by Callie Hart
2) Tommy Kendrick is hot as fuck. There’s no denying it. There’s no sugarcoating the facts. He’s tall, he’s broad, and he’s handsome. His eyes are like molten pools of liquid gold and chocolate mixed together. He’s huge, which made me feel safe in a way I resented but was also reassuring. And his tattoos. I mean, come on. They’re everywhere, and they’re sexy as hell. You take one look at a guy like that and you know immediately that he’s good in bed. You just know he’s going to take care of you in the very best way.
3) Tommy Kendrick is SERIOUSLY hot as fuck. It really does need saying twice. Hot. As. Fuck.
I take Tommy’s file from my purse and slot it back into place inside the tall filing cabinet beside my desk, relieved to have it back where it should be.
“I know what you’ve been up to,” a voice behind me says. My heart seizes in my chest, an awful weightless falling sensation pulling at my stomach. I spin around and Mitch is standing in the doorway, leaning against the jamb, arms folded firmly across his chest. He does not look happy.
“I’m sorry?” I say, my cheeks flushing. I probably look guilty as sin, especially with my hand still in the filing cabinet.
“I said I know what you’ve been up to, Nikita. And I think you’re crazy. What did I tell you last night? Do not go to the fights. Do not go. So what did you do?”
Oh. He doesn’t know about the file. That’s a relief. But then… “How do you know I went to the fights?” I ask, suspicion coloring my voice.
Mitch looks at me for a moment as if he’s staring straight through me. “I went by your place,” he admits. “I called you but I wasn’t getting an answer, so I thought…”
“You thought you’d drive to my house in the middle of the night?”
“I know, I know. It was late. I shouldn’t have been checking in on you. I know you, though, Nikki. You sounded so distracted on the phone. I knew you weren’t going to listen to me. When you weren’t at your place, I made some phone calls. I heard all about the entrance you made. I also heard that it looked like you and Alex Bastien used to be an item. Why is this the first time I’m hearing about this?”
I have to physically bite my tongue and count to three. Then five. Then ten. “Because who I used to date when I was still in high school has absolutely nothing to do with you, Mitch. And neither do my evening activities. Look, I know you’re only trying to look out for me, but—”
“I’m not trying to ‘look out’ for you. I’m…fuck! I thought there was something between us. I thought you and I were eventually going to…y’know… And then I hear that you’re Alexander Bastien’s first love, and that you ended up leaving with Tommy fucking Kendrick, of all people, and, well…”
“It made you crazy? You must be crazy to be saying this to me right now. We’re friends, Mitch. Really great friends. Nothing more. You say you know me. If you really do know me, then you’ll know I don’t play games. If I wanted to date you, or be romantically involved with you in any way, don’t you think I would have said something by now?” It doesn’t feel great to be so cut and dried, to cut to the quick with him, but this has gotten out of hand. He needs to understand that I’m not his property. He can’t just come barging in here, demanding answers from me about my past. I don’t owe him anything.
The expression on his face is a hard, unhappy one. “I see,” he says, his voice clipped. “Well, I’m sorry if I’ve made you feel uncomfortable. I didn’t mean to. Honestly, I just thought…” He looks over my shoulder, eyes fixed and locked on the wall. “I don’t suppose it matters what I thought. I was obviously wrong. I’m sorry. Just forget I ever said anything.” He turns around and makes to leave.
“Mitch?”
When he turns back around, I see the clear, red spots in his cheeks, either from embarrassment or anger, I’m not sure which. “Yeah?”
“I mean it. I really do consider you a great friend. Please don’t be pissed at me.”
His mouth pulls into a very unconvincing smile. “I’m not pissed at you,” he says quietly. “I’m just disappointed that things aren’t different.”
******
The day drags like nobody’s business. I’m distracted. I can’t seem to focus in any of my sessions, and the guys know it. One of them asks me if I’ll blow him, apparently to see if I’m actually listening to him or not. Another asks if I need a hit of something to help get me through the day. It’s really amazing how drug dealers will find a way to be drug dealers even when they’re behind bars. I tell Warden Hennery, and the C.O.s find a number of baggies containing high-grade cocaine taped to the underside of his cot. Perhaps the most obvious hiding place there is in a place like this. Mitch comes by at three, when he knows I take a break, and tosses one of the baggies to me, smirking.
“Unbelievable bastard,” he says, laughing. He’s in a much better mood than he was this morning. He’s obviously trying to make sure I know that everything is okay between us now. I catch the baggie out of the air, a matter of instinct. I don’t do coke, but I know a lot about street value given the people I counsel on a day-to-day basis. There must be about five thousand dollars’ worth of blow in the bag I’m holding in my hand.
“Damn,” I say, holding it up to get a better look.
“That’s one of four,” Mitch says. “God knows how he got it in here. Probably one of the fresh faces from last week had it up their ass or something.”
“Gross.” I drop the bag onto my desk, grimacing at it.
“Don’t worry. They washed the packaging after the mule shit it out. Probably.”
“Probably. Wow. So reassuring.”
He laughs. “Yeah, well. You never know with these guys. Hey, are you going to O’Halloran’s tonight? I’m heading home early but I’ll be dropping by later for a beer if you feel like it?”
His change of mood really is remarkable. He’s overcompensating like crazy, I can see that he’s still uncomfortable from the look in his eyes, but he’s trying. He’s really trying not to make a big deal out of the words that were exchanged between us this morning, and I appreciate it. “Sure. I can do that. Just one or two, though. I have some things I have to take care of at home.”
Mitch shrugs, smiling. “Sure. No worries. I’ll catch you around six or so.”
He leaves, whistling expertly as he disappears off down the corridor. It’s at least twenty minutes later, long after he’s vanished that I realize the baggie of coke is still sitting on my desk.
CHAPTER NINE
TOMMY
Nine o’clock in the morning and my cell phone won’t shut the fuck up. Unknown number. Yeah, right. I won’t be picking that up any time soon. It’s unlikely it’s West, wondering where the fuck I am for training. If the Bastiens had my cell phone number, they would have called a lot sooner than this, I’m sure. They would have used my number to triangulate my location in the country or something. They have that kind of money, and the most senior police officials in their back pockets too.
The phone keeps ringing, and I keep ignoring it.
I go for a run. I run until my lungs are on fire and my legs feel like lead weights attached to my body. When I arrive back at David’s place, West Bastien is sitting on the porch, drinking a sweating glass of sweet tea. He holds up the glass, toasting me by way of greeting. “Hey, man. What’s up?”
I stand at the bottom of the steps that lead up to the porch, just staring. “David gave you fucking sweet tea?”
West takes a healthy gulp of his drink and sighs. “No. He’s still asleep. I helped myself. You guys really ought to get a better security system.”
“David doesn’t have a security system.”
West just raises his eyebrows. Obviously that was his point.
“Right. Well… You’ve had a wasted trip out here, man. I’m not training with you. And David said no one knew he was fucking renting this place either.”
West laughs, getting to his feet, balancing the now empty glass on the edge of the porch railing. “Don’t be fucking stupid, To
mmy. You think there’s a crack or a crevice in this city your asshole brother could try hiding in that we wouldn’t already know about?” He shakes his head, exaggerated disappointment all over his face. “And we are going to train. You know my brother. His word is gospel. If I go back to the mansion without blood on my knuckles, there’s going to be hell to pay.”
I grunt, letting myself into the house. The place is fucking spotless. It certainly wasn’t this clean when I left a couple of hours ago. “Did you tidy the house?” I ask.
West sinks down onto the sofa, arranging a recently fluffed cushion behind his head. “I don’t like mess. It makes me irritable.”
I spin around, taking everything in: the shining counter tops; the stack of drying dishes on the draining board; the empty trash can, and the dust free book shelves. “You are one weird fucking dude, West.”
“Apparently. Hey, have you seen this show?” He’s flicking through the TV guide now. David doesn’t even have a TV. “It’s about high school teachers that get sent to jail for fucking their students. This one guy screwed a thirteen-year-old. Fucking perverts. Even I wouldn’t do that. The women are the worst, though. Always on the prowl for some young cock.”
“Is there a point to this conversation?”
West grunts. “Not really. Just talking. You should probably wake your brother up. He was talking in his sleep earlier. Something about your cousin, Junior. Heard he was released from the Parish yesterday, by the way. Alex is pretty pleased. He’s already started lining up fights for him.”
I walk into the hallway, then into David’s room, making sure the door slams against the wall as I throw it open. West’s hot on my heels, still reading the TV guide. “Junior won’t be fighting for Alex again,” I say flatly. David sits bolt upright in his bed, tangled in the sheets, blinking blearily at us.
“What the fuck? Goddamn it,” he hisses. “What the hell is he doing here?”
“You tell me. He’s been playing Molly Maid for the past two hours while you’ve been passed out, you fucking moron. Talk about sleeping on the job.”
“He’s been what?”
West isn’t paying attention to our exchange. He laughs to himself, folding back the cover of the magazine in his hands. “Damn. Did you know Ryan Gosling used to be a Mormon? That is weird as fuck. Aren’t you always blown away by the celebrities that are part of strange religions. Like Scientology, man. They have all the celebrities.”
David and I share a look. He’s as confused about what’s going on as I am, and he hasn’t even seen how spotless the living room is yet. There were empty beer cans and pizza boxes all over the place not that long ago, and now it looks like the reception area of a Hilton hotel. “Please get the fuck out of my bedroom,” David says. “I’m naked under this sheet, and I’d rather not have to see or hear you while my dick is swinging in the breeze.”
Head down, West about turns and leaves the room, eyes still scanning the magazine. David scrubs his hands over his face, groaning. “Fucker could have killed me,” he groans.
“But he didn’t. Get your ass up. We need to get rid of him and figure out how we’re going to deal with the Genevieve situation. Now.”
******
“It’s not that Alex isn’t open to negotiation, y’know. He’s been very patient the last five years. He waited for you to come home for a long fucking time, man. And then, when you didn’t, he realized he was going to have to do something radical to get you back here. He had someone dig up your mother first. He was sure that would have you running home in a heartbeat.”
“He what?” David’s nearly out of his chair, ready to launch himself across the room at West. His face is turning a worrying shade of purple. “You dug up our mother? She was a fucking saint, West. A fucking saint. Alex used to come to her house for Sunday dinner when she was alive.”
“What can I say? My brother’s not a superstitious guy. He certainly doesn’t possess a single sentimental bone for the dead, that’s for sure. Just ’cause he liked Sylvie’s pot roast doesn’t mean he’d have any hesitation over digging up her meat if it serves his purpose.”
Shit. I wish he hadn’t referred to our dead mother’s body as “meat.” David’s hard to rile, but say something about our mother and you’re in the shit. I hold up a hand, silently gesturing for him to keep his ass in his chair. He glares at me furiously. “Did you know about this?” he hisses.
“No, of course not. If I had, I would have been back here immediately.”
“We made sure it made national papers,” West says, yawning mid-sentence. “We assumed you’d both be looking out for New Orleans related news, but…” He spreads his hands wide, shrugging his shoulders. “You never came. The city re-buried Mama Kendrick, and that idea was put to bed.”
“You’re a sick son of a bitch,” David snarls.
“Hey, I had nothing to do with it. I just watched. You should be grateful Vaughn didn’t get his way. It’s a goddamn miracle her body went back into that casket unmolested.”
Forget David. I’m flying at the fucker before I can check myself. I grab West by the collar of his shirt, drag him halfway across the room, and then my clenched fist is connecting with his jawbone. I hit him again, this time to his stomach, as hard as I fucking can, and West starts coughing. My hand is around his throat. I squeeze, and he does absolutely nothing to stop me. His coughing turns into strangled, crazy laughter. I let him go, shoving him to the floor.
“There you go,” he says, his eyes watering. “I told you we were gonna train today.”
“Wait, so you didn’t exhume our dead mother’s body?” David asks.
“Oh no. We totally did.”
I want to kick his fucking ass. By all rights, I should. The Bastiens are sick bastards. I’ve always known this, but digging up a body seems too twisted even for them. I guess I shouldn’t make assumptions about them based on the idea of what a normal, sane person might do in the same situation. All three of them have a screw loose. Vaughn’s screw has just about damn near rattled free from its bolt entirely. My mother was a God fearing Catholic woman until the day she died. I already know what she’d say about her body being exhumed and fucked around with post mortem. She’d be fucking livid.
West’s lip is bleeding. He touches his fingers to his mouth, smirking when they come away red. “Alex is gonna be pleased about this. He’s worried you don’t know how to hit anymore.”
“I can give you a few more bruises to show him if you like?”
West thinks on this for a second. “Okay. Just don’t hit me in the balls. I have a date tonight. The fresh blood and bruises’ll help me get laid. A broken dick won’t.”
He’s being serious. He tilts his head back, giving me another open shot at his jaw, and I stand over him, trying to decide what I want to do more: knock him the fuck out for being so crazy, or pick his ass up and toss him out onto the street for the very same reason. In the end, I do neither. I hold out my hand, helping him up from the floor.
“Tell me the truth. Is he planning on hurting Gen if I don’t fight for him?”
West rolls his shoulders back, stretching like he just got up from a long, relaxing sleep. “Maybe. Maybe not. I might know, one way or another, but I’m hardly likely to tell you, am I? Alex is my brother. He’s my blood. I’ll always protect his best interests. If that means he needs me to watch him fuck your sister on their wedding night, then sign me up. If that means he wants me to hold her down while he saws off one of her fingers, then I’ll do it. And if it means lying and pretending I’ll do that for him, then I’m okay with that, too.”
I close my eyes, holding my breath in my lungs. He really needs to throw down the shovel—an apt term, since it would seem he’s a fan of digging holes. If he keeps on speaking, I’m going to end up putting him in the ground myself, consequences be damned. “Where is he?”
“Who, Alex?”
“Yeah, where is he right now?”
A slow, menacing smile spreads across West’s face. “
He’s dealing with a little problem at this precise moment in time. I can always take you to see him if you’re feeling brave, though?”
“No fucking way. Not fucking happening.” David throws his cell phone onto the coffee table, holding his head in his hands. “This whole thing is so fucking messed up,” he says.
West reaches across the coffee table and straightens David’s phone so that it’s in line with the edge of the wood. “A proper face-to-face with my brother, alone, might be taken as a show of good faith. He might decide there’s another way to handle this entire thing if he thinks you’re willing to play ball,” he says.
“Will Genevieve be with him?”
“Tommy, you can’t seriously be considering this?’’ David’s looking at me like I’m insane. Maybe I am. After all the secrecy and the lies, hiding our tracks for years, flying under the radar, doing or saying nothing that might get us into trouble or tip Alex off as to our location, seeking him out seems like the epitome of madness. Still, Alex technically has the upper hand in this situation. David and I are just two guys, and he has our sister under lock and key in that vast mansion of his, surrounded by countless guards and spies. I ignore my brother, pinning West down under a fierce gaze, waiting for him to answer me.
“No, she won’t. The business he’s conducting isn’t the kind you conduct in front of a woman.”
“Fine. Then take me to him. I want this resolved once and for all.”
CHAPTER TEN
TOMMY
“Fuck, man, do you even have a license to drive this thing?”
West drives like a maniac. He throws his head back and howls, his voice ripped away by the wind. It’s sweltering at this time of year in New Orleans, but he insisted on driving his flashy silver Porsche Boxster with the top down, forgoing any chance of the AC working. With only two seats available, David has had to follow behind us in the rental we got from the airport in Houston. I said we’d both follow behind in the rental, but West wagged his finger at me, shaking his head. “That’s not how this works, Tommy Boy. You and I ride together, younger brothers, comrades in arms. If you insist on bringing Dave with you,” he said, jerking his thumb over his shoulder at the man in question, “then he can come in his own car.”
