Judged (The Mercenary Series Book 4)

by Marissa Farrar

  Between stupid amounts of television, I’d searched the whole house and grounds for any signs of Harvey Baglione’s body. I hadn’t found anything, and a large part of me hadn’t expected to. My father was too smart to leave a dead body on the grounds, and, unless he also had a huge freezer hidden somewhere—which I wouldn’t have put past him—I’d have been able to smell the body before I’d seen it.

  The lawyer, Joseph Monroe, had told me he’d been to see X and that he was fine. He warned me X’s case would be stronger if he had a more robust story to go with it, but I didn’t know what to say to that. Should I have told him the truth, that I’d been witness to Harvey Baglione’s death, and it had been one of Tony the Hound’s men who killed him, but that Tony the Hound’s guy had been killed in return? I didn’t want to try to explain away the number of deaths, especially considering my father’s men had shot the place up after we’d left. I didn’t want to get X off Harvey’s murder charge only to find us both jailed for killings we actually had committed.

  We were into the fifth episode of some show involving a bunch of vacuous teenage girls and a murder, which Nickie insisted we watch. We sat side by side, me with my hand lightly rested on my belly, more lost in thought than paying attention to the show. Popcorn filled bowls on either side of us, though a fair amount more was scattered across the couch cushions, the result of my commenting about the brainlessness of the girls on television, and Nickie tossing a handful of the snack at me in response.

  Nicole’s hand suddenly shot out and wrapped around my forearm. She sat up, her eyes wide, the stance reminding me of one of those desert animals—a meerkat—when it spots a predator.

  “Vee!”

  I sat up as well, following her line of sight out of the big bay windows and toward the driveway beyond.

  The gates to the house were opening.

  I got to my feet, the remainder of the popcorn tipping to the floor. “Shit. Who could that be? Who else knows the access code?”

  “What if it’s him?” Nickie cried.

  “Him?” I turned to her confused. “Who?”

  “Dad! What if he’s back?”

  “No, Nicole. You’re wrong. He’s dead, remember. We left him in the forest with a head injury, miles from nowhere. He couldn’t have survived that.”

  My heart was in my throat, and I knew Nickie felt the same way as we watched a massive black Cadillac Escalade drive through the gap and onto the driveway. I pushed down my nerves. I needed to be in control, look like I belonged.

  Who else would have been given a fob to open the gates and access the grounds? There was only one person I could think of, and I moved quickly, snatching up a gun from the spot beneath the couch where I’d left it for easy access. I shoved the gun down the back of my pants.

  The vehicle pulled up outside the house and the driver’s door opened. A man in his late twenties climbed out and straightened his suit jacket.

  Dylan Ferrera.

  His light brown hair was cut shorter than the last time I’d seen him, and he seemed larger, his shoulders broader, though that might have just been my imagination. He still carried the same attitude, however, the one where he acted as though he owned the streets. I was surprised he hadn’t undermined my father already, and tried to do a takeover of his own, but he must have figured my father was on his way out and all he needed to do was bide his time and this whole district would be his. After all, my father only had two daughters, and it wasn’t as though either Nicole or I was going to make it work. Being a woman didn’t buy you any respect in this place. We were either wives or mistresses, and God forgive us if we ever tried to step out of line.

  I had wondered when Dylan would show up. I was surprised he hadn’t already, but I figured he would have been busy holding up my father’s business when he’d been inside. The moment this guy caught a single whiff of bullshit, he wouldn’t hesitate to pull a weapon on me. I had my own slipped into the stretchy waistband of my jeans and hidden by the loose white shirt I wore to disguise the small bump of my pregnancy, but still within easy access. But I wanted information from this man, not for us to fight, though I knew such a thing wouldn’t be easy.

  He wasn’t going to be happy to find me here.

  A sharp rap of knuckles came at the door. I was surprised he’d bothered to knock, since he hadn’t used the buzzer at the gate. I exchanged a glance with Nicole, and then took a breath and went to open the door.

  Dylan turned to me as I swung the door open, his green eyes narrowing in a glare, his nostrils flaring.

  “What the fuck are you doing here, Verity? Where’s your father?”

  The passenger door opened and a second familiar face stepped out. Flames of anger flickered inside me, and I forced myself to push them down. It was Vincent Thiele, the man who’d gone to the prosecution to tell them what had happened when my mother died. He was the reason my father’s case had been thrown out of court. I glared at him, and he met my eye, his face twitching with guilt, before he glanced away. Whatever hold my father had over him, he must have realized what had happened that day hadn’t been right. Maybe my mother hadn’t been innocent—not that she deserved to die for her indiscretions—and I wasn’t an innocent either, but Nicole had only been a child back then, and she hadn’t known a thing about our mom’s affair. To make her go through what she had was inhumane.

  “I don’t know where he is,” I said, addressing Dylan. “He told me to meet him, but when I showed up, his car was gone and only Nicole was here.”

  “Does Nicole know where he is?”

  I shook my head. “She said he got a phone call and took off. It’s not as though he ever discusses what he’s doing with us girls.”

  Dylan stepped toward me, not waiting for an invite. He’d been coming and going in this house for years, and it didn’t look like he thought anything had changed. He was going to get one hell of a shock when he realized everything was different now.

  “I already tried his phone,” he pushed past me and entered the house, “he’s not answering.”

  “I know. I tried it myself, several times now.” I made a mental note to do just that in case his phone was ever found. I didn’t want it to look like I already knew he was dead.

  Dylan walked straight to my father’s office, and I had no choice but to follow. Vincent came, too, lurking at my back. I felt his presence like an evil shadow. I wanted to turn and lunge at him, screaming, but I restrained myself. Everything would have gone so differently if he hadn’t given his testimony—my father would have been behind bars, as he should have been, instead of lying dead in a forest. Nicole was the person who’d been harmed by our father’s release more than anyone else. She was the one who’d lost the man she’d loved, her tutor at Tony’s house, Mateo, and had been forced to kill her own father. It occurred to me things had been evened up between us now. I’d killed our mother, and she’d killed our father. What a pair of truly terrible daughters we were.

  Dylan turned to face me. “He wouldn’t want you here. You’re dead in his eyes.”

  I wouldn’t let myself be intimidated. “Why did he ask me to come here, then? When he called, it sounded as though he was willing to forgive and forget.”

  He scoffed. “Your father doesn’t forgive or forget. Especially not for a rat. Only reason he’d invite you here is to kill you. You must have realized that, Verity. You’re not stupid. You know how all of this works. Why would you just walk in here like everything is fine?”

  I was tempted to tell him I hadn’t, that, if my father was still alive, I’d have walked in here hoping to kill him, but I managed to say what was needed. “I told you, he asked me here. We were going to make amends.”

  “Why didn’t he tell me any of this? Last thing I heard, you were public enemy number one.”

  I shrugged. “Maybe because it’s none of your fucking business, Dylan.”

  “Your father’s business is my business. He made sure of that when he was inside. If he’d stayed inside, I would
be running the show.”

  I shot Vincent a glare. “Well, your friend here made sure he was let out.”

  Vincent glowered back. “I didn’t have any choice, Verity. You know what your father is like.”

  “Shut it,” I snapped. “I’m not interested in hearing your excuses.” I turned back to Dylan. “My father isn’t here right now, and we don’t know when he’ll be back, so I suggest we work together.”

  “Hah! You’re messing with me right now.”

  I steeled my gaze. “And why the fuck would I do that?”

  “Because you’re a goddamned rat and everyone knows what happens to goddamned rats.”

  I widened my arms, exposing my chest. “What are you going to do, Dylan? Try to kill me yourself? How are you going to explain that to my father when he returns? I’m his oldest child, therefore I get to say what goes on here in his absence.”

  “Bullshit. I’m not going to have some little bitch tell me what to do.”

  I couldn’t hesitate. I needed to make my mark.

  Without allowing myself to experience any kind of remorse or regret, I whipped the gun from my jeans, aimed, and squeezed the trigger. The shot rang out, punching my eardrums, leaving them ringing.

  I stood, not allowing the slightest emotion to cross my face as Vincent slumped to the floor, his hands clutched to the bullet wound in his chest. His mouth opened and closed a couple of times, then his eyes rolled up into his head and his hands fell away from his chest.

  I stared at his body, not experiencing the slightest pang of sorrow. The taste of revenge was like iron in my mouth, as though I could actually taste his blood on my tongue. I was glad to see him dead, and not just because of what he’d told the lawyers. This man had stood by and done nothing while my father had held a gun to my mother’s and sister’s heads. He’d seen exactly what my father had made me do, and he’d done nothing to help. If the men who’d been there that day had only stepped in, our whole lives would have ended up completely differently. But instead, whether they were simply afraid of my father, or whether they thought my mother and I got what we deserved, they’d done nothing.

  “What the fuck, Verity?” yelled Dylan.

  I straightened and looked back at him. “Like I said, I’m in charge now, at least until my father returns. You do what I say, or I’ll make sure you meet the same end.”

  Having him believe my father was merely on a business trip or a break was imperative, at least until I’d won either fear or respect in my own right, though I was hoping I wouldn’t be around here long enough to need either.

  Movement came from behind me, and I glanced back to see Nicole step into the room. Her gaze flicked to Vincent’s body and I saw her features tighten, and she swallowed hard, but otherwise gave no reaction. A rush of pride swelled up inside me. My girl was learning.

  “Dylan was there the day our father came to get me from Tony’s house,” she said. “He was there when Mateo was shot.”

  “Was he now?” I turned back to Dylan. “That was a pretty shitty thing to do, letting Nicole’s boyfriend get killed.”

  Dylan lifted both hands. “Hey, it didn’t have anything to do with me. Mickey does what the hell he likes. You should know that better than anyone.”

  “Since you were no help back then, maybe you can help with something else now. I might even let you back into my good books.”

  Dylan’s eyes narrowed. “What?”

  “I believe my father took the body of Harvey Baglione from Tony Mancini’s house. You know anything about that?”

  His gaze flicked to Vincent’s corpse. “Why do you want to know?”

  “That’s none of your business either.”

  “This is bullshit.”

  “Listen to me, Dylan. You’ve got stuff to do, I get it. So have I. But my father isn’t here right now, and I don’t know when he’ll be back. I want you to keep doing what you’re doing, just communicate with me. I grew up in this business, remember. I know exactly the sort of transactions that take place. I don’t need or want to be sheltered. You keep doing what you’re doing, take your cut, but the rest of it goes through me.”

  He shook his head in disbelief. “You have got to be fucking joking.”

  I motioned with my gun toward the dead man. “Does it look like I’m joking? Now, back to the body that was taken. Where is it now?”

  “How the hell should I know?”

  “If you don’t know, you can put it on the top of your to-do list to find out and then report back to me.”

  His mouth opened and shut, but he didn’t argue back. What could he do? He wasn’t going to risk killing me and facing my father’s wrath, but he knew full well that I could kill him.

  “Now,” I said, heading toward my father’s desk, “how about you bring me up to speed on everything since I’ve been gone. And then you can get rid of Vincent’s body.”

  Dylan shook his head slightly, but then sighed and stepped forward to join me.

  Chapter Seven

  X

  Time passed slowly inside, every day exactly the same as the one before. I started to learn my routines, which of the guards to stay away from, who not to make eye contact with, and I guessed I was settling in.

  I was moved from the cell to the modular dormitory beds, together with Callum. Even in the new area, it appeared I was stuck with him on the bunk below mine. Across from us were two long-timers, an older Jewish guy called Gil, who sported a thick dark beard and curly hair, and a younger, nervous looking man called Dean, who had a habit of rubbing his hand over his short brown hair as though he constantly felt something crawling over the top of his head.

  Despite my attempts to stay racially platonic, I’d been, unsurprisingly, placed in a dorm where I was surrounded with white males. It seemed political correctness didn’t exist within the walls of the jail. I did my best to keep my head down, interacting with others only when absolutely necessary.

  My old cellmate clearly already had friends here. The moment we’d been shown to the bunks, he’d been crowded by a number of other men, all sporting skinheads and similar tattoos. They’d punched him on the shoulder or shaken his hand. It was more like he’d walked into a local bar than a jail.

  I planned on giving this group as much of a wide berth as possible. They looked, walked, and talked like trouble.

  I didn’t have to work, due to me being remanded, but I volunteered. I preferred to keep myself busy rather than sit around with too much time on my hands. Besides, it was important for me to stay physically fit, and being active was a part of that. I’d been given a job as part of the grounds crew, which earned me money for my commissary. I kept the yard clear, mowed, and landscaped the area when needed. It also gave me extra time outside. I’d be able to buy some personal items and snacks when my money came through. Being remanded, I should have been able to use my own money, but as I was here on an alias, I didn’t want anyone looking any deeper into accounts held in the name Lee Mason. I knew Vee would top up my commissary account when she came to visit, but I figured she was still waiting on her visiting order.

  Damps, the corrections officer who’d taken a dislike to me the first day in the cafeteria, had decided he wanted a little fun and tipped my meals onto the floor several more times since then. I still hadn’t snapped, though I knew that was what he wanted. He wanted me to go for him so he could write me up and send me down to solitary for attacking a C.O. I didn’t plan on giving him the pleasure. I’d rather go hungry, but I had to admit, the thought of getting my commissary money through so I could buy some snacks to replace the meals I was missing out on appealed to me. Ramen noodles had never looked so good.

  A deafening buzzer sounded for dinner time. Though my stomach felt hollow, and I was weak from a day’s work, the sound filled me with both dread and a steely determination. Would I be allowed to eat this time? Some of the other guards were all right. They even looked at me when they spoke, actually saw me, as opposed to the bad ones who only saw scum.
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  I got up and followed my fellow prisoners down to the cafeteria to line up to eat. Casually, I tried to check to see if Damps was working this shift. If he wasn’t around, I knew my chances of eating would be increased exponentially. I didn’t spot him and allowed myself to relax a fraction. The food was far from being good, but it was tolerable, and when you were really hungry, you ate whatever was put in front of you.

  I reached the front of the line and held out my tray to have my meal slopped into it. Meatballs in a fluorescent gray sauce, which I assumed was supposed to be gravy, plus a ball of mashed potato that clearly hadn’t come from the real thing, and a couple of slices of damp white bread. The food looked unappetizing, but nevertheless, my stomach growled in anticipation of having something in it.

  Eager to eat, I carried the tray over to find somewhere to sit. I spotted Gil and Dean sitting at one of the tables. There was an empty spot opposite them, so I slid into it with relief, ignoring the stares of Callum and his friends. They’d take it as a personal slight that I hadn’t chosen to sit with them, but I had no intention of becoming one of the gang.

  I sat down and picked up the spork we were given to eat with. As I scooped up a dollop of the meatballs and gravy, I glanced across the table to see Dean and Gil looking at something or someone behind my left shoulder. Ghost fingers trailed across the back of my neck, and my shoulders stiffened. I didn’t need to look to see who was standing there.

  Damps’ voice came from behind me. “Looks like you’re missing some seasoning there, Mason.” And he leaned over, hacked loudly, and then spat into the meatballs.

  My fist tightened around the handle of the spork and I closed my eyes, trying to control my temper so I didn’t stab the crappy piece of cutlery into the motherfucker’s neck.

  Damps laughed. “Enjoy your meal.”