“Hope, you don’t look so great. Are you allergic to anything?”
I stand, desperate to stop the dizziness overriding me.
“Are you feeling okay?”
“No. I think… I’m having…” I wheeze out, putting my drink down and gripping my hands on the table. “A panic. . .”
“Torino!”
I hear the shout, but my vision blurs as I try to stay focused. On Benjamin. On what I’ve done.
“Hope? Hope, can you hear me?”
I recognise the voice, but I can’t place where it’s coming from. The thumping noise inside my head doesn’t lessen, and I squeeze my eyes shut to turn it off.
Quiet. Stillness. I breathe in and test my limbs. They slip between cool sheets and I mentally frown, not understanding how I could be at home. The last thing I remember is having a cocktail with Emily.
The memory of the panic attack comes back slowly, along with a healthy dose of humiliation. How could I let something like that happen? My eyes scan the room to confirm I am indeed home and look for the clock. It’s a little after ten in the evening.
“Emily?” I call out, thinking she’ll be somewhere in the house.
A soft knock comes from around the corner. “I’m here, don’t worry. I won’t leave you. Torino said I’m welcome to the guest bedroom. I think Quinn would like that as well.”
“Yes, okay. Thank you. I’ll be out in just a moment.”
I uncurl the covers from around me and ease myself up. I’d liken the feeling in my head to a hangover, although find it hard to believe on just a sip of champagne. I find a pair of running pants and a T-shirt, then scrape my hair back before heading out to find out what happened.
“How do you feel? Do you need anything?” Emily bombards me with concern, and I glimpse Torino behind her, visually checking I’m still in one piece.
“I’m all good. A little woozy. I don’t know what happened to me. Someone want to fill me in?”
Torino vanishes, and Emily and I head to the living room to take a seat.
“You have some more colour now. You turned white, Hope. All the colour drained from your face and it looked like you fainted. Do you think it was the drink?”
“I don’t know.” I shake my head, not prepared to admit what really caused it. I’ve never had a panic attack in my life, certainly never felt something that overwhelmed me like that did.
“Well, I’m just glad you’re feeling better.” She tucks her feet under her on the sofa and settles in. I, on the other hand, feel like an imposter in my own home.
Benjamin’s home.
I have nothing. Everything I own in the world is because of Benjamin, yet I’ve been prepared to sacrifice that for revenge on my half-brothers.
“Have you heard from Quinn or Benjamin?” I don’t like how soft and frail my voice is. I’ve spent years sharpening my edges and building my armour so that I’m strong enough for this, and in the first step towards my goal I wind up on my ass from a panic attack?
All the booze in the apartment won’t be able to drown away the disgust I feel right now.
“No.”
“Do you expect Quinn home any time soon?” I’m hoping she’ll know something to help my guilt.
“Who knows? Probably not. I’ve learned just to expect him when he arrives.” She smiles through her words as if she has an unseen confidence. Perhaps it’s what happens when you marry someone. That little band of gold magically gives you confidence that everything will be right in the world. Only tonight, it won’t.
Fifteen
Security on the docks is tight, as usual. Luca pulls the car in slowly and drives forward enough so that the guy can get a good fucking look at me from his lit box. He’s new to me. An unknown. He stares down at me in the back of the car, squinting through the darkness with a frown on his brow and clipboard in his hand, before glancing around the area.
“You gonna pull that barrier up?” I ask quietly, as I keep staring at him. I check the wedding band on his finger and his name. Jenkins. Rick Jenkins. “Wouldn’t want to leave a pretty wife without a husband by the end of the night, Rick.” Whatever frown he dropped to piss me off dissipates as quickly as it came, surprise now there instead. “Where’s Roman?” He’s not an unknown. Five years under me with backhanders every damn time.
“Out on the docks.”
“Well, bring him here.”
Five fucking minutes I wait for that to happen, until I see the man himself running through the yard to get to this box I’m waiting at.
“Vico,” he says, huffing breath in my window. He signals Rick to leave and looks at me, the barrier rising at the same time. “Dock’s clear. I just swept it myself.” I hand an envelope of money through the window to him and nod over to the east side where DEA hang out.
“There, too?”
“Yeah. They went out earlier on, about four p.m.” Harvey did his job then. I glance out the other side of the car, checking Border Patrol. All seems quiet. Lights on, but no movement in the building. “Border Patrol shut down half day. Two boats out in the water, though.” Mmm. “I heard talk they weren’t coming back ‘til morning.”
“Heard talk. Or were there when it was said?”
“I was there, boss. Heard it myself.” Good.
“There are nine cars coming in behind me. Let them through, give me half an hour, then switch the lights down and get your guys out of here, Roman. Shit’s about to fuck up on your dock.”
He nods at me as Luca pulls us in, the car smoothly turning through the trucks and containers strewn about. I look up at them through the drizzle that’s coming down, eyeing the entire fucking place for anything that might be here already. There’s nothing that I can see, but it doesn’t stop me checking both the guns I’ve brought with me. Quinn chuckles beside me, the sound of it as hollow as the death that’s coming.
“You’re checking them now?” He laughs and looks the other way, a smile on his face as he straightens his goddamn tie.
“Fuck off, Cane.”
“Chill out. This is the fun bit.” Idiot. I shake my head and smile, though, for some reason letting his excitement wind me up. It’s like he’s on pins, ready to launch the moment I open a fucking door. “Nate says the docks are fine. He’s checked them over from surveillance four times already since we got here. No movement.”
Luca steers round to the west side that we normally port out of, so I flick my fingers through notifications on my phone, waiting for the boys in Philly to send the message letting me know the goods are being driven into New York. Nothing so far. They left earlier on, safe on the road as usual. Three and a half hours it takes them to get through the roads they travel, back routes away from the main freeways just in case some fucking cop decides to be a hero.
“That woman of yours?” I flick my eyes to Quinn, wondering what the fuck he’s about to say. “Where’s she from?”
“Why?”
“Wondered.”
“Why?”
“Fuckable. Nice legs.” All hell riles up inside my guts at his words, a scowl leveled at him that should send the message straight into his skull.
He laughs. He damn well laughs and widens his eyes at me like a fucking mad man.
“The hell was that?” I snap, unsure what he’s playing at.
“Just making sure you’re ready.” Cunt. “Looks like you are. I’ll shut up now.” Yeah. Good idea.
I look back at my phone and frown, uninterested in anything that isn’t directly related to what’s happening here and pissed that he thinks I’m not on this. Fuck him.
“You’ve got your own woman. Stop thinking about mine before I rip your fucking eyes out of your skull.”
“You could try.”
My brow arches.
“How old are you now anyway?”
I swing back to him, mouth ready to deliver a tirade of abuse and hands barely holding themselves off him. He does nothing but stare at me and smirk, one hand holding a gun in his lap.
&
nbsp; “You’re a dick, Cane.”
“Yeah.” He opens the door as the car pulls to a stop and steps out before I’ve given him the okay to do it.
“A damn arrogant one,” I spit, exiting with him and looking around the area. He nods and moves across the space, eyes looking at anything that might be useful to him as he sweeps the area himself.
“Port B?” he asks, his feet striding towards the place through puddles. I follow, listening to the splash of his footsteps disturbing the stillness in the air, lights bouncing off the reflection from the water. He scans again, searching high for vantage points he can get to, as he shoves his gun in the back of his waistband. Astute. I stop and watch him then check my watch. Still no message. I pick out my phone and call the warehouse for an update. They’re still a half hour out of New York, some crash on a back road diverting them off the chosen route.
“Boss?” one of the boys says as the cars come rolling to a stop near us. “Where do you want us?” I flick my head over to the storage containers, fingers pointing to the other cars that come to the opposite side. As long as we cage the fuckers in, we’re safe.
“Seven up high, where Cane is,” I mutter, still watching him scope the dock out. “Some over by Border Control. Keep that secure. You left one out near the security post?” He nods at me and gets out of the car, feet already heading for Quinn.
“Two on the entrance further up, too.” Good.
My eyes search the inky night after that, watching as they all find secure positions within this dock. There aren’t many men that aren’t mine, but there are a few. Most of the systems were mechanised ten years back, but a few still need human input to keep the containers moving in and out. I look up to the tower, hand shielding my eyes from the light that shines down until it finally goes dull—day setting engaged. The result is a lowly illuminated dock full of calm and near silence, other than the smooth turn of the containers being moved.
A sudden burst of action coming from the right side of the docks makes me grab for my gun and turn for it, my finger ready on the trigger. It’s only when I see a load of men running the outskirts, all of them in hard hats and high vis jackets, that I realise Roman’s calling his men out of the yard.
“Could he fucking announce it any louder?” Quinn asks, creeping out of the gloom from somewhere. “Looks like a fucking parade’s going on.” I chuckle at that, continuing to watch them off the dock, flashes of orange in the night. No one now. No one but us—machines and guns.
“He’s protecting his men. Wouldn’t you?”
He doesn’t answer. He paces instead, eyes continuing to flash around the area at where my men have put themselves.
“You got anything yet?” he asks. He means the message.
“No. It’ll come in soon enough. We wait now.”
Wait.
Nearly an hour of fucking waiting later and I’m about ready to blow. There’s been nothing. No movement, no lights in the distance, not even a goddamn phone call. I walk out of my spot and stand in the middle of the yard, eyes fixed on the main roadway distance in front of me. Not one fucking thing has come down it since my boys all got here. Including Yakuza.
Quiet.
For the first time in a long time, I want a cigarette. I call over to Ferdinand to get down here. He hustles over at speed, smoke already blowing from his own mouth.
“Give me a smoke.” He does, his hand shielding the lighter from the wind as I draw a lungful in. I blow out and squint into the distance again, not sure what the fuck to think.
“You called in again?” Quinn asks.
I turn to look at him, wondering where the hell he keeps coming from. “Stop fucking creeping up on me.”
Why is it quiet? Too quiet. I look at Quinn, eyes narrowed, and think of Nathan back there on his own with all my information open for use. Yakuza should be here even if the trucks aren’t. They were told, offered the information by one of my henchmen who likes to dabble in Japanese pussy. Trust is wearing thin.
I put the damn call in anyway.
“Boss?”
“Where are they?”
“They were about there, just off the freeway last time I checked in.”
“They’re not fucking here.” My eyes keep looking at Quinn, another lungful of smoke being drawn in. “Phone them now on another line while I wait.” He does. No fucking answer. “Try another one of the boys.” Again, no answer. “And again.” I wait for that answer with bated breath, wait for it to give me one fucking reason not to kill this cunt where he stands. There was only him and Nathan who knew what was happening. Only they knew the route in and where from, the timing, the tripled amounts, and the plan. All the Yakuza knew was this dock.
Again, there’s no fucking answer on that line either.
Narrowed eyes turn to slits as I watch Quinn watching me and end the call. That’s a lot of my goods just disappeared into a cloud of unanswered calls. It doesn’t matter that two thirds of it was his. He’ll make about five million off the third that was mine and re-run his own goods if he’s organised this shit.
“You got anything to say to me, Cane?” There’s a moment of confusion on his brow, but it’s replaced at fucking speed when he catches on to what I’m saying.
“Really?”
“Where’s my run?”
“Fuck you,” he snarls out, pushing his gun into his waistband again. “Drop your damn paranoia and think. Where were they last?”
Still I stare, unable to gauge whether he’s on side or off. My feet travel around him a little, eyes searching for signs of treachery. He’s like a block of goddamn stone, one who’s riling himself up for a fucking explosion by the sound of his shortening breaths.
“You’re fidgeting, Cane. Why?”
The goddamn right hook comes out of nowhere, sending me backwards half a foot. My jaw stretches once I’ve righted myself, hand reaching to rub that fucking sting away as I look into the blackness of the port. The footsteps of my boys clatter, all of them running in from where I put them earlier. I look up and see Quinn reaching for his phone, a huff coming from his mouth.
“You’re a fucking idiot, Vico. Get your mind in gear.” He brings the phone to his ear, glaring at every one of my men who have come down from their posts, then returns that glare to me. “And don’t think about retaliating until I get Nate up into a chopper. You wanna get this shit between us out of the way—wait.”
I do, barely, body still vibrating from the impact of that hit. Cunt. He mutters something for a few minutes, eyes downcast and then flicking around at my boys again.
“Yeah. Access into the Feds from there, use their line of sight. It’s not here and should be by now,” he says into the phone, bringing that glare back at me again. “I’ll deal with this dick while you do that.”
Five fucking seconds I manage to give him before I’m moving, all hell coming out of every bit of distrust I’ve got. I slam into him, shoulder barging the dick backwards and hand reaching for his goddamn neck. He turns in my hold, spinning himself out of the way and grabbing onto the left hook I’m sending at him, pinning me with his arms.
“You’re being a dick, Vico,” he snarls, using his weight to shunt me around. “Think.” Thinking is fucking gone, lost in a mist of rage that keeps feeding me. I grunt in his hold, arm heaving away from his to get a goddamn punch in. He blocks, moving me again, but not quickly enough to see the uppercut coming at his chin. Spittle flies from his mouth, the hit sending him sideways into one of my boys. They grab at him, pushing him back towards me as they jeer.
The whole fucking thing makes me bounce on my heels, a wry smile coming regardless of whether or not it should. Feels fucking good, interesting. My neck cricks out, jacket being tossed from my back at the same time.
“You’re a cunt, Cane.” My hands wave at him, signaling him back into me. “Let’s see what Chicago’s streets have to offer.” His fingers wipe at his lips, blood pushing up the side of his cheek as he scowls at me. “How’s that shoulder?”
>
I’m over at him again before he has a chance to answer, two punches directed straight at it. He grunts and turns back at me, another volley of hits coming from his own power. I smile into it all, twisting, letting the punches come with no fucking care for the end result. I’m pissed. Aggravated. And this cunt is as good a fighter as I’ve been up against for a long time.
I don’t know or care how long it goes on for. I’m immersed in the back streets of New York and dirty fucking dealings again. It’s all I can see, all I can feel. Years gone by, Tony’s dead eyes, Hope’s split lip and blood. Wild and vicious, brutal beginnings. Evil endings. All of it comes at me from his hands and what I deliver back.
He holds his hand up at one point, eyes directed at mine.
“The fuck, Vico?”
“What?” I snarl out, bouncing as I back off a step or two.
“The deal?”
Fuck the deal.
I reel back into him again, not knowing why I’m damn well doing it anymore. Pain is what I want. I want hate and revenge embedded so far into me I see nothing else. The puddles below splash and shuffle, our feet dragging through them as I keep getting glances of his features in the gloom. Dark nights, darker days. Memories of my father showing me how to kill, how to keep power over the masses. I reach for my gun, fingers grabbing for his chin and turning him into me as I lock my arm around his throat.
“Did you do this?” I growl out, tucking him tighter to me and using all my weight to keep the fucker in my grasp. He grunts and tries to pull away, hands reaching for my arm around his neck. My knee digs into the back of his, pushing him down to the floor as my other leg kicks his balance from him completely. Still he fights on, hoping. There’s fuck all hope here now. None. It’s not until I shove the gun against his temple that he stills entirely, though. “Did you? Did you fuck me over?”
Vengeful Eyes: A Cane Novel 3 Page 15
