing the lapel of my coat and dragging me to my feet.

  “Quinn, I don’t want to. Stop. It’s fine. I don’t want…”

  “You do what I want, and right now, I want to show you how to use my gun.” He circles around me and reaches for my hand, pressing the cool metal against my palm and encasing my hand around it. “There you are. Now, hold it properly. Let’s get your other hand to help.” He pushes my left hand and moves the palm to cup the base of my hand, raising my arms so I’m aiming the gun. “There.” My hands shake as I take the weight of the gun. Quinn’s lips are at my ear, his breath tickling my neck. “This is a big gun. A forty-five calibre. It’s killed a lot of people.” He whispers the words as if caressing my skin with them. My hands begin to tremble as I hold it, the weight pulling my arms down. “Keep your arms up and locked out, Em. How will you shoot someone if you can’t aim?”

  “I’m not going to shoot anyone, Quinn.”

  “It’s easy. All you have to do is squeeze the trigger. Wrap your forefinger around that little lever and pull.”

  “No, it’s not that easy to kill someone. You’re talking about firing a gun. There’s a difference.” I can’t fight off the thought of a bullet ripping through someone’s flesh as the end of the gun waves unsteadily out in front of me. My body starts to shake, terrified of what Quinn may make me do next.

  “Of course, before you pull the trigger, you have to slide the safety off. This gun is too big for your hands, but I can pop that little switch easily.” His hand comes up around mine and presses a little switch on the side of the gun.

  “Is it loaded?” It’s a stupid question to ask. Of course he’d have it loaded.

  “Yes, we’ll get to loading the clip later.” He drops my arms and steps around me. “What do you think?”

  “About what?”

  “The gun. How does it feel in your hands?” He steps further away from me out of my direct aim, a smile playing at the edge of his lips.

  “It’s cold. And heavier than I thought.”

  “Uh huh.”

  “Quinn?” He’s looking at me standing in the middle of his front room holding his gun. He looks… pleased.

  “Don’t drop it. Not yet.” He walks towards me, this time in my line of vision. I have the gun. It’s loaded, but at no point do I think of it as a way to escape. All I can focus on is the damage it could do. How dangerous this is, yet Quinn carries it with him everywhere he goes.

  “Now, I’m protecting you.” His smile broadens as he steps right up to my side. The closer he gets, the less my body trembles, the weight of the gun growing lighter with every step.

  “I don’t need a gun.”

  “You’re in my world, dirty girl. We all need a gun.” He takes a deep inhale as one hand encompasses mine holding the gun, relieving me of its burden. “I like the way fear smells on you. Almost as good as when you’re wet for me.”

  He bites at my throat, stunning me, before he moves to wrap his arms around me. He pushes his crotch against my leg and I can feel how hard he is. The sound of the gun hitting the glass table makes me flinch as he pushes me back onto the sofa.

  “You didn’t shoot me, Emily. You didn’t run. Even with my gun.”

  His words sink into my psyche as his hands cover me. They roam my body, removing layer upon layer until I’m laid bare for him.

  He’s right. I register that this wasn’t just his warped way of protecting me. It was a test, and in Quinn’s eyes, I passed.

  Chapter Seventeen

  My father’s office smelt as old as he does when I worked in it this morning. It smelt of decay and rot, just like he does. No matter how many times the servants clean it or layer it with fragrance, it always harks back to what he did to our family. Too much booze and the opinion that he was above the rest of the mobs. He played the wrong damned hand that day. He sat in a game of cards with Joe Mortoni, putting his trust in lowlife scum to do his job, and drank his way to celebrations rather than staying on top of the deal going down. The sequence of events unfolded before he had time to do anything about it, Joe not giving a damn. He got a prize either way.

  A damn game of cards.

  The thought causes a snort of indignance as I stare the fucker in front of me down, waiting for his explanation of why my own shipment through Columbia has been delayed. One thing this Cane doesn’t do is avoid the ground beneath my feet, or forget where the money’s made.

  Spanish pours out of his mouth, his body erupting with hand gestures and tired excuses. I roll my dice, watching him look at his sidekick, too annoyed to give a damn whether he’s related to families I should care a fuck for or not. This happened once before, early on when we started dealing with him. Traceability leads back to half my coke being off-loaded in Bolivia, so this dick can syphon off a few hundred grand. Two weeks later, and it’s all back to me ready for distribution. The fact that the dick’s made his money by deceiving me, not mentioned. I let it slid
e the last time, not bothered by the money as long as I got my own, but now it’s over a month late and it’s having an impact on Columbia’s distribution rate, which in turn makes me look like a fucking fool who can’t manage his business.

  That shit’s not happening.

  The sidekick looks fidgety as he stands there and hovers his hand around his jacket pocket, ready to draw a fucking weapon should the need arise. That pisses me off more than the continued lies falling from Rohas Denago’s mouth.

  “You understand?” Rohas says, taking a step towards my desk. “It’s on its way.”

  I roll my dice again, waiting for some fucking truth and sneering at his deceit. I’d probably calm this fucking storm rising inside if he’d been honest, find a way to end this business dealing sensibly, but coming here and lying to me, the whole damn time having a threatening gun under a coat to save his lying ass, is not the best way to approach this situation. “Quinn?”

  Still I say nothing as the dice grind in my palm, telling him everything he should already know. I’m pissed, aggravated by the issue, and don’t want this dick screwing up my business any longer. I should have killed him the last time, had him fucking drowned on the way over, but professionalism took over. It’s not something I give one fuck for this time.

  “From what I can work out, you owe me around four hundred grand, Rohas. I want it.”

  He looks shocked, hands flying up into the air to defend himself, the other dick taking a step forward towards Rohas’ back. I smile at that, watching the way his hand slips under that jacket, ready to protect at all costs. At least they’re a loyal pair of deceitful fucks. “You give me my money, get the shipment to my client in two days, and you get to walk out of my office alive, Rohas.” My office. The one I came to after I couldn’t damn well deal with the stench of my father’s inability any longer. The memory from this morning was enough to remind me about staying on top of everything, which is why this meeting was called. I’d rather have gone back to Emily and fucked the morning away, but this has become untenable, and no one fucks a Cane over any more.

  I press the buzzer under my desk, calling Rody as arranged, and lever the gun from its holster beside it. He walks in within seconds, followed by two more of my men, and shuts the door, guns already aimed at the backs of Rohas and sidekick. I chuckle and look at the faces of dicks one and two, swinging my laptop screen towards them and entering codes so he can transfer my money back to me.

  “You fucking inbreed. You think this is a game you can play with me?” I growl out, pulling up my gun and laying it on the desk beside the screen.

  Games. It’s all fucking games and deviations for these kinds of players. Always has been. Who gets the most money, who launders it quickest, who accumulates their wealth fastest to track their ranking up the chain. It’s fuckers like this who caused my mother’s rape, caused her turmoil to this day. My father’s shipment got hijacked on the way to Puerto Rico by these types, then got lost through the masses as he got high on whores and missed it all happening behind his back. It was Joe’s money he fucked with, though. Cane and Mortoni worked together on the biggest deal they could manage for the first time. Cane connections, Mortoni money.

  My father and his damned ego fucked the whole deal up.

  I stand and round the desk, dragging my fingers over the wood, still able to feel the blood that lingers in its mahogany from others who thought fucking with me would be useful to their ascension up the ranks.

  Rohas looks green, an insipid colour rising through his body as he realises his little fucking lie has been processed and dealt with long before this meeting started.

  “I’ve not got the money,” he says, watching me get in front of his face and trying to back away. He slams straight into dick two, who has a gun pressed to the back of his head.

  “That’s unfortunate,” I reply, rolling my sleeves up and waiting for more from his mouth. Nothing comes out of it as I stare, wondering what to do with him. I should have Rody kill them both, have it done quickly and cleanly, but it’s pissed me off enough to want to get my own hands dirty. The whole scenario smacks of old school revelations and the kinds of things my father accepted, ignored. Look where that shit got Cane.

  It’s not happening again.

  I’ve grabbed the fucker before his mouth finds something to say, pushing him over to the window and causing the blinds to ricochet about the surface. He struggles, his hands pushing at my chest in an attempt to get away while his body twists in my hold, grunting and wailing. I just squeeze tighter with my hand, feeling the sinews of his neck beneath my grip and constricting it further. The thrill rushes back into memory, riling me up and boiling blood I’ve kept at bay. There isn’t any getting away from this room for him. None. No one fucks with me, and this insidious world he plays, the one I counter with every move to keep us safe, needs to remember that. Have it fucking spelt out in blood if need be.

  He sputters and coughs out incoherent words as I grab tighter at his damned throat, watching the life drain from his features, eyes wide and hands clawing at my shoulders. I sneer at his attempt and stare into blackening pupils, noting the dilation and enjoying the final thought of death. It’s been a while since I’ve seen it by my own hands, felt it in them. Bullets always nullify the impression it leaves on my skin, making it feel like a cleaner affair, but this happening in my fingers now is cold, merciless, regardless of the warmth beneath them. It’s what Quinn Cane was a few years ago when Father told me where to go and what to do. A killer’s symphony is what he called me. His boy the killer. He was proud of me for it.

  I snarl at the thought and glare at Rohas’ weakening frame, annoyed with his lack of fight. Fucking inbreed is right. He should have had the cunt behind me pull the damn trigger, waged war on Cane that way, but he didn’t have the balls to dare, did he? Thought he could lie his damn way out and screw with my family, threaten it, and so now here he is, dying with no fucking chance of avoiding it.

  “Shouldn’t have fucked with me,” I grind out, letting my fingers tighten further and feeling his hands drop from my shoulders. The blackening pupils dilate further, the small snatch of brown almost disappearing as I hear the final wheeze of breath and hold him against the shuttered window. “Shouldn’t have let the suit fool you.”

  Silence then, only the sound of his body falling to the ground as I let him go and sneer down at it. Killer. It’s the vicious part of me I’ve tried to leave behind, reducing its need to unnecessary in my business lately. It reminds me too much of the stench of Father on my skin, taunting me with my inability to kill that cunt, too, and lowers our class to old school disciplines that should be left to rot with him.

  Not today, apparently.

  I roll my sleeves back down and turn to look at sidekick. His head’s lowered as he looks at Rohas’ lifeless body, a shaking hand still hovering around his fucking jacket. He should give that shit a go, see how far it gets him with my current mood.

  “You know where my shipment is?” I ask, giving him a chance at life.

  He nods repeatedly, his eyes slowly coming up to mine.

  Good.

  I turn back to look at Rohas’ body, nudging his face with my shoe, waiting for something to affect me. Nothing does. No guilt. No remorse as I gaze over the corpse. My hands reach for my dice, slowly rolling them around in my palm. There’s nothing coming back at me from the floor but the occasional spasm of early death, the twitch coming from muscles giving in. My own body remains still, not one fucking tremor to show a conscience. That’s long fucking gone, left behind so I could protect my family and all that comes with that obligation. It’s what this skin and flesh were trained to do, what they have to do. No emotion other than what’s necessary. Just keep the power strong, the enemies weak.

  The only emotion I seem to feel comes from my dirty girl, and that’s becoming less to do with fucking than it should be.

  River walks. Dates.

  “Rody, go pick her up. Tell her to wear something nice
.”

  I turn back to the four of them, wondering if I should kill the sidekick, too, but the shipment is in his damned hands, waiting to get to my channels. “And get this dick to Nate. Have him handle the negotiations before I kill him.” Rody smiles at me, nothing to do with the order. It’s to do with Emily and the thought that maybe a Cane could be happy with one woman. He’s a dick, too. If he thinks any of us deserves one ounce of fucking happiness, he’s wrong.

  I snort at him and nod my head at the other two, turning for my desk. “You pair can get rid of this stench from my office.”

  I don’t hear anything else after that. I’m too busy getting my shipment back in order to give a damn what happens to Raphael Denago’s son. The boys will work it safely enough. They always do. Raphael will call me in the next few days and ask me about the shipment and where Rohas is. I’ll tell him he’s six feet under, and then explain how much money his son has been skimming off our business dealings, followed by how much the rest of his fucking family stands to lose if there’s any comeback. That should end the damn conversation before it starts.

  Honour amongst thieves.

  An hour later and I’ve called Rody, sending him towards a downtown bar with my date. The thought makes me chuckle as I rev the car and head out onto the freeway, ready for a drink and something to wipe my mind of the night. It’s not how it should be. This isn’t what I intended when I brought her here, but it’s happening without my consent. She’s burrowing in somehow, making me question shit I had no intention of questioning. I don’t even know why, or how. She’s just there, somehow asking me to think about her rather than the hour or two more of work I should be doing. I’ve spent an hour achieving nothing but thinking about getting my dick inside her, wiping away what my hands did earlier. I didn’t even know I needed it wiping off me ‘til she started smiling in my head and talking of new lives out there for my kind. It’s fucked up.