The Enforcer (The Gafanelli Mob series Book 4)

by Natalie Wrye

  “Come on, Ang,” I urge. “I know you know. I know that’s why you’re here. Well, one of the reasons you’re here.” I inhale deeply, breathing out just as hard. “Just tell me, okay? I can take it.”

  She huffs heavily, her chest heaving as she runs a hand through her short, shiny hair. “Listen, Jav. I don’t know how to say this… So, I’m just going to blurt it out before I can talk myself out of it.” She drills me with a dare in her eyes. “Delilah. She…”

  The sound of a door slamming grabs her attention suddenly. The heavy metal slab behind us shuts a metallic slap, and in comes another officer with a big, burly baldheaded man in his hands. Tatted across his thick neck, a dark beard covering the lower half of his face, he glances in our direction as the guard plops him down in another seat to our left, their heavy footsteps echoing across the elongated room as they stomp into the booth beside us.

  I glance up, then back to Angie, the little performance they seem to be putting on not distracting me from the task at hand. Step number one? Getting Ang to spit out where the love of my fucking life is, to force her to tell me a tale I’m not sure I can even hear right now, to reveal something that might rip me into two—tear me from the inside out.

  My brain won’t let me go there, though my imagination runs wild. My mind is running in a million different directions, and despite the fear crawling up my skin, I’m already refusing to let certain options be true. The main option being a world without Delilah.

  I won’t let it. I won’t let the universe take her away from me. Not just when I’ve gotten her back.

  I need her.

  Need. It’s something I’ve never allowed myself to say.

  I need her in my life, my arms, my house, my bed. She’s everything that ever made me whole, that made me want more out of life. In so many ways, saving her has saved me, made me remember the route on which I had been heading, the life I was meant to lead.

  It was funny, really…

  Delilah had stopped believing in heroes long ago. And I had stopped believing I could be one.

  I look at Ang once more when additional sounds from the adjacent booth reach my reddened ears.

  “Welcome to my world… pig,” the voice hisses. It almost sounds disembodied. A chill runs down my arms, and my gaze averts to the barrier that separates, my ears perking at that deepened pitch that seems eager for an audience. I listen closer.

  “Never thought I’d see you here.” Something in his tone lets me know that his venomous sentences have nothing to do with the person on the other side of his glass partition… and everything to do with me. I tighten my grip on the dingy phone in my hand.

  “If I had known, Mondello,” he continues, “I would have set up a little welcome party.” His low voice rumbles. “Just for you.”

  I stare at Angie across the transparent panel, lowering the phone almost to the metal table at which I sit. My eyes narrow.

  “A welcome party?” I quip to the air. “For little ol’ me? Well, you shouldn’t have. Not unless you’ve got balloon animals and fun favors to share with the rest of the kiddies.”

  “Oh, the kiddies are going to get a treat; you can believe that. But it might not be the kind you’re expecting, pig,” he snorts, an inexplicable smugness seeping into his sentences. He seems damned proud of himself, and something about it makes my skin prickle.

  Ang tilts her head at me, her gaze searching my face. But before I can place the phone back at my ear, my very own private guard bursts into the room like a bat out of hell, placing one heavy hand on my shoulder. He clamps down. Hard.

  “That’s it, Mondello. Time’s up.”

  I don’t move. “It hasn’t been ten minutes yet.”

  I can hear his sneer. “It’s ten minutes when I say it’s ten minutes.” He squeezes harder and reluctantly, I stand to my feet, my stare unwavering in Angie’s direction. She gets the hint, straightening to her feet, and I replace the phone on the receiver, my eyes throwing her a “To be continued.”

  I’d like to get this particular guard to myself. To throw him my own “private party” of pain, but I know my ass would be thrown in solitary faster than I could make the overweight bastard squeal, and so I let it go, telling myself to revisit this conversation with Ang later. When I’m more prepared. When I’m less likely to kill someone in the process.

  We step through the back door, heading down the narrow hallway and back to the general prison area when I hear the door behind us open, with a second guard and Mr. Celebration almost on our heels. My fingers start to itch, my wrists twisting inside my metal cuffs. My blood pumps fast and I can hear it roaring through my ears as we pass through the white-walled corridor, the soft shuffle of our soles the only other sound as the four of us pass through to the larger area.

  And that’s when it happens.

  The attack.

  The second we step through the doors to the communal area, Mr. Celebration makes his move, slamming his accompanying guard into the door, knocking him completely cold.

  He rushes towards me, his bald head glistening under the fluorescent lights of the main floor, and I backpedal, taking quick steps as he charges at me like a raging bull, his attached wrists swinging widely at my head. I duck, just as they come barreling down.

  The crowd around us, the entire communal floor, rises to their feet, a shout rising among them as they stand, the excitement of a fight bringing them to attention. A roar rumbles through the expanse around us and grows louder as my guard tries to stop the bald man. Unsuccessfully, I might add. He goes down with an elbow to the nose, blood starting to gush from his face as he falls to the tiled ground with a dull thud.

  And then it’s just me and him.

  The surrounding guards on the perimeter suddenly battle spring to action, but not before the other prisoners rise up against them, ganging up on each unaware guard… Two. Three. Four at a time.

  The tiny garrison of officers is overwhelmed quickly, incapacitated by the incensed inmates who now surround them, subduing them before I can barely blink.

  The bald man tries to circle me, and I move quickly on my feet, the shackles at my Achilles restricting my every motion. I crouch, lowering my body closer to the floor as I prepare to gouge the big bastard’s eyes out, just waiting for him to make a move.

  He was right. There was a welcoming party for me.

  And they surround us in the melee, swarming us all Hell breaks loose, an alarm sounding shrilly through the air, slicing like a metal plate through my thoughts.

  The air is stale with sweat and blood, as guards fight inmates, inmates fight each other and I fight a rising bout of rage in what feels like a never-ending circle of violence. Body after body slam into us as the circus intersects me and Mr. Party, tear gas now flooding the common area, rubber bullets flying overhead.

  I lower my head, covering my nose and face as I run in the opposite direction from the fleeing convicts, attempting to duck back into the hallway from where I came. Until large hands grab me, pulling. My back slams into the brickwall, and I raise my hands, reaching for the throat of the man in front of me.

  And then I realize that the throat belongs to Edgecomb, the young Bureau agent with the big mouth. Brown hair askew, blue eyes wide, he croaks as my fingers tighten around his Adam’s apple.

  “Fuck, Mondello,” he wheezes. “It’s me. It’s me. Let me go.”

  He thrusts a set of clothes inside of my lowering fingers, one hand clasping around his throat as he coughs, the other pushing the fabric at my chest. I look down. The gray collared shirt and black slacks between my palms look eerily like a prison officer’s uniform and my glare bounces between the badge clipped to the front of the shirt and then back to Edgecomb’s face.

  I raise an eyebrow.

  “Shit,” he swears, heaving. “Don’t tell me gray’s not your color, man. I’d rather not get choked again.”

  In The Wind

  DELILAH

  My nerves are on edge. Every single one of them.
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  I hear the alarm from the horns mounted on each corner of the prison go off, and those same nerves slice in half, dancing on a blade’s pointy end. The muffled noises from inside the gray building spill outside, and in the backseat of Marco’s muscle car (or rather the car he stole), I squirm, moving forward to get a better look as the vehicle runs quietly in the bushes just outside of the prison’s big fence.

  I glance over Marco’s shoulder as he sits quietly in the front driver’s seat, his eyes glued to the hectic scene outside.

  “And what did you tell him, Ang?” he asks, still looking out the windshield.

  “Nothing,” Javi’s closest friend shakes her head beside me. “I didn’t get a chance to. Your guy interrupted before I could say anything.”

  “My ‘guy’ did his job already. His job was to start a mess, cook up a huge fight. He’s done that. Now it’s Javi’s guy’s job to get him out. Can you vouch for this guy?”

  “I’ve met him before. Multiple times. Anxious kid. Clean as a whistle.” Ang snorts on a small laugh. “He’d wet himself before he’d turn on Javi—his idol.”

  “Good,” Marco comments from the front seat. “Just as long as he doesn’t wet himself here. We’ve got a job to do. And getting Javi out is messy enough.”

  Our eyes collectively scan through the scene.

  When we see Edgecomb stumble, Javi on his heels, my heart literally leaps with joy, the hairs on the back of my neck standing on end as I watch Javi, dark-haired and more handsome than ever, emerge from amid the chaos, his gait strong, his shoulders straight as he strides towards the fence, sneaking quick glances over his muscled shoulder.

  The yard outside floods with people and even in the middle of what feels like the end of the world, I can’t take my eyes off him, my mind saying a quick prayer for my Melanie and Carrie, my body begging for Javi’s all the while.

  All of the people I love are now safe…and my heart has never been so full, so bursting with naked emotion.

  We all exit the car, walking fast, following Marco’s lead. He stalks towards the tumultuous cloud in a dark suit that seems incapable of wrinkling. A handsome devil dwelling in daylight. He moves as if he owns the world, and I imagine in his past life that he almost did.

  The sun is high, blinding everything in sight, and it isn’t until Javi is almost in striking distance, Edgecomb at his helm, that Marco turns to us, his slick black hair shining under the midday glow.

  “Listen,” he says. “Don’t get too close to the action. These new threads,” he glances down at our ‘borrowed uniforms’, “are only for temporary appearances. Doesn’t matter that I know these bastards, paid them off. Prisoners are unpredictable. This fight could easily turn against us, so let’s make it fast. We gotta get to the getaway car on the other side. That’s where I have an armored guard waiting for us. SWAT. He’ll roll us right out after everything calms down, so avoid the fray.” He looks at me. “Del, you grab Jav. I’ll grab the guard. Ang,” he turns his dark gaze on the blonde, “you’re coming with me. Nobody deviate from the plan. Or I’ll wring your neck with my own hands.”

  Something I’m sure he’s done plenty of times before. I swallow, nodding stolidly. And he goes, Ang following close behind, her platinum head of hair on a swivel.

  I rotate on my feet…just as Javi reaches me, his green eyes widening ever so softly, his full mouth parting. I can feel every emotion emanating from his face, his body, his essence and when he grabs me, I give into all of it, letting him lay the neediest, most desperate kiss of my life on my just-licked lips, my mouth opening as he devours it, taking my breath away and stealing my entire soul with it.

  Javier Mondello. My hero. And my villain.

  I hear the man we know as Edgecomb clear his throat and against every vibrating fiber of my being, Javi and I finally break the hungry kiss, looking towards the young guy in uniform with the anxious look on his face. He grimaces, a shaky grin on his baby face.

  “Uh, sorry to interrupt here, but is there a plan for what’s next? AKA whatever we need to do to get the hell out of here?”

  Javier looks at me.

  “Yes,” I nod, my mouth feeling dry. “We need to get on the other side of the building where Marco and Ang are waiting in an armored vehicle. We’re going to take off out of here.”

  Edgecomb sighs, his body slumping as he raises his eyes towards the sky. “Phew. Thank God. For a sec, I thought we’d never get out of this…” He ducks suddenly, dropping to the ground, his face planting in the dusty dirt. “Shit!”

  A pair of fists come swinging towards Javi. An inmate, decked in a tangerine jumpsuit, pummels the air around Javi’s head, missing as he charges, his face furrowed and teeth bared as he swipes a pair of tattooed knuckles in his direction. His brown hair is long. His beard is bushy and it reaches towards his collarbone, swiping the sweat-stained wife beater that peeks beneath.

  Javi dodges all of the man’s swift punches, avoiding the potential pounding. He returns the scruffy guy’s punches with one of his own, his first connecting, jerking the dingy man’s hairy jaw backwards. Chewbacca in Orange stumbles but doesn’t lose his footing. He recovers quite quickly.

  “Think I don’t recognize you, Mondello?” he growls, his voice gritty. “You’re not walking away from this. Not after putting my brother away. You’re not leaving unless it’s in a body bag, you Fed mother—”

  He lunges again for Javi, who ducks, driving a knee towards the man’s balls. But he’s not quick enough. The scraggly bastard sidesteps the move, driving an elbow into Javi’s back. I watch my beautiful hero cry out, a sharp grunt of pain leaving his lips, and fear nearly roots me to the spot as a friend of Mr. Hairy comes to join, tussling with the young Edgecomb, his fists flying at the inexperienced agent.

  I turn, remembering what I left behind in the car, the little token I’d saved from the icy waters just days before. Suddenly sprinting through the sand-colored dirt, I hightail it back to Marco’s stolen car, reaching inside the window to pop the lock, my fingers gripping the latch to the glove compartment as I slide clumsily into the passenger seat.

  And then I feel it. The gun.

  Not the one Marco left in the little drawer, no. I feel the one at my temple. The steel barrel of a small black pistol presses at the edge of my hairline, poking my skin and as I turn, I see a sea of orange in front of me from the driver’s seat, a familiar sneer like a shadow emerging from the dark, slowly coming into the dimming light. I hold my breath, barely breathing as I take in the face behind the trigger.

  It’s the man from The Sweet Spot. The purported rapist robber.

  In the customary one-piece of the San Mateo Federal Prison’s resident, he grins at me, his arm outstretched, a glint in his dark eye. I hate him. More than anything I can ever remember hating. And he winks at me as if he knows it, as if he can sense my loathing and he is lapping it up.

  “Hello, Sweet Spot,” he quips, his deep eyes hard. “I came back.” A sudden smile rises in his glare. “I came back to collect what I didn’t get the first time.”

  Love Lies

  JAVI

  Nothing like beating a man’s ass to get the blood flowing.

  My blood had already been flowing. After seeing Delilah. The second I see her heart-shaped face, the beautiful chocolate-covered hair of hers pulled back into a slickened bun, I feel like a caveman, walking for the first fucking time.

  I can’t help but stare at her cherry lips as she approaches, and my hands itch to dig their way into her tightened hairstyle, release those silky strands and tug her into my body. Close enough to feel my heart beat. Close enough for me to feel hers.

  Everything in me was humming, a pure unfettered gratitude gripping my throat, and I had no other way to express my thanks to the universe that she was alive, well. Here.

  I had to kiss her. So that’s what I do. So fiercely. So hotly that it puts the sun to shame. And with not a care in Hell for what surrounded us, I made her feel what I felt, what she makes me fe
el.

  Love.

  Until a barrel of hate comes trucking in my direction in the form of a fist. Grizzly Denkins, a sadistic son-of-a-bitch who pulled more burglaries and arsons than any law on Earth ever allowed, was taking the opportunity to even the score that I’d settled with him and his even more sadistic blood brother long ago.

  Dank Denkins was a scum of a human being and a child molester. A mostly-toothless bastard of almost thirty, he regularly hit on girls half his age, until he tried to assault one, crossing state lines to avoid detection. I, along with the rest of the FBI boys, picked him up on his way to New Mexico, a litany of weapons in his car, a sexual sadist’s treasure chest of duct tape, rope and condoms in his back seat.

  It gave me pleasure to put the pervert away.

  And it was just my shitty luck that Grizzly would spot me, living up to the legend of his family’s insanity by trying to avenge his alcohol-breathed brother. I enjoyed every bit of the beating I was able to give Grizzly in the prison yard. Even given the circumstances.

  But then I turned to find Delilah and the car gone, Edgecomb barely winning his own fight. He kicked an unconscious perp on the ground, wiping smeared blood from the edge of his lips, the back of his hand shaking as he spit out red-stained saliva. He glanced at me, huffing.

  “What now?”

  Now, we wait. And rage.

  I sit in the back of Marco’s hired armored truck, my fists beating into the leather as I urge the driver—some seedy SWAT guy under Marco’s paid thumb—to go faster.

  “Fuck,” I roar out loud. “Is this damn truck made out of lead? Because it fucking feels like it. We can’t move any damn quicker than this?”

  “Hey,” Marco warns, his eyes sliding into slits. “Be fucking cool. I’m taking us on a detour. If we want to know who took Delilah, we’re gonna need some sources. And I’ve got just the one.” He leans back in his seat, staring out the window. “Just hold tight.”