by Susan Ward
“This is where they told you to meet them?”
He nods, taking the keys from the car. Jeez, this doesn’t make sense. Maybe the men are only messing with him and no one’s coming.
My thought no sooner finishes when a black SUV closes in on us going down the hill and flashes its lights.
“That’s the signal. That’s them.” He flashes the Chevelle’s headlights in answer, and my nerves are near crippling as the vehicle stops in the pullout ten feet from ours and switches on its bright headlights, blinding us so I can’t see the men alighting the SUV.
Eric opens his door. “Wait here.”
I undo my seat belt. “No way. I’m not letting you go out there alone. I don’t like this, Eric. This doesn’t feel right to me.”
He runs a hand through his hair, laughing tiredly, one leg out of the car. “Christ, no need to be paranoid. Since when did you get so jumpy? I’ve already told you, they’re not going to harm me.”
Me, paranoid? Hello, do you realize what we’re doing?
“Wait here,” he orders before springing out of the driver’s seat and slamming the car door behind him.
My gaze moves with him into the light and what I can tell is two men leaning against the front of the SUV. Christ, I wish Eric had left the keys in case I need to burn rubber for help. Then I remember the cell phone on the floorboard and grab it.
If I don’t get confirmation real fast that this isn’t another Eric catastrophe, I’m calling the police.
“Get out of the car. Keep your hands where we can see them and walk slowly toward us,” an authoritative male voice commands, and the blood stops in my veins.
I struggle with what I should do. I can’t see what’s happening out there or if Eric is still all right. I can’t see the face that goes with that terrifying voice. And, crap, I don’t know why they want me out of the car.
I open the door and shout, “I’m coming.” Ignoring the reasons not to do as instructed, I rise from my seat, staring into the blinding light, and move forward with my palms out at my sides.
The sound of a car behind me causes me to nearly stumble, and strong hands grab my arms to keep me from hitting the ground as my face swivels to find a car parking behind Ethan’s Chevelle. Damn, more men, but I can’t see who it is.
“Be careful, Avery,” comes a whispered command before I’m caught up against a body. My heart stops when at last I can see the face of this mountain of a man holding me.
Oh no, it can’t be.
But it is.
It’s Graham Carson, the owner of the security firm my daddy Sky works for, and the man with him—my gaze darts to where Eric leans, smoking, against the grille of the SUV—works for Black Star Security as well. Jamal something. But I’d recognize him anywhere. He’s been to my folks’ house and he’s employed as a bodyguard. That’s who he is.
These are the men Eric called to rescue him?
I don’t know whether to be relieved or extremely angry they’re participating in his act of desperation. Helping Eric to run from the law and go into hiding. They work for his dad, Alan Manzone. They’ve known Eric practically all his life. If anyone should have been able to talk reason to him, it’s these men. Instead, they’re failing Eric like everyone else has. Indulging him and assisting in yet another self-destruction.
Betrayal slashes my insides. “I can’t believe you’ve agreed to be a part of this, Mr. Carson,” I rebuke bitterly, meeting his steady stare with flashing eyes.
His piercing gray orbs grow fierce. “Don’t think we’re not talking about this later, Avery.”
I lift my chin. “I think we should. With his father present after I tell him what you’ve done tonight. How dare you berate me? Shame on you. I thought you cared about this family.”
His mouth turns into a hard line as he releases me and steps toward the SUV. From a folder, he lays papers on the hood. “Come here, Avery. I want you to look at these. I’ve already shown them to Eric, but I need your confirmation as well. I like to be sure in these cases before I finish a job, and Eric isn’t exactly reliable.”
Once I get close enough to see what’s there beneath the flashlight, I suffer another shock. It’s pictures of Rochelle and Gray. Police reports.
“Are these the people blackmailing Eric?”
The seriousness of Graham’s tone robs me of my voice and I nod.
“Do you know who they are?” he barks.
I shake my head because I only know what they are, and how he says that warns I don’t even know their real names. Though I already suspected that I didn’t.
“The woman is Cassandra Bassard,” he explains harshly. “The man is Xavier Padilla. They’re members of a crime syndicate based in New York. A spinoff of the extinct Ramos Cartel from Mexico. They’re heads of a nationwide ring with expertise in extortion. Luring wealthy men to hotels and such, drugging them, then blackmailing them. They’re old acquaintances of Eric’s sister Krystal from her days in New York as a ballerina.” He turns his head to shoot Eric a look. “You remember them, don’t you, Eric?”
Eric’s eyes flash as his jaw clenches and he looks away.
“I don’t understand,” I say, confused. “What do you mean acquaintances?”
“Do you know what the Ramos Cartel did to Krystal?” Graham Carson asks.
I swallow down the painful lump in my throat as the details flash in my head. The cartel kidnapped Eric’s sister, violently abused her, and held her hostage for ransom.
Krystal was rescued by a covert operation of the US government to destroy the Mexican cartels. But not before Ramos ended her dancing career by shattering a femur. I don’t know the full story of what happened to her—no one ever talks about it, not even Ethan when I’ve asked—but what my dads did tell me was heinous enough. Dread chills my body in anticipation of where this is heading.
I thought this was just a random crime.
Small league, not dangerous.
It’s horrifyingly apparent I was wrong with how intense Graham Carson is and knowing the reality of who Rochelle and Gray truly are.
I look at Eric, and his indifferent demeanor shifts my anger onto him. How could this not be tearing him apart? These people are somehow connected to the horrible things that happened to his sister.
Graham Carson scoops up the documents and slaps shut the folder. “This is not a circumstance you cover up and not ask for help with. It takes professionals to fix a problem with gutter thugs. Not the authorities. Sure as hell not a blogger. Trained men who know how to fight gutter wars and win.”
That gets Eric out of his stupor. “Graham—” His voice is anguished.
“Not another word, Eric. Give me one more weak-spine apology and I’ll leave you here for them to find. Close your mouth and get in the fucking car.”
Eric dashes around Graham toward me. “She’s coming with me.”
With him?
What?
No, no, not happening.
I jerk away, shaking my head, until my retreat is stopped by the SUV.
“Please, Avery. I can’t do this alone,” Eric implores frantically. His expression tears at my heart because he is a sweet guy, just in over his head in too many wrong ways, and this must be so frightening for him.
Before I can speak, Graham Carson clutches Eric by the bicep and pivots him around, pinning him with his gaze. “No, kid. Avery stays here. Under my protection. I am not making your stupidity her parents’ loss. It’s bad enough that there’s nothing to do to spare your mother this.”
Hurriedly running a hand through his hair, Eric meanders in small circles and looks unable to grasp anything. “I can’t do that, Graham. I can’t go alone or leave her in danger where they can find her.”
Graham takes one menacing step toward him, and Eric stops his pacing.
“Does it even register in that drug-dazed mental space you call a brain how much everyone has risked for you or that being with you is the greater danger?”
“I know everyone�
�s done a lot.”
“A lot?” He repeats those two words in a scathing manner that makes me cringe and Eric’s head to drop into his hands, hiding his face as though he can’t bear to look. “Ethan went on stage tonight and pretended to be you as a decoy so the men watching you wouldn’t catch on we were helping you run. He’s risked his career and his future doing something reprehensibly dishonest to help his brother out of the shit pit you’re in. Avery’s just spent half a night driving in a car with you—probably scared out of her wits by the looks of you—to make it believable that it was you on stage in case this goes south and somehow the authorities get drawn in. It’s the only head start to running we could give you. One night with everyone still thinking you’re here. And you expect everyone to do more for you. You pathetic, entitled, uncaring, self-serving poor excuse for a son, brother, and friend. Haven’t you fucked over the people who love you enough already? Do you have to try to ruin Avery’s life as well? Is that her thank you for being your loyal friend?”
“I’m sorry,” Eric whispers, miserable.
Graham Carson marches toward the side of the car. “Spend the time until we can bring you back, Eric, to think of a better apology for your family for what you’ve put them through than I’m sorry. That’s not cutting it this time.” He opens the back door and waits, ramrod straight, for Eric to climb in.
Eric comes to me. “I’m sorry, Avery. Sorry I got you mixed up in this.”
I brush the hair from his face. “Do what they say, Eric. I’ll be OK.”
He makes a soggy croak. “You take care of that brother of mine.”
I smile sadly. “I will, if he ever talks to me again after tonight.”
Eric laughs. “He will. Ethan’s a good guy. He’ll understand why you weren’t at the Bowl. Be good to my bro. Don’t forget, he’s already in love with you.”
His steps make small scrunching sounds in the dirt as he hurries to the open door. “I need Ethan’s keys so I can get that car back to him,” Graham says.
Eric yanks them from his pocket, drops them in Graham’s waiting hand, and climbs into the SUV. After closing the door, Carson raps his knuckles on the driver’s window and the headlights flash once.
I stare after the Escalade as it pulls onto the road and I wonder where they’re taking him or if I’ll ever see Eric again. If any of us will ever see Eric again.
“He’s going to be all right,” Graham says softly, slipping an arm around my shoulders. “Come on. Let’s get you out of here.”
We start walking to the Chevelle. “Where are you taking him?”
“Where he needs to be,” is all Graham answers and I wonder if it’s out concern for Eric’s safety that he’s not giving me the location.
My thoughts are a whirlwind, and even witnessing what happened only seconds ago, none of this seems real to me. How can Mr. Carson expect me to climb in the car and drive away like what happened here didn’t?
Graham stops at the vehicle, doesn’t open the door for me, and instead reaches for the cigarette pack Eric left on the dash. He pulls one out and lights it. “Fucking rotten habit,” he grumbles then laughs. “But some experiences call for a cigarette after you have them.”
The other experience that brings to my mind nearly make me smile, and before I know it, I’m crying. He folds me in is arms, tucking my exhaustion-trembling body up against his strong chest. “It’s going to be all right, sweetheart. We would never let anything happen to Eric.”
My eyes flood with accusation as I tilt my face toward his. “You helped him run away, and that’s wrong, Mr. Carson. He needs help. He’s not rational. The only thing crazier than Eric right now is someone thinking he’s sane and listening. Why should I believe a word you say?”
“Because Graham didn’t help Eric,” a low, raspy voice says behind me. “I did.”
Chapter Sixteen
“Avery”
Alan Manzone calmly lifts the Marlboros from Graham Carson’s breast pocket as I gawk at this next unexpected what-the-fuck moment of the night.
“Did it go as planned?” he asks before putting a cigarette to his lips and cupping a hand to light it.
“Without a hitch, Alan. Exactly as we discussed. Exactly as you wanted.”
I watch Alan through the cloud of smoke, this iconic man who’s dazzling even in circumstances like this. He’s still dressed in the type of clothes he wears on stage and I wonder if he’s come straight from the Bowl and Ethan.
“Did Eric believe you?” Alan probes calmly.
“Every word. I don’t think he’d have left with Jamal if he hadn’t.” Graham Carson sounds vaguely disgusted. “I could see it in his eyes right up until I smashed the photos in his face. He thought we were doing everything he wanted and he couldn’t even commit to following through on that.”
Alan takes a long inhale from his cigarette and lets it gush from his lips slowly. “I have one son all want and no strength. And one all strength and no want. What the fuck did I do to these boys?”
Graham clutches Alan’s shoulders firmly, bringing his face close, his gaze intense. “Stay the course. It’s not your fault. It’s up to them the kind of men they are. And both those boys are lucky you’re the man you are. You did what you had to do. For them and your family.”
Alan shakes his head. “It should never have come to this. Eric has held my entire family emotionally hostage without care or awareness. Chrissie worries 24/7 about him. His sisters coddle him and make excuses for the shit he pulls. And Ethan—” His voice catches for a moment. “He’s so used to keeping his brother from hitting bottom that he doesn’t even have a thought of what he wants for himself anymore. Chrissie and I did too much for Eric. Gave too much. Loved too much. And it’s done nothing but cripple him and damn near destroy my family. I should have stopped it long ago. It shouldn’t have come to this.”
“But it has. And to correct things you have to deal with the conditions on the ground how they are and how we get them,” Graham counters confidently. “Tough love Manzone style. That’s what you asked for, Alan. No frilly forty-grand-a-month program. No comfort. No luxury. A hard-hitting bottom. A blank slate, a new start, and what happens next is up to him. You’re doing the right thing, buddy. That’s what Eric needs.”
Their words set my heart pounding, my pulse thrums loudly in my ears, and for a second I wonder if I’m hearing them correctly. Tough love Manzone style? Why is this sounding more like an intervention and not what Eric thought it was?
“I lied to both of my sons tonight. I’ve never done that before.”
“You did what was necessary, Alan. For both boys. Eric needs to pull himself up by his bootstraps on his own if he’s ever going to do it. And Ethan must be kept from going after him, stepping in, and pulling his ass from the fire. This won’t help Eric any other way but being completely stripped of every advantage he’s been given and his family.”
Alan’s mouth purses as he nods and crushes his cigarette beneath his shoe. “Where is Jamal taking him?”
“Not far. Seattle. There’s a boot camp rehab program about fifty miles from the city that’s going to take him and do as you asked. No contact with the outside. No phone. No way to leave. Nothing. And after ninety days they’re going to release Eric on the streets. New identity. No money. Just the backpack with bare survival necessities and the guitar you gave us. He’ll either sink or climb up by himself.”
They’re taking Eric to Seattle and a rehab center. Relief gushes through me even though I’m unclear what’s happening here.
Into their pause, I ask, “Eric’s not fleeing the country, disappearing? I don’t understand. I thought he was in danger. That Rochelle and Gray were part of a larger syndicate after him. Is he—are we—in danger or not?”
“Most of what you heard tonight was pure rubbish,” Graham explains. “Rochelle and Gray are small time grafters. Not even good ones, at that. No threat to anyone.”
My thoughts are snapping. “Why did you tell Eric all that ot
her stuff? Make him think they’re part of the people who hurt his sister?”
“To scare the shit out of him and get in him the SUV, willing to do whatever we tell him,” he replies, uncontrite. “It was the only way, Avery, for this to work. Scare him sober and onto a different life path.”
Mr. Carson looks grim but very satisfied with himself.
“This was all a lie? A farce? Is that what you’re saying?”
“No, Avery, not a farce at all, ” Alan corrects. “It was an opportunity to make clear where my son’s life is heading and give both my sons what help I can.”
“Tough love Manzone style,” Graham adds cryptically. “It’s the only way to get Eric to stay put where we deliver him and keep Ethan from chasing after to rescue him.”
“I did it as much for one son as I did the other, Avery,” Alan states, anguished, and I’m nowhere near being able to understand what that one means or what he hopes to change by lying to Ethan. Ethan doesn’t need help. He’s the best guy I’ve ever known.
“What happens now?” I try to dismiss the less positive ramifications from my mind.
“Eric won’t be out of our line of sight,” Graham says. “My husband, Lee, has an associate in Seattle. A good man. He’ll shadow Eric after he’s released from the program in case things don’t go how we hope.”
“And what then?” I inquiry hotly. “Invent another lie? It doesn’t seem to me the right way to try to help someone. Have you considered what Ethan and Eric might think or feel over you lying to them?”
Alan fixes me in an unwavering stare. “Everything else has failed, and this is all Eric’s left me. This situation. This crisis. Addicts are masterful truth benders. Sometimes bending it back is the only way to get through to them.” His black eyes begin to shimmer. “But you already know that, don’t you, Avery? Or have you admitted to Eric that you told me everything about Houston and the blackmail weeks ago?”
My cheeks hotly flush. “That’s not the same thing. He wasn’t thinking rationally, making good decisions. I was trying to help him. Not manipulate him.”
