by Bry Ann
“She doesn’t mind. Do you, jailbird?”
The girl is hidden in the shadows, but I see her spit at the ground he stands on.
“Doesn’t seem that way.”
I lean back against the closest tombstone and smile. I have to admit, this is kind of amusing. My dad would literally flip his shit. He was clean. The most vanilla man I know. Have ever heard of. I am too, but there’s a small, tainted piece of me from being undercover for so long.
“Eres un pedazo de basura debajo de mi zapato,” she hisses at him with blazing eyes before vanishing, seemingly into thin air.
“What did she say?” I muse.
Frances doesn’t respond immediately. His eyes trail the path she just evacuated. He’s dark. The energy around him is swirling.
I’m an FBI agent in a cemetery with a capo who no doubt just got insulted. Great. Just freakin’ great.
He finally turns back to me and shakes his head, shaking off whatever feeling she just invoked in him.
“She told me I was a piece of trash under her shoe.”
He shrugs with a freakishly blank look on his face.
“She doesn’t even own a fucking pair of shoes, so I don’t know what she’s going on about.”
“She sounds like… a spitfire.” What else do I say about that whole interaction? I mean, geez.
“She’s a dead woman walking is what she is. What the fuck are you doing here, Enzio?”
Wooohhh, my body tingles with the urge to help that girl. Fight it, Enzio. Fight it. I feel like I’ve been saying that more and more lately. I had to learn quickly to reign in my urge to help every person I see after several years undercover and several botched jobs. This job is hard enough as it is.
It’s time for a call with my team, Collin specifically. My lifelong best friend. He’ll get it, and more importantly, not judge me.
“Boss has a job for us. Just us.” Instantly, Frances’s face becomes professional.
“What’s the job?”
“We should sit, but I’m not into the same sick shit you are, so not here.”
Half his mouth tilts up in a smile, but it’s almost sad. Like he hates that he is what he is. Hmm… that’s actually kind of interesting. All these men are definitely case studies. All exceptions to every rule I know. Maybe that’s why this is so damn hard.
“Drinks?”
“You pick the spot.”
“I’ll text you the coordinates.”
“See you there.”
“Enzio?”
“Yes?”
“This job. Is it about me?”
Ah, so he is scared of further punishment.
“No, but I wouldn’t fuck up either.”
He nods. “Let’s not keep him waiting.”
Yeah, I’d be saying that too, if I were him.
By the time I get to my two hour away destination the following day, I’m done. Drained. Pooped. And frustrated as all hell.
Frankly, this job is draining my energy reserves and I need my guys. I need to let my guard down for two freaking seconds.
“Derek!” Collin calls over the second he sees me. “What’s up, man?”
He wraps an arm around me and pats me on the back a few times. I see the sympathy in his eyes. We never meet up like this when I’m undercover. It’s risky, but I called it in. I’m slipping and made it known this wasn’t an option.
I. Need. A. Breather. A reminder of why I’m doing this.
That said, I’ve never called in for help from my team. I’ve called Collin undercover plenty of times in a panic, usually after witnessing something horrific I couldn’t stop. I’ve never met up in person before a job is done, though. I’m sure that’s where his sympathy eyes are coming from. The dude is 6’2, at least 220 lbs of solid body builder muscle. He doesn’t have the rough and tumble look. He’s very well put together. Well-brushed blond hair and soft blue eyes.
He’s a good guy. Good heart, even better mind.“Let’s sit.”
“I already got you coffee, decaf, extra hot.”
“You know me so well. Thanks, man.”
“Don’t mention it.”
I take a seat across from the rest of my guys: Collin, Landon, Kyle, Brad, and Carson. All the best of the best, varying in talents and specialties with one common goal. One common mission. Save as many people as possible. All of us are dealing in organized crime, except for Brad. He somehow finagled his way into our group.
Collin’s our leader, our boss — again, with the exception of Brad. He’s in charge of the organized crime unit. He calls the shots and reports to our super.
Kyle is the most introspective of the bunch. He has narrow brown eyes that seem to read any person he comes across. His hair is shaggy, unkempt and does a hell of a job hiding his face. The man is a ghost. If he doesn’t want to be seen, he won’t be.
Landon is the jokester. He takes the edge off the intensity we sometimes face. He’s the guy to go out drinking, come to work hungover, and still manage to get his shit done. His specialty is profiling. With Kyle, mainly. They are a hell of a team. At first glance, Landon seems like the worst sort to profile a man. He’s average height with muscles built to show off. His eyes are almost a red color, honey-colored specifically. But I’ll say this: when he wants to get information from you, he can pick apart your life bit by bit. I think it’s the only time he can calm his mind. Shut the jokes off. That’s why Kyle and Landon are so good. Kyle is quiet and can read people with ease, while Landon is loud, robust. A great distraction who does a shitty job at reading people, but an excellent job of using the life someone built as a puzzle into their soul.
Carson’s the tech guy. I’m pretty sure the dude has never been with a woman. He’s tall, but extremely lean from hours spent on the computer. He’s got long, hippie hair, the all-hailed “man bun”. Females go nuts over that shit. If there’s something to find, he’ll find it. Bottom line.
Brad. What’s there to say about this nut? He’s a seller. Brad could make someone believe a basic ballpoint pen is the cure to their back pain. I’m not even kidding. That’s how he got into our group. Selling. Convincing. Slight manipulation, the SOB. He’s a part of the hostage rescue unit. It’s a perfect fit for him. He’s a large dude. The biggest of the six of us, with dark hair and copper eyes. He’s lively, but also very much a workaholic. If I were being held against my will, Brad is the guy I’d want on my side.
“Okay, Enzio, why are we here?” Kyle asks the second we are all seated.
I scrub my hand over my face. “This job is getting to me.”
“How so?” Carson.
I blow out a breath. “These people are freaking insane. I mean, Jesus, last night I had to track down Capello for a job, and found him in a cemetery with his elbow pressed against a girl’s throat. That’s just a night in the life.”
“A cemetery?! Holy hell,” Landon laughs. “I thought the mafia was organized. Is she okay?”
“Yeah, seemingly so. It’s the people. Their minds are all… fucked up. Every single one of them has a plethora of layers. Fuckin’ onions. All of them. This game is exhausting. Add in a mix of innocent women, and half the time I have no clue what’s going on. Things are calm for them now. Months of calm. I don’t know how to get intel. I’m digging myself deeper and deeper into this hole!”
It’s not ‘til I’m done that I realize I’m yanking on the ends of my hair. I feel Collin’s eyes boring into me, but he’s the one person I can’t look at. He can read too far into this. Further than I want to let them in.
It’s Brad who finally speaks next. “What’s the plan going forward?”
“Keep trying for intel, I guess,” I say on a sigh. “No, you need a plan.” There’s a firmness and intensity to his words.
“You’re going to lose your head, Derek,” Kyle chimes in, studying me with those eyes of his. “You’re going to be another one of their victims if you don’t get a strategy.”
I’m no victim. Years of programming kicks in in
the time it takes for a heart to beat. For a gun to blast.
“What do you suggest?”
“I have a plan. Derek and I need to talk alone,” Collin cuts in.
Shit. I can’t even look at Collin. His voice is firm and brooks no argument. All the guys, except Kyle, give me a semi-sympathetic look before wishing me good luck. I thank them for coming and turn to my best friend with a sigh.
“Your plan?”
“Nah-ah,” he ticks his finger side to side. “You go first. What is actually going on?”
“What I said is accurate, Collin. I’m in over my head. Nothing too shady is going on. I’m fucking Underboss, man! Not some gate guard. This is… too much. Too much.”
“Good, there’s your spiel. Now what’s the truth?”
Shit. I literally hang my head like a puppy. “Collin…”
“Derek…” He mimics my voice, mocking.
“You’re an ass.”
He shrugs. “So?”
“You would say that. Collin, I don’t know if I can do this.”
His face crosses between sympathy, need to know, and supportive best friend. A mix of boss and friend.“It’s that girl, isn’t it?”
“She’s a large part of it, yes.”
No use denying it.
“What is it about her, man? I mean it. You’ve struggled before, but never this much. Let’s talk through it.”
“I don’t know if I can do this to her.” My panic starts to seep through. “She’s a friend, and she’s been through hell. The worst sort of hell I’ve ever seen or heard of, yet she’s still created this family. Her daughter is normal. Just a little baby who loves both of her parents. Lacey’s fucking calm around Adam. I mean it; it’s like she’s at peace for once in her life. I can’t be the reason she loses everything!” Collin takes a deep breath before speaking. “It’s your job,” he finally says. “Honestly, I can’t tell you she’ll be fine, that she won’t be hurt, but I will say that she sounds strong. She’ll get through it, and a lot of lives will be saved after these men go down. Lives that go beyond hers, as cruel as it sounds.”
I wince at the cruel reality of the situation.
“I don’t want her to just ‘get through’ life,” I mumble.
Collin straightens. “You have real feelings for this girl. Beyond friendship.”
“Doesn’t matter. She’s married.”
He nods in understanding. “You have to, Derek. That’s what it comes down to.”
He goes in his bag and grabs a tan folder. Once he’s retrieved it, he throws a stack of papers and photos on the table.
“Look at these, Derek! Really look. If you fail, there will be more like this. Much more.”
I glance at the stacks of photos showing blood and violence. Papers hinting at years of unlawful activity.
“Other women like Lacey will suffer because you gave it up for one girl! And that’ll be on you. I hate it, too, but it’s the way it is. We can’t do it all. We have to choose in this life, and the choices aren’t always easy. People get hurt. You know this.”
I have to bite my tongue to keep from telling him there is no one else like Lacey. He’d literally hit me, and for good reason.“Derek…” He pushes the papers aside. “You have my word, I will personally see to it that she is not brushed aside.”
“Collin, you should know better than anyone that therapy and a fancy house can’t heal a broken heart.”
We never bring up his situation. Ever. But I couldn’t keep the words in. I watch as my best friend’s jaw ticks with suppressed rage.
“Yes, I do,” he grits out. “That’s why I’m asking you to trust me when I tell you that you have to do this. And understanding like I do, I’ll do all I can to ease her pain and transition.”
He stands and grabs the papers from the table.“You’re my best friend, Derek, but I’m your boss, too. This job isn’t optional. That should help you. Knowing you don’t have a choice.”
He turns to leave, but pauses, not able to leave being so cold to me.
“You know I’m here for you, D. Whatever I can do to help, let me know.”
“I appreciate it, man.”
He nods and leaves. I feel bad for bringing up his demons, but I didn’t know how else to drive the point home.
I guess I’ve stalled long enough. The job that Adam Ruston, my mafia boss, asked of me? Wait ‘til you hear this.
He has a rat. Yep. Apparently, his real name, Adam, as I’ve mentioned, has been getting out. He keeps his real name under wraps. In fact, ‘I don’t know it’. Not as Enzio. Frances doesn’t know it. No one knows his real name. They all just call him Boss, except for Lacey, who calls him by his last name, Ruston, in public. I know why this is, of course. He’s not Italian. Not even remotely so. That gets out, he’s screwed. It will cause problems. Tradition and all that.
So we have to find out who the rat is. The job was given solely to Frances and I, no other men. This is because there’s a risk we find out his real name while doing this. In fact, it’s practically guaranteed. The boss has to find a second capo, someone to balance Frances. Not to mention, has to find time for his wife and child in all this, so he couldn’t focus fully on this job. He gave me the assignment of making sure his name is ‘kept safe’. Isn’t this swell?
The undercover agent is in charge of the operation to find out who his rat is.
It’s not me, I swear. Obviously. I’m FBI. I’m not out there spurting his name off to civilians. My goal is the exact opposite. My goal is to keep as many people from knowing his name as possible.
So right now, Frances and I are on the outskirts of town, scouring the streets to see if we catch wind of his name, or see one of his men down here, before we start taking more drastic measures. My meeting with my guys can’t ever happen again. I knew it when I met with them, but being here, spying for the man, proves how capable he is. How easily he could have been spying on me. I won’t risk it again.
“What exactly are we looking for?” I ask Frances. This was his dumb idea. What? We are just going to walk around this dank alley until we hear Boss’s name or see one of his men? Come on. Never thought I’d say these words, but I miss working with Sven. He was smart and, in a strange way, I learned from him.
Frances glares at me. “We’re just doing a run through. You’d be surprised how much goes on in the street. How well informed these guys are. It can’t hurt to stroll through here and see if something shady’s going on with one of Boss’s men. If we get nothing of it, hardly any time wasted. So quit bitching.”
“You grew up on the street?”
The way he worded that, there’s no way he didn’t. This is only confirmed when Frances goes rigid beside me. Before I can even blink, I am pinned to a brick wall with a gun to my head.
“Do not repeat that sentence ever again. You got me?”
His eyes are blazing with fury in a way I’ve never seen before.
“I got you. Relax, I got you.”
He slowly releases my neck with an uncharacteristically blank expression. I glance over at him one more time when my neck is free. He’s frozen. So incredibly still.
“I’m not going to say anything, Frances. Relax.”
His jaw ticks. “What you saw the other day…”
“The chick in the cemetery?” I cock an eyebrow.
“Yes.” “Never saw her.”
He subtly tries to release a relieved breath, but I see it. It’s impossible not to.
“Who is she?” I murmur, unable to resist.
“Street girl.”
“She got a name?”
He pauses for a long moment. “Not one that matters.”
I’d wince, but I know what he means. No one sees these people. The people around us starving and hungry. I want to do something for them, but I chose the path I’d take to help. And I’m on it. On this train, I can’t get off and survive.
“Matters to me. Sure as hell seemed like it mattered to you.”
“Leave Ma
rley out of this!”
Marley. Huh.
Frances growls and storms ahead of me with clenched fists.
“I’ll kill you if that gets out!”
“I’m aware,” I mutter.
“Excuse me. Sir! Sir! Are you a cop?”
A girl with dark brown hair and frantic hazel eyes comes running over to me. She’s visibly trembling, so I assess her head to toe, from her cowboy boots to her unkempt brown hair. She’s standing tall and completely in control of her facilities. She’s not in shock, she’s panicking. That makes me feel slightly better about what I have to say, because if she showed signs of just being assaulted, I don’t know if I could do this. What is she doing out here?
Frances snickers, suppressing a laugh as he makes his way back to my side.
“No.” I straighten my tie and avoid her gaze. “Why?”
“Shit! Shit! Frick, I’m sorry, y’all. I just…” She bites her lower lip and glances between us. “Okay, I’m gonna go. Don’t like… shoot me or anythin’.”This chick has a strong southern accent with the manners to match.
“Shoot you?” I cock an eyebrow.
“I don’t know. This seems to be, like, cri-criminal city. I didn’t know that when I came here. Texas suburbs are so sh-sheltered I never thought that… well, you know. Okay. Um. Sorry I thought you were an officer. My-my apologies.”
“Get out,” Frances quips, waving his gun at her.
Her eyes widen. For some reason, she looks to me. I nod for her to get out. Frances is a psycho fucker. He’d absolutely shoot her just to make a point. Not shoot to kill. He has some kind of moral line he doesn’t discuss, but he’d absolutely shoot a limb or some shit.
“Get out of here.”
“Frick!”
She scatters. Her boots scrape against the pavement on her way out.
“What the hell was that?” Frances laughs. “You a cop, Enzio?”
He’s kidding, but my hair stands on end. What the hell made her think I was a cop? But more importantly, why did she need one?
I frown as I stare at the little cowgirl’s retreating form. Huh. I have to shove aside my hero complex for now. I can’t risk this case. It’s too big. And frankly, my life depends on it. I’m willing to die for an innocent, but I’m not willing to die for a chance to save an innocent. I need to be sure. I had to set boundaries on my desire to save a long time ago or I would have been dead by twenty. No joke. My dad was a cop. My mom was a lawyer. My grandfather was a mayor. Every male in my family, but me, has been in the military. I would have, but I was recruited to the FBI right after college. I come from a long line of protect and serve. It’s in my blood. I’ve been born and bred good.
