by Neal, Xavier
Shaking my head I deny, “Like we told your punk ass flunkies that fucked up our shop. We're coming for you, but it won't be like that. Narking on you like that isn't our style.”
“Regardless.” His hand waves in the air. “Whoever is knocking out my players in the system is costing me a fortune and preventing me from acquiring things I've had planned to be in my possession for months. Show them.”
The woman in white presents a tablet in front of me with a photo of two different objects. One is sculpture of some kind and the other...the other is artwork on two wheels.
“By your expression, you are well aware of what that is.”
“That's The Phantom Black Princess.”
“The 1934 BMW R7x,” he announces. “Price unknown because in theory it doesn't exist.”
“It doesn't.”
“The most valuable things do not exist on paper, Drew.”
The 1934 BMW R7 is really a motorcycle, if you must call it that. It’s one of the most beautiful crafted pieces of machinery to ever exist. It had disappeared until a few years ago when it was discovered and restored to it's original condition. Literally art on wheels. Many of the designs were inspired by Art Deco. There was a prototype made, which was declared, would be too expensive to mass produce. The project was shelved. The BMW R7x is a rumor that the designer who had a special place for his shelved project, started another in his free time. One just slightly better. One with just a little extra edge. Hints the x. It's just a ghost story. A useless legend told at old biker bars. Uncle D used to tell it to us when he'd tuck us in at night. Ben, his son, used to promise he'd find that bike one day.
“This was supposed to be ceased at a raid and brought to me,” The Devil explains his eyebrows now furrowed. “But due to many of my allies in the legal system disappearing, the raid was put on hold before being thrown out altogether. This bike should already be in my possession.”
Still in disbelief I shake my head. “That's not real.”
“It is 100 percent real. I've seen the beauty in person. She's been appraised and authenticated. They don't want it in the news or on paper. A lost secret. Fine.” He surrenders his hands. “I don't give a shit. I have a buyer for it.”
“The statue too?”
“That's for me. A little feel better present for all the pain and distress you McCoys have been putting me through.”
My eyes cut back to the art piece.
I don't know that much shit about art. That was Merrick's department. He was always spouting off facts and rambling about famous artists. This just looks like a misshapen claw to me.
“The statue, like the bike, has a value with enough zeros to make me a forgiving man.” When my eyes look back up he says, “Now, Daniel you will be in charge of making me a mock bike, as well as ones for you to use for your transportation. While Drew, you will be in charge of not only making me a mock statue but the false prints and facial pieces you will be needing to complete this task.”
Annoyed, I shake my head again.
Can't fucking believe this...
“Melody has a picture of the statue as well as the man, the two of you will be impersonating. He's a prince.”
“Y-y-y-you're having us pretend to be royalty?”
“Yes. So brush up your manners,” The Devil instructs.
I take a deep breath in an attempt to regain my composure. “How'd this prince get on your bad side?”
“That's none of your concern,” he snaps. “Like Madden, you need to learn your place. In this kingdom, I am the lion. I will take what I want when I want it and you...and your brothers are all like little lionesses, just waiting to grovel and eat my scraps.”
Did he...did he just call us his bitches? Swallowing that bullet sounds much better than working another day for this fucker.
“Speaking of Madden, before you do that thing you McCoys are well known for, he's...unavailable at this time to lend his assistance.”
Nervous of the possibilities of how he's torturing my big brother I clench my fists together. “What the fuck does that mean?”
“That means, him and Destin are battling a little thing called an audit. Doesn't sound like such a big deal, but I think you've forgotten how your money in the beginning for that shop got bankrolled.”
I wet my lips, but remain silent.
Please tell me you hate him as much as the rest of us by now. Good news is Destin has those tracks covered on paper and digitally to the point that besides an inside man's confession you couldn't ever figure it out. Our money is laundered, put away in bank accounts including Swiss ones, so the search is useless, other than to keep my brothers occupied.
Realizing I have no choice, I shrug. “What's the plan?”
“That will be revealed to the two of you on a later date. As for now, you have thirteen days to create your identities and my statue, which you eyeballed like it would be easy.”
I've done a forgery once or seven times in my life. They don't have to be perfect. Just fucking believable.
“But again...you McCoys need an attitude adjustment.” The corner of his mouth lifts. “Consider this it.”
The screen goes black not giving me another chance to say a word to him or my brother.
Immediately I snap my head at the woman. “Bring him back!”
“I can't.”
“Yes, you fucking can!” I shout. “Bring him back! I wanna make sure my brother is okay!”
“He's fine,” she softly answers.
“How the fuck do you know?”
“Because I know where he is. Nina will tend to his wounds. Levi will not lay another hand on him unless necessary.” She motions a hand to the doorway where there's a large tan bald man with his arms folded. “Much like Omar.”
Omar looks like a Hispanic Mike Tyson without the tattoos.
“And who are you?”
“Melody.” She tries to offer me a smile of comfort that I brush off with an eye roll. “You will need-”
“Why aren't we together?” I cut her off, pushing on her patience by the way she sighs. “Why is Daniel there and I'm here?”
“Would you want two McCoys conspiring together in the same house?”
Good point.
“Besides, Daniel is in charge of a timely and crucial mock rebuild along with two custom jobs to make this possible. He is where he needs to be. A place where parts are easily accessible at any given time of day or night, along with assistance from Nina, who can handle the help if he requires it.”
“And me?”
“You're where you need to be. I will be responsible for gathering your supplies as well as the herbs you will be burying in the hollow statue.” Before I can question anything else she points to the tablet. “Please list the items you will need. Any and all. Additional trips can be made, but please try to be as thorough as possible this time.”
Running away doesn't seem like a good call, but getting a message to the outside world seems possible if I can get out of this room.
“I wanna go with you.”
She folds her hands behind her back. “It's not a possibility.”
“Then I won't make the list.”
Omar pulls the gun from his holster and points it.
“Then Omar will be forced to end your life and your brothers will not get the chance to bury you.” The tone in her voice sounds pleading. “Please, make the list.”
I nod.
I don't have any fucking moves to make. Not a single one. The Devil wins again.
Melody
Bringing the grocery bags into the kitchen of the only place I've really called home in years, I drop them onto the counters trying to drown out the lecture Omar has been spewing since we pulled into the driveway.
“Melody-”
“I heard you,” I snap over my shoulder. “And I heard you yesterday when you said it. And on the plane. But I don't agree with you.”
“But you can't see you the way I can.”
Ceasing all movements, I
turn around to face him. “Omar, I appreciate you. I appreciate all you've done for me over the years. You're the closest thing I've got to family any more, but you have to know, I know what I'm doing. I'm a professional. I will do my job.”
He looks unconvinced.
When I first got stranded in this world, Omar went out of his way to shelter me from things. After a few months I learned it was because he lost custody of his daughter early on in life because his wife didn't approve of his lifestyle. He always said it was probably for the best, his little girl didn't have to live in a world like this, but I think the guilt still ate at him until I arrived. It was like getting a second chance. For both of us. My father wasn't in my life either. Overdose.
I plead, “A little trust please.”
“In this job? Never.”
The sound of a door opening, grabs both of our attention. Our eyes dart across the living room of the small cottage to where Drew is opening his white bedroom door with a heavy yawn.
Is this place the most beautiful? No, but I've tried to make it as homey as possible. The interior is white walls and dark wood floors while the décor is a combination of beach themed and country living. Sounds a little strange, but look around. It flows pretty well.
Drew's boxers are barely hanging on his slender hips and his tight chest is completely exposed courtesy of the shirt idea he apparently abandoned. The muscles masked underneath the colorful tattoos has my bottom lip jumping between my teeth.
Do not ask me the last time I saw a man naked who wasn't being tortured.
Omar clears his throat.
Busted.
Omar growls, “You don't feel you have to wear clothes?”
Drew grunts and shrugs, eyes now on me. “Do you blame me?”
Was he flirting? I know. I know. He's a McCoy. They flirt with anything that can breathe on it's own, but....Damn it. Omar's right. I may have trouble staying focused. You'll help me, right?
“Besides, you or one of the goons who jumped me took my clothes to search them for weapons.”
“How do you know that's what they were taken for?” Omar stands at attention, eyes cutting me a glance. “Who told you that?”
Drew's confusion is immediate. “No one.”
“Then how do you know that?”
“'Cause I'm not a moron. You didn't take them to get them dry cleaned, so to make sure I wasn't packing was the next logical conclusion.” Omar's shoulders slightly relax. “Now, can I get one of my smokes?”
“You have spare clothes in the drawers of your room. A fresh pack of cigarettes has been placed in there as well,” I calmly answer.
He gives Omar one more harsh look before he retreats to change. The moment the door shuts Omar whispers, “I hate McCoys.”
A small grin comes to my face as I return to unpacking the groceries. “Why? Because they're funny?”
“Because they're like parasites. Hard to exterminate,” Omar answers before he starts to place the bags containing the requested work materials on the round kitchen table.
“To one side please. We have to have room to eat.”
“He can eat on the floor like the fungus he is.”
I roll my eyes. “Stop being dramatic.”
“I'm not,” he insists before his cell phone thankfully rings. There's a short pause before he states, “I have to go. I'll be back to pick you up at two.”
Once I'm alone in the kitchen, I finally let out a breath.
Don't get me wrong. Omar is the closest thing to family I have in this world, but I'm not dumb enough to believe for one moment his loyalty lies anywhere near me when The Devil's best interests are on the table. Loyalty to The Devil comes first. It's that or die. Facts are facts.
“Is he always so friendly?” Drew's voice appears closer than I expect.
Quickly, I turn around to see him just a couple feet from me, a cigarette dangling from his fingertips, his bottom half now in sweat pants with no underwear and still very shirtless.
Very, very shirtless. Could I be his shirt? Oh God. I'm gonna get myself killed thinking like that. Okay, so....you think it for me...Deal?
My answer is said on a chuckle. “Yes.”
Drew offers me a smile. One that I can understand why girls would melt for it. “Big guy might wanna work on his hospitality.”
“That's what I'm here for,” I reply and prepare to turn around when his voice stops me.
“Melody.”
The softness of his tone weakens my knees.
Nope. Get it together Melody. You have a job to do!
“Can I call you, Mel?” The request seems harmless.
No such thing in this lifestyle.
“Sure.” This time I turn all the way around to hide the reddening in my face.
“I'm Drew.”
“McCoy, I know,” I assure him as I start to place the food I won't be cooking at this moment in the fridge.
“You say that like there's a stigma to my last name.”
The accusation causes me to shake my head.
“So you're saying there's nothing wrong with me being a McCoy?”
“Other than being in the top five people The Devil hates? No.”
His chuckle causes me to glance over my shoulder again. At the sight of my face he shrugs. “Guess I'll consider myself lucky.”
“That's luck?”
“Rather be in top five of his enemies than the top five of his so called friends.”
Puzzled by the thought, I lean against the counter. “Why?”
“At least as an enemy you won't be blindsided by the bullet coming at you.” He pauses and stares me deep in the eyes.
Do you see those brown eyes? Holy hell they're mesmerizing.
“And with a man like that, there's always a bullet coming for you, so called friend or foe. When you're the latter you at least know to be prepared.”
I wish he was wrong. I wish I could say that that wasn't true. That I don't have to worry about my life being 'on his side', but it would be a lie. An easy lie to spot. An even harder one to live.
Doing my best to keep the conversation away from my employer I ask, “Hungry?”
He counters, “Where are we, Mel?”
“In a cottage.”
“Where?”
“I can't disclose that information.”
Drew scratches the side of his neck. “Can I speak to my brother again?”
“You will be given one chance to speak to Madden and Destin together. Then one final call will be had with The Devil and Daniel the day of the job.”
He slides the cigarette behind his ear before shoving his hands in his pockets. “Why would he let me talk to my other brothers? Kindness isn't his style.”
“Insurance.”
“Excuse me?”
“He will show them proof of life, so they will continue to keep their mouths shut. The Devil exploits the emotion known as hope. He gives someone a glimmer of hope and uses it to manipulate them into complying with his wishes.”
Before you ask how you beat something like that...I'll tell you. It's simple really. Give. Up. Hope. Like I did years ago.
“You're not allergic to eggs, but do you like them?”
My subject change has his head tilting. “What?”
“Eggs. They come from chickens. Do you like eggs? I was going to make them and some pancakes. Maybe some sausage for breakfast?”
Drew nods slowly. “I like eggs...”
Pleased the change worked, I turn back around, almost done putting the groceries away. “Good.”
“How'd you know I'm not allergic?”
I shut my eyes, thankful my back is to him. “It was...it was in the file I read.”
“There's a file on me?”
“There's files on most of The Devil's employees and clients.”
“Why?”
“Leverage,” is my breathless response. Still not wanting to have to confess the evil ways of a man, I loathe but have to obey, into deep brown eyes that could t
urn a girl into putty, I shut the fridge door and stare at the stainless steel instead. “He takes know thy enemy very seriously.”
“So there's one on you?”
The loaded question doesn't get answered.
