by Coralee June
Forty-One tipped his hat at me and grabbed a silver necklace. “She choked on one of the collector’s edition thousand dollar bills that she’d stolen from her husband. I did it back when killing was fun, before I was picky about the lives I took. Her husband ended up being Twenty-Three when I learned he was a fucking liar.”
I swallowed before making my way over to the shoes. There were some black pumps that had me salivating. Whoever said retail therapy was a thing was dead on. Why hadn’t I gone shopping sooner?
“Those shoes are hot. You’re getting them,” he said in a dreamy voice before spitting the wad of chewing tobacco into an empty water bottle that he was carrying. I stared with disdain at the brown-colored spit before grabbing the shoes in my size.
“I’ve been following you, Rachel.”
The hair on the back of my neck prickled when I realized what he’d said. I had a hit man following me and hadn’t even noticed. “Oh?” I asked, debating on reaching for my phone and calling my driver.
“Yep. I needed to see if you were legit. I was also curious to see how you’d go about getting information. Happy to report that I like you, Blondie. And the shorter hair is killer, but please let me take you to get it cleaned up. Edgy is in style, but you’ve got some long pieces that need trimming, darlin’.”
I didn’t know what to address first. His story about number Two had me wondering if he was worried I’d been lying to him. Did he investigate everyone that hired him, or just me? My racing heart slowed down a bit, and I turned to look at him over my shoulder. “I haven’t really been working as much as I should.”
“I didn’t expect it overnight. Besides, you’ve been busy. Godfrey Taylor, huh?” he asked with a smirk. “That’s one bona fide Savannah Heir right there. I almost used his father’s services once when I had a kill go bad,” Forty-One said with a frown before walking over to the dressing room. After hanging everything up on the rack, he grabbed my hand and tugged me inside, closing the curtain behind me as he stood watch outside. I wasn’t surprised that he knew I’d been spending my time with Godfrey. Something told me that Forty-One was thorough.
“Godfrey Taylor is an asshole,” I growled while stripping out of my clothes and trying on a dress he’d picked out. Slamming the curtain open, I walked out and did a little spin.
“Most of the pretty ones are, unfortunately,” Forty-One replied before grabbing the box of shoes and guiding me to a chair nearby. I sat down, and he crouched at my feet to put on the heels I’d been eying. “Sometimes you gotta lose others while you find yourself.”
Again, my mind went to the Forty-One others he had lost.
Once the heels were on, I stood up and walked over to the mirror to see the completed look, and my eyebrows raised when I saw my reflection. I felt beautiful. The dress clung to my curves and had a slit up the thigh. It complimented my skin, and my new shorter hair showed off my slender shoulders and bony clavical. “I think I’m finding myself,” I whispered while staring at the girl in the mirror. Her eyes were red from crying, and there was a bite mark on her neck. The track lines on her arm didn’t look like a weakness anymore, it looked like survival.
Godfrey Taylor had ignited me with fire only to douse me with a shock of cold water, leaving me to choke alone. But I couldn’t let him ruin me, just like I couldn’t let Pick win. I knew our connection was a real, tangible thing. And despite all the cruel words he spat at me, I couldn’t turn off the feelings I had for him. I refused to believe it was my fucked up mind, clinging to something unattainable. But I was okay with waiting it out. I was okay with focusing on this new version of myself and meeting him somewhere in the middle. I was proud of the healing I’d done so far, and I liked the girl I was becoming. For the first time since getting out of the hospital, I didn’t cringe at my reflection in the mirror.
“You look beautiful, darlin’,” Forty-One said, coming up behind me and grabbing hold of my arms, giving them a squeeze. “Now, let’s go get your haircut,” he said, petting my hair and eyeing the jagged ends. “We can brainstorm on how to find that son of a bitch, Pick, while you get a blow out.”
How could I resist a proposition like that?
Chapter Twenty-Four
Godfrey
The picture on my phone had me gritting my teeth.
The moment Rachel Nomar left my house, Rogue started following her. It was part of the plan. I needed to keep Rachel at arm’s length, but that didn’t mean I trusted her asshole father to keep her safe. She’d gone to the mall and met up with some cowboy poser that had his hands all over her. She hadn’t even noticed Rogue watching her, taking photos of them together. She’d been too wrapped up in fucking Cowboy Carl.
Rogue: She keeps calling him Forty-One. I’ll send the photo to Bonham and have him look into this guy.
Forty-One? What the fuck did that even mean? Did she meet this douche online? Now that I’d pushed her away, had she just gone to find a replacement? That was real fucking quick.
The thought of her scratching up another person while she writhed and moaned for him had me seeing red, and if I didn’t have a meeting with her father scheduled for this afternoon, I’d go up to that mall and kick his ass. Then I’d pull her into a dressing room and make her come on my mouth so she’d remember that no one else could make her feel the way I did.
To be honest, it bothered me how easily she’d believed me when I pushed her away. Rachel was used to calling me on my shit, and even though I knew the right words to say to get her out of here, it didn’t make it any easier knowing that I’d been the one to put that hurt in her eyes.
“You’re a dumbass,” Scarlett seethed at me once more. She hated what I’d done. She knew what it was like to be on the other side of this fucked up plan and didn’t like it one bit.
“You love me,” I said with a cheeky grin, trying to hide how fucking tortured I was at seeing the photo of Rachel. It wasn’t just that she was with someone else; it was the red rims around her eyes and the way her shoulders were slumped.
“I’d love you more if you didn’t come up with dumbass plans. You shouldn’t have pushed her away and lied to her.”
“Do you have any better ideas, Scar?” I asked.
I loved her, but it was easy to criticize the plan when you weren’t the one coming up with better solutions. She went silent, and I knew I had my answer. We had to keep Rachel out of this and trust that her father was overprotective enough to handle it on his own.
I was twirling my keys on my finger while walking out to my car. “Just be careful, alright?” she called after me. I knew this meeting with Rocco would be difficult, but it had to be done. I didn’t answer her, mostly because it was a moot point. Nothing about going to tell Rocco I was hired to kill his daughter would bode well for me.
I met Rocco on my turf, at the Salvador bar. I knew that if we met up at one of his warehouses, there was a good chance I wouldn’t come back out alive.
Luis gave us a table on the second floor, where I had a view to the bar area below. It was early still, so instead of a DJ and club scene, there was an acoustic band playing on the stage and people enjoying a late lunch. My eyes scanned the entrance every few seconds as I waited with only a coffee to distract me. I didn’t want to drink alcohol for this meeting. I needed to be on alert.
Just when I was about to do another pass, my line of vision was interrupted by Rocco sliding into the chair across from me. I had no fucking idea how he’d come inside without me noticing, but there were two bodyguards with him taking the table behind us, their eyes scanning the crowd like I’d been doing.
“Rocco.”
Rocco already had a drink in his hand, and he took a generous sip before hissing through his teeth and setting the glass down on the shiny black table between us. “Taylor. I’m a busy man, and you had me drive all the way into downtown Savannah for this meeting. This better be important.”
“It is if you consider your daughter’s life important.”
My words made R
occo drop the bored, irritated look on his face. In an instant, I had his full, harsh attention, and I finally saw him wearing his gangster boss mask. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
“I didn’t get you any names from Rachel,” I admitted. “And to be honest, I probably wouldn’t give them to you even if I had. She has her reasons for not telling you, so maybe instead of demanding names from her, you should ask her why she won’t tell you.”
“I’m not interested in parenting advice from a fucking high school boy,” he snapped. “What did you mean about my daughter’s life?”
I shoved the coffee cup away and braced my hands against the tabletop. “You know my father is connected with the Macon Mob.”
“Of course I fucking know that.”
“And you know that they’re pissed off at me and my father for what happened with JJ. They wanted me dead, so my father paid them off but that wasn’t enough. They want us to prove our loyalty again. The new leader, Eddie, found out that I’d taken Rachel to the poker game. Someone saw us together, I guess.”
Rocco cursed under his breath.
I paused. “He wants her dead. And he wants me to be the one to kill her.”
I half expected Rocco to pull out the gun I knew was holstered to his hip and shoot me. I knew he was a damn good shot, had seen the evidence of it when he had his men first kidnap us. I braced myself for the inevitable fight, but it never came.
Instead, Rocco’s jaw tightened. “I thought we had a deal, Godfrey. I’m a man of my word. I can take care of your father.”
“But can you really take on the Macon Mob?” I asked incredulously. “Last I checked, they made you their bitch. It’s one thing to make Gerald Taylor disappear, it’s another thing altogether to take down the entire criminal organization cutting his checks.”
Rocco leaned back in his seat, eating up my words like the bitter pills they were. “I’ll need more time,” he gritted.
“Time is a luxury we don't have. The more I’m seen with Rachel, the more they threaten people I care about. I can’t wait for you to grow a pair and take care of this problem. The only reason I’m warning you now is because my father raised me not to fuck up my deals. Probably the only good thing he ever taught me. When I don’t kill her, they’re going to come for me, and then they’re going to kill her anyway. You’re out of time, Rocco.”
I didn’t think it was worth it to tell Rocco Nomar the real reason I wasn’t leaving him and his daughter high and dry. I figured it would be bad for whatever future I had planned with Rachel if I admitted that not only was I supposed to kill her, but I had a never-ending urge to protect her and fuck her pain away. I wanted to watch her grow stronger and stronger.
“Fuck, Godfrey,” Rocco mumbled.
I knew he was playing the odds in his head, counting how much man power he had and figuring out how to cut his losses. I’d seen that calculating stare many times on the betting table. Rocco Nomar didn’t want to lose. He wanted it all. Too bad he couldn’t have it all, and if he chose to stay here instead of flee and protect his daughter, he’d lose my respect, too—not that he had much of it to begin with.
“If you can’t kill them, then you have to leave. Get out of town. Cut your losses. I’m sure you have enough cash to flee. Start over somewhere else, get Rachel out of the crosshairs. You know I’m a betting man, and I bet the next man they send won’t be as defiant as me.” The thought of anyone else going after Rachel to hurt her had me clenching my fist.
“So that’s it? You’re telling me to run?” Rocco asked, his face growing red with anger. “I never pegged you for a coward, boy.”
I stood up in a rush, kicking my chair back in the process. My quick, aggressive movement had his bodyguards tensing. One of Rocco’s men placed his hand on his concealed gun and took a step closer. I could feel the entire restaurant’s eyes on me, waiting to see what trouble I’d cooked up.
“I’m telling you to save your daughter, you pathetic piece of shit. Give up your cash business, hide Rachel, and then kill those sons of bitches. Then get out of here before another war comes down on your head. I’m going to take care of my father, you take care of the mob breathing down our necks. If our objectives align, I’ll give you a call. But until then, get the fuck out of Savannah.”
I spun around and headed towards the door, not willing to stay a second longer and risk punching him in the jaw. I hadn’t been expecting a welcome response to my proposal, but it had to be done. The Macon Mob was like a snake, and even though Eddie was in charge now, my father was the fangs, spewing his venom everywhere and tossing them more and more money to run their operations. Until I took care of my father, the men wanting Rachel dead would be funded and legally protected. My first mission was to take care of dear old dad, then go after the head of the snake—Eddie.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Godfrey
Judge Palmisano had a cushy office. It was finely furnished with dark wood and expensive rugs. He had a golden name plate boasting the name that was whispered all over Savannah. Palmisano had his own special blend of power and the law on his side. He ruled the courts and, in turn, ruled the criminals.
It was easy to break in. People recognized my father and, by extension, would turn the other way when they saw me on the premises. I’d slipped in during Palmisano’s afternoon golf game and sat down in his leather chair, staring out his large window with a pretty view of downtown, like a king overlooking his kingdom. I lit up a joint, making his entire office smell like pot, as I studied the photos of his framed accolades and photos of his daughter, Stephanie.
It had been two weeks since I destroyed Rachel’s trust and pushed her away. My boys had been following her every day and sending me photo updates, but I wondered if it would be easier if I didn’t have to see how damn good she looked. I, however, looked and felt like shit, and the only thing that had me feeling better was Rogue’s whiskey and Luis’s grow. Crushing Rachel like that was one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do.
Last year, when we made the decision to cut Scar off, I recognized why we had to do it. I slipped into the role of distant tormentor easier than the others because it was the only option. It wasn’t until now that I realized I was never really in love with Scarlett, because if I had been, I would have never been able to treat her the way I did. It had just been another game to me. Another chance to try out a mask.
Rachel was like air, feeding my fire while I breathed her in and burned her up. I put her in a box without holes, and now my lungs felt like they were going to burst. I wanted to scream. I was good at putting on a show and learning a person’s weaknesses. I’d used others’ greatest fears against them because it’s what my father conditioned me to do. And for the first time in my life, I hated myself for it. I didn’t think I’d ever get the look on her face out of my mind. She had been crushed, and I did that to her.
But at the end of it all, I couldn’t include her on the road I was on. If I wanted to be free, I couldn’t have any distractions, and I damn well refused to have any casualties. As for Rocco, I didn’t want to leave one man’s bullshit power plays in exchange for another. From now on, Godfrey Taylor worked for no one. I just needed some time, which was a rare commodity these days. Every waking moment, I was planning, scheming, digging. And part of my plan brought me here, in Judge Palmisano’s office.
“What are you doing in my office, Taylor?” a worn Southern voice said.
I spun around in his office chair and propped my feet up on his desk. I was sure that it cost more than his sexy secretary’s yearly salary. He set down his bag of clubs on the floor in the corner as I grinned at him around my joint.
“Hey there, Judge Palmisano,” I replied with mirth.
After another hit, I pulled the joint from my mouth and put it out on his desk. He scowled at the movement but didn’t say anything. I crossed my arms over my chest and leaned back in his chair while his eyes took in the bruises on my face. Scarlett tried her best to cover them with ma
keup, but it only could do so much. I didn’t let it bother me, though. The key to blackmail was to emanate that lazy air of confidence that couldn’t be faked. It was like knowing you had a winning hand and could wipe the table clean with one fell swoop.
“Get out of my chair, Taylor. I already paid what I owed to your father,” he said with a frown.
Already admitting guilt? Good.
Judge Palmisano was a pudgy man with a nose that looked so big, its lumpy mass took up the majority of his red face. He was bald, with a stomach that hung over the expensive belt clinging to his large waist. His skin was burnt and peeling from all the long days at the golf range. Lazy fucker. Guess he could afford to play golf when he and my father were letting the criminals off.
“I’m pretty comfortable here, thanks,” I said before reaching for his top drawer where I knew he kept a pricey pistol and his secret stash of rum. He held his breath, likely wondering which one I was reaching for. When my fingers gripped the cool metal of his monogrammed metal flask, I grabbed it with a grin and took a swig. “Want some?” I asked.
“Jesus, Taylor. You’re not even legal,” he said before plopping in the spare seat with a huff. He was breathing heavily, like walking from the parking lot had him out of breath.
I took another swig. It was the good stuff. The amber liquid burned my throat on the way down, distracting me with the warm heat swelling in my belly. “I think you’re one to talk about legal activities. How’s the wife?”
He paled. “She’s fine. On a girls’ trip in Panama.”
“And the mistress? She doing well too? Oh...wait. She died last year, didn’t she?”
I observed his reaction. This was a crucial point. If he looked sad, it meant that he’d loved her. If he’d loved her, he might not mind about things leaking. But it wasn’t misty eyes and pain that crossed his features, it was embarrassment.
