“I don’t fuck around, Jacob. You should know that by now. What do you want?”
“You son of a bitch,” Jacob says with his usual greeting. It seems he doesn’t have much of a vocabulary. His voice is low and deadly this time, though, more collected instead of just yelling. I raise an eyebrow. This is the Jacob Waters that I’ve been looking for. I’ve gotten past all his bullshit, all his shields, and his buffers. This is the man I want to hurt. “I’m going to make you beg me to kill you.”
“Call me names if you want, Jacob, but you know the old playground chant? They’ll never hurt me,” I reply, keeping my voice level. I’m both excited and, to be honest, a little scared. I’m excited because not only am I hurting the real Jacob Waters, but I’m pitting myself against the man who has run this city and most of this state for over two decades. But that’s scary too, and I momentarily wonder . . . have I fucked up in my thinking? Is my army of the streets enough to take him down? “I think we have an understanding, don’t we?”
“Oh, I understand just fine,” Jacob says, his voice still a deadly whisper. “I understand that you won’t be able to go home again. That little forty-eighth story penthouse of yours? That fucker’s going to be destroyed by the end of the night. You know, I spent a whole day trying to think of why you’d be so fucking stupid as to try and take me on this way. Then I remembered. Your old man. I killed him like the bitch he was.”
“You might just be right,” I concede, not letting him piss me off. “Of course, the reason could be even simpler. Maybe I just think it’s time for this city to have a new king.”
Jacob laughs something that worries me more than any scream of rage or threat he could make. “If you think you’re man enough, boy, I guess we’ll find out. Fuck it, I guess I’ll just have to move on to wife number four before I turn fifty-five.”
The line goes dead, and I look at Marcus. “Get us home. Call ahead and have them get Sarah out of there.”
“Ryker . . .” Marcus starts but stops when he sees my face. “Fine, we’ll go get her.”
The back of the van is packed, five guys along with me and Sarah. She didn’t even have time to really change. She’s wearing one of my old sweatshirts along with the sweatpants and a pair of shower sandals while she looks around worriedly. I sit next to her, and when she puts a tentative hand on my leg, I take it and give it a reassuring squeeze. “You’ll be safe,” I whisper.
Henry, one of the guys in the back, keeps looking over at us, mostly at Sarah, and it pisses me off the way he’s looking at her. He’s looking at her like we’d be better off tossing her out on the side of the road somewhere. One less liability to worry about while we finish what we started. Finally, after the third time, I get pissed off enough to say something. “There a fucking problem, Henry?”
“Uh . . . no, Boss. No problem at all,” Henry says, looking down suddenly before looking up. “No disrespect. Just . . . Miss D, I wanted to say I liked your TV show.”
Sarah looks over, smiling slightly. “How old are you?”
“Nineteen,” Henry says, fidgeting. “Why?”
“Aren’t you a little young to remember that?” Sarah asks. “There’s no way they play it on the air now.”
Henry blushes, looking down. “My big sister really liked the show, too. And it’s in syndication now.”
Sarah nods, then looks at me. “Oh yeah. I forgot about that.”
“Either way, let’s keep our heads in the game,” I say gently to Sarah before giving Henry a hard look. “Got it?”
“We’re getting close,” Marcus says from his traditional shotgun seat spot, again with a shotgun between his legs. “The advance party should be there already.”
It takes us another five minutes before the van makes the final turn and pulls into the safe house, a warehouse in the Docks that is in the middle of a block that my men control more than any other in the city. Even more than the neighborhood that I started with, the Docks is the closest thing we have to a fortress island within the city.
“There’s going to be people here,” I tell Sarah softly. “But they’re here for your protection. Okay?”
“Okay,” Sarah says softly, giving my hand another squeeze before entwining her fingers in mine. “For luck.”
The van comes to a stop and Marcus hops out, already hollering orders. “All right, get the door closed and get this fucking place locked down tight!”
“I didn’t think he could be so commanding,” Sarah says softly, and I have to chuckle.
“Marcus is only a teddy bear around the house. Don’t worry, it’s something he’s good at. He does most of the yelling for me . . . usually.”
The crew scatters, and Marcus turns around. “What else do you need, Ryker?”
“Let’s get Sarah over to her bed, then we need to have a powwow,” I reply, leading her over to the office area. It’s not as comfortable as her ‘cell,’ but she’ll be safe here. Inside, there’s an old metal frame Army surplus bed with a decent mattress, sheets, and a wool blanket. “Here, catch some shuteye.”
“Like that’ll happen,” Sarah says nervously. “I’m a nervous wreck and—”
I close the door and pull her close, kissing her hard and cutting off her words. She’s stiff at first before she melts into my arms, and when her tongue touches my lips, I open up to her, tasting her delicious natural flavor for a moment before releasing her. “Better?”
“A little,” she admits. “Where’d you learn how to do that so well?”
“Lots of fantasies of some hot chick on TV who liked to wear a schoolgirl outfit,” I tease. “I’ll be right next door in the meeting room, talking to Marcus. You’ve got an army protecting you tonight, and even if Superman himself got through them, he’d have to take out me and Marcus to get to you.”
“I’d put money on you two,” Sarah says before sitting down on the bed and stretching out. Sarah wiggles her bare feet as she does so, and I’m reminded that she only had some cheap shower sandals, a total no-go in this building.
“Thanks. Oh, but I need to ask . . .” I say, turning around. “Shoes? What size?”
“Ten in women’s,” Sarah says. “Sorry, I’ve got big feet.”
“You know what they say about women with big feet, right?” I quip, and Sarah grins, shaking her head. “They need big socks.”
“They got it mostly right,” Sarah says. “At least it rhymes the same.”
I laugh and leave the room, closing the door behind me, and I turn to see Marcus sitting down, a can of generic cola in his hand and one sitting on the table, waiting for me. My smile disappears, and I sit down. “Everyone in place?”
“They’re pros, Ryker. As much as street gangsters can be. She’s in good hands.”
I crack the can, drinking deeply as I try to calm down, but I can’t. “Where the fuck is he?”
“I don’t know,” Marcus says. “The war’s about to go very fucking hot after what we did. We knew this was going to happen, though. That’s why we prepped this place.”
“Yeah . . . still . . .” I rasp, crumpling the now empty can after draining it the rest of the way. “I’m worried at the beast we woke up tonight. No, fuck that, the beast I woke up tonight.”
“You’re stronger than he is,” Marcus says. “If you think you’re compromised—”
“Why would I be compromised?” I ask sharply, and Marcus raises his hands. “No, tell me what’s on your mind.”
“Nothing, Ryker. I’m just saying . . . if you’re worried about time, maybe we need to take him out now,” Marcus says. “Put the word out and make some motherfucker rich for his head.”
I shake my head, slamming my fist on the table. “No! I want to do it. He made Pop kneel and die with no honor. His blood belongs to me. Where is he now?”
“We’ve got people looking for him,” Marcus says. “Like us, though, he’s got to have safe houses, probably ones a lot more comfortable than ours. Knowing our luck, the fucker’s in some five-star hotel downtown si
pping on Dom.”
“If he is, then I’ll shove the whole bottle down his throat,” I growl, but what goes through my mind isn’t the image of my father dying but the sight of Sarah’s panicked eyes when she begged me not to let her go back to him and the feel of her skin under my fingers as we were in the shower. Either way, the fucker deserves to die. “Put the word out, fifty grand to whoever gives us his confirmed location. But nobody moves on Jacob Waters without my say so.”
Marcus nods, standing up. Before he can go, I reach out, taking his wrist. “That means you too, Marcus. I lost a father to this asshole. I won’t lose my brother, too.”
He looks like he’s about to protest, but we’ve had this discussion before, and I’m not changing my mind. Still, it burns Marcus, and he opens his mouth to protest when his phone rings and he takes it out. “Huh, didn’t think he’d call. Not after all this time.”
“Who?” I ask, and Marcus shows me his phone. “Joe Strauss? What the hell is he calling for?”
Joe Strauss is one of the best hitmen in the city, and perhaps one of the top ten in the entire country. His biggest advantage is that he doesn’t look like you’d expect a hitman to look like. He’s not tall, he doesn’t look athletic, and in fact, he’s nearsighted to the point that if he ever got into a hand to hand fight with someone, he’d probably get his ass handed to him. He looks more like an accountant or a dentist than a hitman. But that’s one of his biggest advantages too, because nobody sees him coming until it’s too late. It’s been two years since I last talked to him, and I wonder what brings him back into my life now.
“Hello, Joe?”
“It’s nice to hear your voice, Ryker. Thankfully, your brother never changes his damn phone number, unlike you, Mr. I Love Burner Phones,” he says in his pleasant, middle-class sounding voice. Listening to him, I can understand why he’s a middle school teacher in his normal life. “How are you doing?”
“If you’ve kept your ear to the ground, Joe, you’d know how I’m doing,” I reply sarcastically. “What can I do for you?”
“It’s not what you can do for me, but what I can do for you,” Joe says. “I just got a call from a representative of Jacob Waters. The man wants to meet me.”
“Oh, really? And I guess this isn’t to discuss the newest round of test scores from the city’s schools,” I reply. “Get to the point, Joe. Sorry to rush you, but I’ve got a list of things to do.”
“No offense. He offered me five million dollars to take you out,” Joe says. “With a bonus the faster I get it done.”
“And he knows you work for me, right?” I ask. “At least, the last time you were in the city, it was for me.”
“Of course he knows,” Joe says. “But he still made the offer. Twice my normal rate for a hit of your . . . value.”
“I’m honored. But if you’re calling me, you didn’t take the contract. That’s not your style. So, what gives?” I ask, chilled by the idea of Joe Strauss after me. “You’re not the kind to switch sides, either.”
“I know I’m not, which is something Jacob Waters doesn’t seem to understand,” Joe says. “I remember ideas like honor, Ryker. And I remember when you and your brother helped my daughter out with the problem she was having with those punks. Some things are more important than money, you know.”
I nod, relieved. “I do know. Thank you, Joe.”
“Don’t mention it. Also, I wanted to pass on a little info. Waters is getting desperate. I don’t know how far you’re willing to push him, but I heard it in his voice—the man’s close to cracking. If I were you, I’d end this soon before the streets run red with innocent blood. Trust me, you don’t want that on your conscience.”
“I plan on it. Thank you, Joe. Good night.”
I hang up the phone, looking over at Marcus. “He’s right, you know.”
Marcus nods, picking up his phone. “So how do you plan on doing it?”
I think, staring long and hard into the scarred, scratched surface of the table, thinking about how familiar it feels. Sure, I might be living in a penthouse now, but the fact is that I’ve spent most of my life in grimy little offices like this. There have been so many nights sitting at a hand-me-down Formica table, so many nights where I wasn’t wearing Gucci slacks but Dickies, my boots not custom tailored but the Vietnam jungle variety. And if I’m going to end this quickly, I need to get back to that man I was.
“I need to get out on the streets, take it old school,” I finally say. “Trade in the comfort for getting a little grit under my fingernails.”
“Why?” Marcus asks. “Why not wait for him to come out? He’s gotta come out eventually. If he sits on his ass he’s going to lose his rep.”
“And if I sit on my ass, I’m going to lose the same thing,” I reply. “I need to get my hands dirty again. You still got my old gear?”
Marcus nods. “The jacket, at least. Why, you want it?”
I think, then shake my head. “No, but I do need some street gear. What’s here?”
“Enough that you’ll find what you’re looking for,” Marcus says. “You sure about this, though?”
I nod, getting up. “Let me get changed. We’ll talk while I do.”
The lights are off when I open the door to Sarah’s room, and I think she’s sleeping at first, so I start to back out when her voice comes out of the darkness. “You’re leaving.”
“I need to. If I don’t, this could stretch on for weeks, even months. Innocent people could die. I signed up for this life, but most of this city didn’t.”
I close the door most of the way and cross over to Sarah’s bed, kneeling next to her. She shifts and turns, rolling over to look at me, and in the darkness, her already dark eyes look nearly black, but still I can see the emotion in them. It’s hard to miss when she’s nearly crying. “It’s what makes you different from him,” she says softly, reaching out and stroking my hair. “The only reason he’d even think of exposing himself would be to save his own neck.”
“I know. And it’s a weakness I’m going to exploit. I need to go stake him out, figure out where he’s holed up,” I reply. “I need to know where your husband is so I can position my troops and end this soon.”
“Don’t call him that,” Sarah whispers fiercely. She takes her hand back, clasping her hands together for a moment before holding out her engagement and wedding ring for me. “I don’t want them anymore. He has never been a husband to me.”
I take them and tuck them into the left hip pocket on the baggy fatigue pants I’m wearing. It’s been a long time, but they feel right. “I’ll toss them in the river.”
“No,” Sarah says. “I want you to keep them. Because . . . because I don’t want you to go. And I know you have to anyway. You have to bring those back to me so I can throw them in the river myself.”
“You’ll be safe here,” I reassure her. “Unless it’s a perfect opportunity, I won’t make a move.”
Sarah reaches out, cupping my face and kissing me again. “You’d better not. You come back, and I’ll follow that up with every fantasy you ever had of me.”
I chuckle, getting to my feet and leaning over, giving her a little kiss on the nose. “I don’t need the fantasy. The real thing was better than anything I ever fantasized. I’ll see you in two-three days. At most.”
Chapter 12
Sarah
After Ryker leaves, I try to stop my body from trembling, but I can’t. It should be the opposite. Before, I was all alone. I couldn’t hear anything except my own breathing. Now, I can hear people moving around in the ‘safe house,’ and for some reason, it freaks me out. Finally, I can’t take it anymore.
It’s the fear that’s getting to me, I know. He’s not coming back, it says. He says he is, and he’s got my rings that he’s supposed to bring me back. But I can’t stop this feeling that by this time tomorrow, Marcus is going to come in, telling me that Ryker’s been shot in the streets and that I’m going to be turned over to Jacob as a last-ditch peace offerin
g.
I’d rather die. So, now’s my chance, and I take it, rolling out of bed just as the door opens. I freeze until I see that it’s Marcus. “Sorry, didn’t mean to wake you.”
“It’s okay. I was just getting up to use the bathroom, wherever that is,” I reply. “What’s up?”
He holds up a pair of shoes and socks. “These might be better for you than the sandals. The bathroom’s over in the corner by the stairs to your right as you come out of the office.”
“Thank you. And Marcus?” I reply, taking the shoes from him. They’re not much, cheap Velcro-closed, bargain basement running shoes, but I appreciate the thought behind it. “Thank you.”
“No problem,” Marcus says, waiting while I slip the shoes on and get up. “This place ain’t much, but we’ll keep you warm and dry at least.”
We cross the warehouse, which is creepily empty. “Where is everyone?”
“Ryker taught us that you don’t defend by huddling up but by doing what’s called ‘active defense,’ or going out and making sure your enemy never even gets close,” Marcus says. “So, I’m the only one inside the building, while the rest of the crew’s out and around the neighborhood.”
We reach the bathroom, which is by a door, and my fear flares again. “Okay, I’ll wait here while you—”
He never completes his sentence as I turn and knee him square in the balls. He’s not expecting it, and I catch him hard, knocking him to the ground with the pain. “Sorry, Marcus.”
I run out the door, down the alley, and into the night. Rounding the corner, I try to remember what I saw through the front window of the van that we used to get here, and I think that the freeway is about two miles or so to my left. I take off in that direction, trying to look cool and collected while still hurrying.
My heart pounds in my chest as I make my way along the dimly lit alleys, doing my best to try and stay in a more or less straight line. Fear assaults me in every direction. Every body I see moving in the streetlights could be a threat. I’m not from here. I’m just a suburban girl caught up in a nightmare. I don’t get far when someone jumps out and drags me into an alley, a powerful hand clamping over my mouth. “What the fuck are you doing?”
Begging for Bad Boys Page 21
