by AJ Adams
I wasn’t concerned about crossing the continent or the prospect of hunting him down. I would lure him into coming to me, just as I’d convinced Greasy to invite me home, and then I’d kill him. I was out for justice, and it was going to be bloody.
But first I had to finish the job at hand. The old wood was hard, but it was dry too. The little fires were coming along well, helped by the firelighters and the charcoal briquettes.
Greasy saw the flames flare and turned frantic eyes on me. “You don’t understand. Sokolov isn’t who you think he is. He’s not just a poncy rich bastard funding plays; he’s mafia! He’s got a gang all of his own!”
I fanned the fires a little and topped all six with a little more charcoal. The heat was already intense. The metal bed frame would soon be warming up.
“Sokolov is untouchable!” Greasy shrieked.
“I got to you, didn’t I?”
“You stupid bastard! If you kill Sokolov, his brothers will be after you. And then his cousins. And then their cousins. They’re the Bratva, for God’s sake! You’ll have to kill them all!”
I looked into his bloodshot eyes. “Sounds like a mission to me.”
The fires were now licking at the metal frame. A wave of heat blasted out, driving me back a little. “You can’t do this!” Greasy was bucking like a madman. “For pity’s sake!”
As if there were any pity left in me. Love, joy, and gentleness were out of my reach forever. All that remained was pain and the monster that banished it.
I stood back and watched the flames rise. Greasy shrieked and struggled. “No-no-no-no!” He was jerking at the cuffs now, blood running down his wrists and ankles. “Oh-God-oh-God-oh-God!”
I’d promised him scream for scream, cry for cry. If I could have ripped his heart out and made him eat it, I would have. His pain was a mirror of my own suffering, but I stood silent.
“Mercy! For God’s sake! Have mercy!” As the metal frame heated, he began to wail. “Help-help-help!” The fire was spreading, licking over the floor and reaching the big beams. There was hardly any smoke. Greasy wouldn’t be able to pass out on friendly fumes. I’d done a perfect job.
His screams were tearing through the air, bouncing off the walls, and practically shredding my ears. I stood back, taking it in. Power was running through me, fuelling the heady sensation of control. This was good. This was justice.
I tended the fires, adding coals and fanning those that threatened to smoulder rather then flame. The temperature rose steadily, moving from hot to intense. Greasy was melting in front of me, his sweat actually steaming as it flowed off him into the burning air.
Eventually it was time. His skin was blistering. The shrieks were continuous. The flame was spreading. I looked at my watch. Midnight. “Bye, Greasy.”
I stepped outside and drove the van to the bottom of the lane. The barn was in a dip, invisible unless you came looking for it. With the mild rain dampening the fields, there was no threat of accidental night ramblers calling in the fire or of it spreading. But thanks to the location, the cries floated over the fields, echoing in the darkness.
Greasy screamed for the entire hour. His shrieks faded and died just before the roof caved in. It would smoulder all night long, burying my victim under the burning tinder. The fire was so hot, that I doubted they’d have enough left to identify him.
As he went out, the rage and desire for vengeance vanished, leaving me empty. Welcoming the numbness, I got into the van and drove back to London. Back in my own digs, I watched the moon fade as the sky lightened. Then, seeing it was my birthday, I went to the fridge and helped myself to a beer.
Back when we’d been happy, I’d planned to spend my birthday at home. At the memory, the pain began to wash back. Soon it would grow and overwhelm me again.
I cracked the beer open, and as I drank it I was contemplating my next move. Sokolov had set in motion the events that had destroyed my family. He’d have to suffer the penalty. The monster inside me flexed, blanking the burgeoning pain as my intent focused.
Sokolov had a thirst for fine things. He would be inundated with dubious offers. How would a man like him think? I tried to fill the role of the mafia prince, rich and spoilt but suspicious. The answer came soon enough. A whisper of a rare treasure, not for sale but open to theft, would be an irresistible lure.
As the sun inched over the horizon, my trap took shape. I finished the beer and tossed it into the bin.
There was no justice, it was too late for that, but I could have my revenge. The lust for retribution swept through me, setting my soul on fire. I would hunt them down, and I would kill them all.
Chapter Two: Morgan
Barnyard was still quiet, transitioning from happy hour to the after-dinner crowd. It meant we could snag one of the better booths and have a gossip before the boys turned up. And as it happened, the girls had plenty to tell me.
“Christy and Dale are getting hitched!” Emma exclaimed. “They’re having the wedding at Notre Dame. It’s going to be epic.”
“I heard,” Lucy replied. “Isn’t it cute how they set up their wedding invites through a Facebook group?”
“Well, seeing we’re all living on top of each other, it makes sense,” Emma pointed out. “Why post cards, right? Now there’s more money for the party.”
“Sounds terrific.” I was smiling as if I knew all about it, but I wasn’t fooling anyone.
“It’s a very small wedding,” Emma said quickly.
“Tiny,” Lucy agreed.
“Sure! And anyway, I’m not close to either of them.” I put a brave face on it, but we all knew what was going on.
“Love the dress,” Emma said smoothly. “Aritzia?”
“Neiman Marcus.” I was happy to change the subject. “They were having a spot sale, twenty percent off, and I’ve been eyeing this for weeks.”
“It’s gorgeous,” Lucy sighed.
As they examined the dress, admiring the rich turquoise cloth with its boldly cut top and sweep of the skirt that would billow as I danced, the sting of being left out yet again lessened.
I didn’t know Christy well, but we’d all been in school together, and Dale had been in my year. We’d also seen each other in Barnyard, and I’d chatted with them as much as Emma and Lucy.
Still, you can’t force people to like you, and there’s no point in moaning about it. So I smiled to salvage my pride, I would never admit it hurt and comforted myself by knowing I was looking good in the new dress and the manicure that I’d splurged on.
“Turquoise nails,” Lucy grinned. “You don’t often bother but when you do, you clean up nice.”
“Give with the left hand, take with the right,” I kidded her. “It’s all right for you—you just step out of the office and you’re good to go. Me, I need to bathe in turpentine just to get rid of the first layer of grease.”
Oh, and in case you think I’m a fry-cook, I’m a mechanic. A damn good one too. But the term grease-monkey is apt. Trust me on that. Normally I’m clean and presentable when I go out, but that’s about as far as it goes.
I’m okay-looking, but you’d never find me on a racing calendar. I’ve got dark blonde hair, cut jaw-length so it’s easy to keep neat, plain grey eyes, and my body is athletic, meaning I’m pretty much straight up and down.
But that night I was tricked out like a country bride. Thanks to a good bra, I even had some cleavage. Not bad for a chick who’s got a mouthful of boob and a bare handful of ass.
“Hey, chica. Wow! Love the dress!” Eddy Walters, once upon a time with the high school swim team and now making a career for himself in insurance, was grinning down at me. From the beer breath, he’d been there all happy hour. He leaned in, “I was thinking: want to go out?”
“Yes.” Finally! A date! I couldn’t stop a shit-eating grin spreading all over my face. “Sounds great. When?”
Eddy shrugged. “How about now? We can pick up a bottle of tequila on the way home.”
For a moment I didn�
�t get it. But then his hand was on my ass, fingers rubbing meaningfully. “So when you said out—?”
“Oh. You want me to buy you dinner first?”
Great. I was supposed to go back with him and put out in return for a couple of shots of tequila.
Before I could blast him, Emma was all over it. “Fuck off, Eddy!”
Lucy too. “Yeah, beat it, asshole.”
“Hey! I was just asking!” Eddy went off, sulking.
“Don’t pay any attention.”
“He was always an asswipe.”
We’d been tight since school, and I loved them like sisters. “He was the first in his family to be born without a tail. I’m ignoring him.”
“Chica.” Poncho Calderon was at my elbow. “Was that fuck Eddy Walters bothering you?”
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Emma and Lucy had frozen. They were wide-eyed and trying to look as small as possible. If they could have, they would have turned invisible.
Poncho had an ugly look in his eye. One word from me and Eddy would be a smear on the sidewalk. God help me, but I was sorely tempted. It would have served the creep right too.
It was Emma and Lucy, sitting like two scared rabbits that had me saying, “Nah, but thanks for looking out for me.”
Poncho nodded. “Any time.” He looked me over and smiled. “You’re looking great! Hey, want to go to Angelo’s on Friday?”
My favourite restaurant. And I really liked Poncho. But a date would bring me back into a life I didn’t want. “I’d love to, but I have something on already.”
He didn’t believe me, but he took it well. “Sure. Some other time.”
The second he was gone, the girls breathed again. We were out for a fun night but with Eddy and then Poncho, Emma and Lucy weren’t exactly having a blast. I had the uncomfortable sensation that just being near me was trouble. It was a depressing thought.
“Maybe I should’ve said yes to Poncho.” I hadn’t meant to say it aloud but it was out there.
Lucy looked at Emma and Emma at Lucy. Unspoken thoughts flew about, and there was no need to translate or guess.
“Look, I know I said no more bad boys,” I sighed. “but I haven’t had a date in years.”
You’re asking yourself what’s wrong with Poncho, right? Okay, well, let’s see. He’s six-foot-two, rugged-looking, dark hair and dark eyes. He’s the owner of his own home and drives an Acura Mdx. Sounds terrific, right? Except he’s an area coordinator for the Gulf cartel.
Right. And now you’re wondering why I’m not running, screaming. It’s because I was born into it. My maternal great-grandfather was a made man, working for Salvatore Maranzano in New York in the days when the government pretended organised crime didn’t exist. My paternal great grandfather was with El Padrino, the Mexican crime lord, who made a million bucks running whisky and coke across the border during Prohibition.
All the men in my family followed in their footsteps. Yes, that’s right, four generations of made men. Basically, if there were such a thing as cartel blue blood, it’s me. Papa was with the Gulf, one of the biggest syndicates in the Americas, so I’d known Poncho forever.
“Really? Poncho?” Emma asked, horrified.
“I don’t want to spend another night alone.”
And that was the bottom line. I grew up with the cartel and never thought anything of it. It seemed normal to have relatives and friends in and out of hospital and jail. It was just how we were.
Also, we were super tight. When you’re in the cartel, you’re part of a huge family. They watch over you, and you watch over them. It’s safe and cosy, like being cosseted in cotton wool. But when I was seventeen, my whole family was ripped away in less than six months. I’m the only surviving member.
Having my world destroyed almost killed me. I had the crazies for a while, and when I finally climbed out of it, I had learned some hard lessons. Part of getting my act together was evaluating what I had. That led to the decision that I would not follow in the family footsteps.
The cartel means violence, even if you’re on the sidelines. I loved my family and friends, but I didn’t want a life that could be destroyed by a bullet. So I had stepped away from all I’d known and turned civilian.
It had not been easy. It meant turning away from everyone I knew, turning down invitations to dinners, parties and every other kind of social event. I’d disengaged as carefully as I could, but there had been some bad feelings.
What I hadn’t realised was that the rest of the town would always see me as cartel. I’d hoped to edge myself into a happy non-violent life, just like Emma and Lucy, my besties at school, but people have a long memory. Even though I tried my damnedest, I just hadn’t been accepted.
I stuck to my decision, but it was hard, and it was often lonely. What made it even more difficult was that Dawson Heights, an hour south of San Antonio, was Gulf territory. I hung out at a regular job with regular people, but the cartel was all around me. And truth be told, I missed being part of it. Even though my head told me that cartel life would eventually kill me and those I loved, my heart remembered how close we’d been and how good it had felt.
Emma and Lucy didn’t understand.
“Poncho is a killer,” Emma whispered.
“Lethal,” Lucy added.
“I’m not going to date him,” I said defensively. “It’s just that guys like Eddy get me down.”
Right, I should explain that too. Dawson Heights is a hick town, and Barnyard can be a bit wild when everyone is liquored up, but we did date like civilised human beings. At least, Emma and Lucy did. I didn’t, and it wasn’t because of the cartel connection.
That touch of the crazies I mentioned meant that I was drunk or high for the best part of two years. And yes, before you ask, I slept around as well. It was because I was dying inside, but it meant I had a rep.
“It’s not fair,” Lucy groused. “So you were a bit wild once. So what?”
“Because in Dawson Heights, men who screw around are studs, and women are sluts,” I reminded her.
“I’m a slut,” Tim appeared behind me, laughing.
“Me too.” Jake, Tim’s brother, was there beside him.
“Wow, you clean up nice!” Tim said, surprised.
“I forget how sexy you can be,” Jake agreed.
I should say here that we worked together, so Tim and Jake thought of me as one of the boys. That was probably just as well, as Tim was dating Emma and Jake was with Lucy.
Roberto, our boss, had pitched up too. “Why are we talking about sluts?”
Before I could stop them, Emma and Lucy had filled them in.
“Fucking asshole!” Tim spat.
“Don’t you listen to him!” Roberto said.
It really warmed me. I didn’t have many friends, but the ones I had were solid gold. “Look, I can’t change the past, and I can’t change how people see me. I accept it. I made my bed, and I’ll lie on it.”
A rich baritone cut in. “Oh, can I lie with you?”
For a moment I didn’t recognise him. Then it hit me. “Mitch! Where did you spring from?”
He swept me up in a hug, solid and familiar. “Hey, chica, looking good.”
Mitch Cortez, my senior by two years at school, had been my first love. It had ended badly when I’d caught him with Angela Bedowski, but I wasn’t remembering that. I just took in the familiar craggy face with the happy dark eyes and the big sparkling grin. The broad shoulders, lean waist, and chunky legs were pretty good too.
“Did you miss me?” Mitch grinned.
“Pooh, not at all!” I stuck my nose in the air, just like I used to when we were dating. Happiness flooded through me. I hadn’t seen Mitch since I was sixteen. He had graduated two years ahead of me and vanished. He was from the part of my life when I’d still been happy.
“You haven’t changed a bit.” Mitch was standing so close to me that I could feel the heat of his body. He smelled good too. Sandalwood and spice. The DJ was back, putting o
n ‘Burn’ by Usher. It had been one of our favourites back in high school. Mitch took my hands, “Want to dance?”
And that was basically it. Seeing Mitch, the years just rolled back. We stepped onto the floor, and by the time we’d danced to ‘Crazy in Love’, ‘Love Is A Losing Game’ and ‘Bad Romance’, I was floating six inches above the ground.
Even better that Eddy stomped out, looking pretty cheesed off. I wasn’t sorry to see the back of him, and when Poncho exited too, giving me a thumb’s up, I thought he was happy to see me happy. Of course, I got that wrong, but at the time I didn’t know that.
“It’s like I was never away,” Mitch murmured. “Same people, same music.”
“Yeah.” I didn’t think it a good thing, but he sounded pleased. “Where did you go?”
“Hollywood.”
“Film stars?”
“I wish! Construction.”
“And now?”
Mitch grinned. “I’m sure I’ll find something to keep me busy.”
“I don’t know if there are any construction jobs here.”
“There’s no rush. I’m having a holiday first,” Mitch said easily.
Like a fool, I never asked more. I was just thinking how good it was to see him again. What I should have done was remember why we split.
Mitch had messed about with Angela when he was drunk. I could’ve forgiven that, but when I found out, he tried to lie about it. That was the end of us. It wasn’t the cheating that killed me; it was him not being straight with me. I never could stand a liar.
Like I said, I should’ve remembered and asked more about Mitch’s so-called holiday. But I didn’t. I was just having too much fun. It had been years since I’d danced and laughed with a man who was interested in me. And I knew Mitch was because he had a woodie bigger than the Chase Tower.
As we danced on and on, the place began to fill up. There was some oohing and aahing from Mitch’s old high school buds when they spotted him, but as he stayed glued to me, it never got past waves and air kisses.
