Property of the Bad Boy

by Vanessa Waltz

  “What are you— Where are we going?”

  “I’ve got to leave you here.”

  “Leave me? Are you fucking kidding?” My voice rises to a shriek in the sidewalk as he drags me by my arm.

  “I’ve got to end this. I’ve got to get rid of him.”

  Patrons in the bar stare as we burst through the door. They swing their heads around and Jack drags me to the back rooms, where Sal sits at a table, counting stacks of money. Two other guys hang nearby.

  He looks up. “Jack—Beatrice! What the fuck happened?”

  “Johnny happened!”

  Jack’s voice trembles the ceiling as he releases my arm.

  “He went after her—both of us! He’s fucking dead, Sal. I’m finding him and I’m putting an end to this bullshit!”

  Sal rises to his feet. “Jesus Christ, Jack. Have you lost your fucking mind?”

  My heart races as he rounds on Sal, fists raised. “He sent Ricardo and Ben after me—I KNOW HE DID. I’m done. He’s dead. He came after my wife!”

  Without waiting for Sal to speak, he turns to me. I flinch when he grabs my shoulders.

  “Stay fucking put. Do not leave Sal’s sight.”

  Sal raises a beefy arm. “Jack, we need to talk to the other bosses—the commission—”

  Muscles rippling, Jack seizes an empty bottle of wine from the table and smashes it against the wall, shattering it into thousands of pieces. Then he takes the jagged neck and grabs the closest man, digging the broken glass into his neck.

  “Jack!”

  “If you lay a hand on my wife, I’ll rip open your insides while you’re still alive.”

  “Jesus, Jack!”

  Then he flings the broken glass to the floor and gives Sal a cold glare. “Watch her.”

  JACK

  The streetlights bleed into the darkness the longer I keep my eyes open. Then I blink and a glaze sharpens everything into focus again. The car screams as the lights flash a bright green.

  Go kill John.

  I can’t hear anything but the roar of my blood and my own voice screaming in my head.

  It was John this whole time. He’s a fucking cancer in my life, and now he’s attacking people that he has no right to touch. What the hell ever happened to omertà? That bastard held on to that code tighter than most guys hold on to their balls. We’re not supposed to touch family. Wives are off limits—and he just tried to kill her in broad daylight.

  Is he sending a message to me? That he’s boss and can do whatever the fuck he wants?

  Message read, loud and clear. You’re fucking dead, Johnny.

  I race down the streets of Montreal like a madman. Murderous rage builds inside me like a crescendo. Fuck, this is so easy. I should have done this weeks ago. I park my car a couple blocks down from John’s house and I move quickly through shadows. Heat pounds through my limbs as I grab my gun at my side, and I raise my fist. The wood rattles as I pound the door.

  Amazingly it opens a few moments later and Johnny’s wife stands in front of me. Fuck. I would rather not do this in front of her.

  Her eyebrows knit in concern. “Jack, what’s wrong?”

  “Where is your husband?”

  Nothing but red flies in front of my vision as she mumbles something. I won’t be delayed any longer. My brother waited months for justice. I push her aside, batting her away.

  “Jesus!”

  “I need to see him.”

  An extremely offended look crosses her pretty face as she shuts the door. “He’s in his study.”

  Perfect.

  I let his wife lead me to her husband, the effort of keeping myself from drawing my gun shaking my limbs. She’ll lead me to his slaughter, and after that… After that, I’m not sure.

  My mind is clear the moment she opens the door and John lifts his head. Calm hatred fills me with bloodlust when he says something and I step inside. The door closes, trapping us both.

  “Jack. What brings you here?”

  How can the bastard pretend not to know? His relaxed posture betrays nothing as he bends over sheaves of paper. As I sit down I swing my hand from my jacket. The gun flashes in the overhead light and Johnny spots it, but too late. His hand reaches under his desk and I point the gun square at his chest.

  “Hands on your fucking head.”

  Johnny freezes, his gaze filled with cold rage. “What are you doing?”

  “Do as I say, or I’ll blow a hole in your chest.”

  The air feels thick and my voice trembles like it’s on the verge of explosion.

  Even though that bastard knows I’m not fucking around, he refuses to weaken in front of me. Slowly he raises his hands on his perfectly styled hair. An impassive expression falls on his face. It says: Fine, kill me, but you won’t last a day after I’m dead.

  This is it. All I have to do is pull the trigger, and Johnny’s no longer boss. He’s no longer anything.

  A flicker of something glints in his eyes when I raise the gun to his head.

  “Why did you do it?”

  “Do what?”

  A burst of emotion rises up my throat and I slam my fist on the table. The gun rattles in my hand. “You know what you fucking did, so don’t try to deny it!”

  Johnny’s voice stays even. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “MY BROTHER! MY WIFE!” Corrosive hatred rises inside me as confusion and anger cloud his face. I want him to admit it. “You tried to have them killed, and I’m fucking done playing your games!”

  “I don’t know who is feeding you this information, but it’s false.”

  “BULLSHIT! I was at the train station with her, you piece of shit! Your guys went after her.”

  “Why the fuck would I want to kill your wife?”

  My eyes burn as a vision of Mike’s broken body haunts me. “Because she’s a loose end! Because that’s what you do! Sal can back me up—you hired Brian and two other men to take care of my brother—”

  “I did not kill your brother.”

  “DON’T FUCKING LIE TO ME!”

  “If I wanted him dead, I wouldn’t have been so sloppy. I’m no fucking coward—I wouldn’t make them wear leather cuts.”

  No, I won’t let him do this. He’s just trying to manipulate me.

  “And your wife? Why the fuck would I do that in the middle of broad daylight? Despite what you might think of me, I would never touch another man’s family.”

  I refuse to let the nuggets of truth sink in, but everything’s confused now.

  “Why the fuck would I want to jeopardize this alliance? It makes no sense, Jack.”

  “To fuck with me! All year you’ve been sending me on these fucking jobs and I risked my goddamned life.”

  “What jobs?” he roars. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

  “Damn you,” I say in a tight voice, gun trembling. “You know what I’m talking about. The jobs Sal called me for that were directly from you.”

  He lowers his hands from his head, the blood drained from his face. He looks like a pale shadow of his former self. “Jack,” he says, pitying me. “He’s playing you.”

  What?

  And the energy saps out of my limbs.

  “Isn’t it fucking obvious? He wants me dead, and he fed you shit all year to get you to do this.”

  Horror makes the rage dart out of sight like quick, silver fish. The gun lowers from his head.

  “Why? Why would he?”

  “He probably killed your brother—made them dress in leather cuts to throw off the cops, but made it obvious that they weren’t MC to us so that you’d suspect me.”

  “Why the fuck would he do that?”

  A grim smile stretches Johnny’s mouth. “To start a war? To take my place? Who the fuck knows.”

  Sal knew I would run over to Johnny the moment my wife was threatened, so he had them attack her.

  Then I drop the gun as panic blooms in my chest.

  Oh my God, I left her with him!


  Suddenly the cold barrel of a gun stares into my eyes as John stands up, his demeanor as icy as the metal pressed against my forehead.

  His voice cracks, his hand shaking somewhat as he holds the gun to my head.

  “No one’s ever gotten this close to ending my life.”

  “John, come on. We’re on the same side here—”

  “I’ll let you live long enough to leave Montreal.”

  Everything’s different now. I need his help.

  “Please, John. I left her with him.” Regret pounds between my ribs as I choke on my next words. “She’s pregnant with my kid—and you—” Then my voice cracks with outrage. “You owe me!”

  “You put a gun to my head not five minutes ago.”

  A ripple of anger runs through me. “Can you fucking blame me? You did fuck all to find out who killed Mike.”

  He grits his teeth. “I was busy trying to keep anyone else from being killed! That’s what this whole alliance was about, and now it’s gone to fucking hell!”

  “John, I don’t fucking care. Beatrice is at that bar with Sal. I told her to trust him.”

  It’s like a bottomless pit just opened beneath my feet.

  He blows out his cheeks. “Where exactly?”

  “At the Whale and Ale.”

  “Let’s go.”

  Tension rides my limbs as we burst out of the office. His wife swoops on John the moment we leave.

  “What’s going on in there?”

  “We’ve got to go deal with something. Maya, don’t answer the door or accept any calls from anyone but me.”

  She blanches. “Why?”

  “I can’t get into it.”

  Beatrice is waiting for us.

  “Let’s go!” I scream, nerves frayed.

  I disregard the withering look thrown my way. My stomach is tied in knots over the colossal mistake I made. I trusted a man who used me like a gun.

  The balmy night feels suffocating, like a heavy fog settling deep in my lungs so that I can’t exhale.

  “We’ll take my car.”

  I rip open the passenger door of his BMW and slide into the seat as Johnny sits beside me, slamming his door shut.

  “I hope you realize this doesn’t change shit between us,” Johnny says as he starts his car. “How many fucking times did I tell you I had nothing to do with Mike’s murder?”

  My chest swells as we peel out of his driveway. “You need me to clean up house. Sal’s a fucking parasite. I cannot believe I actually looked up to that man.”

  Yellow light flashes over Johnny’s face. “What did he say when he’d send you on these jobs?”

  “He said they were requests from you. That if I wanted to get back in your good graces, I would do them and shut my mouth.”

  “Jesus FUCKING Christ! Ten fucking years I’ve been working with this guy, and now I have to make an example out of him.”

  “All due respect, John, but he’s mine.”

  “Fuck you. I’m the boss.”

  “If you’re right, he murdered my brother.”

  Silence swallows the echo of pain in hungry gaps. Johnny turns his head toward me slowly.

  “He may have killed your brother, but—”

  “—But nothing! I have the right to put a bullet in his fucking head.”

  “I need him alive.”

  Fucking bullshit.

  “I need to know how big of a rat he is, and I need to be sure.”

  “How are you not sure?”

  “I worked with the man for ten fucking years! I need proof. I need to hear it from his own fucking mouth.”

  A warning creeps into his voice. “I mean it, Jack.”

  Blackness eats at my insides as we drive to Montreal, and I stare at the screen of my phone, filled with an ever-increasing mountain of dread.

  She’s not answering my texts.

  My heart seizes. “She’s not replying back.”

  “There’s no way Sal could’ve realized we’re on to him.”

  Doubt hangs on his words like sickly syrup.

  “Can’t this fucking car go any faster?”

  My back slams into the car seat as he throttles the engine. “Tabarnak de câlisse de criss de marde!”

  Johnny lets out a volley of curses as he grinds to a halt. I open the door and leap out of his car before it stops. A brief glimpse of the sign—a whale and a pitcher of beer—before I crash my shoulder into the door. It flies open and smashes into a group of people, and angry male voices rise up around me. My eyes scan the packed bar, but I don’t see my wife’s blonde head anywhere.

  “Is she here?”

  Johnny joins me and I say nothing as I walk toward the back. The dread is like a wildfire, burning back logic.

  Please, please let her be here.

  But I know she won’t be as I palm the door, hearing a small sucking noise as the door unsticks from the jamb. Nothing prepares me for the way my lungs crush at the sight of the empty room.

  “NO!”

  My hands grip the edge of the table, where there’s a single pad of notebook paper and a pencil, and I flip the fucking thing over. It makes a huge noise, the aluminum crashing loudly into the cement floor. Where the fuck is she? Where did he take her?

  “Shit.”

  Johnny’s shoes clip over the stone as he walks in and his eyes scan the place.

  “How the fuck did he know we were on to him?”

  I don’t know and I don’t give a shit.

  My vision blurs as I walk back into the bar, scanning the crowd of heads for her and finding nothing. Blood churning, I walk toward the bar and lunge at the bartender steadily wiping a glass.

  “What the fuck?”

  Grabbing his arms, I lift him over the bar and slam his face into the counter. “Where the fuck is my wife?”

  “Ow! What the hell, man!”

  “Answer the fucking question.”

  A set of furious blue eyes look at me under my palm as I grind his face into the counter. “I don’t know!”

  He does.

  “You know who the hell I am. Don’t get cute with me, or I’ll take you out back and you’ll have a real fucking problem.”

  I seize his arm and twist it behind his back, applying enough pressure to make him scream.

  “She left with that fat guy!”

  “Who?”

  “Sal!”

  “Did they say where they were going?”

  The eyes narrow with incredulity. “Of course not. Please, let me go!”

  Fuck.

  What the hell is he doing? Why Beatrice? Killing my brother wasn’t enough. He had to stab me in the heart just when I was finally getting my life together. He could be anywhere doing anything to her.

  I loosen my grip on the bartender’s head, and the room spins slightly.

  I can’t lose her.

  I love her.

  My lungs tighten so that I feel like I’m breathing through a straw—images of my brother’s body and Beatrice’s smiling face strike me like blows to my stomach. I crumple in on myself and gasp a desperate breath. A strong hand slides over my shoulder and anchors over my muscle, squeezing hard.

  “Jack, we’ll find her.”

  I just don’t know.

  “I swear to Christ, we’ll find her.”

  What sort of state will she be in when we do?

  BEATRICE

  Waiting sucks.

  I’ve never been a big fan. Doctor appointments, hair salons, really anywhere you’re required to wait, I always loathed. Which is why I’m usually glued to my smart phone in these situations to pass the time.

  But I’d give anything right now—slit my wrists, donate a kidney—to know Jack’s all right. I can’t bide my time playing a goddamn game. My husband’s out there, doing something insanely stupid. Kill a boss? You don’t kill bosses or presidents lightly. There are consequences. Debts.

  We should have just left town.

  I stand up from the long table as Sal’s eyes follow
me. There’s strain written all over his face. His shoulders roll forward and he seems boxed in. Tense. It does little to soothe my nerves.

  Jack’s out there, alone. And he’s just sitting there!

  “Sal, why haven’t you called anyone? Jack might need help.”

  He shifts his bulk, his eyes flicking away from me. “What am I supposed to do, lead a fucking coup against our boss? I’ll be shot for suggesting it.”

  “Don’t act like this was his idea.”

  “It was his idea.”

  “You already betrayed your boss. Here. When you let Jack leave without a fight.”

  A nasty smile stretches across his face. “You’re a pretty ballsy woman to talk to me like that.”

  Oh please. What are you going to do, hit me?

  I have to keep reminding myself that these Mafia assholes have an ego the size of Quebec.

  “He needs help.”

  Sal’s eyes slide to mine. The look he throws me sends a spear through me.

  “Sit down and shut up.”

  My fists ball at the table as heat rises to my cheeks. Weakening, my knees buckle.

  He’s not allowed to talk to you like that.

  Jack’s raw voice, unbidden, speaks in my ear as if he stands right beside me.

  What am I supposed to do?

  Kick his fucking ass.

  The voice and its laughter fade in my ear as courage quails. What the hell am I supposed to do? What can I do? Jack might not be able to handle this on his own, and if he can’t? Well, then my baby grows up without a father.

  A cold shudder runs through my body. No.

  Jesus, what about Maya? That son of a bitch is her husband—I completely forgot! Shit.

  I stand back up and move around the table, heading for the door. One of the goons stationed at the door blocks my exit with his body.

  “Get out of my way!”

  “Your husband wants you to stay put.”

  “Shut up, both of you!”

  A merry tune fills the small room as Sal digs his hand into his trousers and pulls out his phone.

  Oh my God.

  I hold my breath.

  “Sal,” he answers in a clipped voice. “Yeah, she’s still here. What happened? Shit. Jesus. Yeah, we’re on our way!”