Destructive (Combative Trilogy Book 3)

by Jay McLean

  “Rumor has it it’s one of Franco’s enforcers.”

  I quirk an eyebrow. “You don’t say…” Shit’s spreading fast. Too fucking fast.

  The bell above the door chimes and in walks Tiny, his coat zipped up to his chin. He nods toward Jerry, then glances at me. “Boss.”

  “What’s good?”

  “Nothing.”

  “So, what are you going to do about it?” Jerry asks. Clearly, the man likes to gossip, and he thinks he’s part of what we are—him and about a hundred others.

  “About what?” Tiny asks, his gaze shifting between us.

  I sip my coffee. “Body found in the river. Apparently, it’s one of Franco’s men.”

  “Huh” is Tiny’s response.

  “You want my opinion?” Jerry says, moving even closer to us.

  Tiny hides his smile, and I fake one as I lean toward Jerry, humor him. “What are you thinking, Jer?”

  “I think Franco did it. That guy’s one messed-up motherfucker.”

  I nod, appease him. Dropping from my stool, I grab both coffees and raise one to him. “You might be onto something. Thanks for the coffee.”

  I’m already at the door when he yells out, “See ya tomorrow, Boss. Same time, same place!”

  Once Tiny and I are out in the crisp morning air, he releases his chuckle. “A hundred bucks says that guy jerks it to thoughts of you on your knees in front of him.”

  I spit out my coffee with my guffaw. “Jesus Christ, man. Warn me when you’re about to say something so fucked up.”

  He shrugs. “How you doing this morning, Boss? Sleep well?”

  “Same old,” I lie, crossing the street once it’s clear. Truth is, I hadn’t slept. Again. And the meds I’m always downing aren’t doing their job. I should probably do something about that, too, and soon, before I start looking for alternatives. That’s how it started before, which is why I’m reluctant to tell Tiny about any of it. Besides, there’s a reason now—a Bailey. And after the shit I put her through the other night, as well as my activities with Tiny recently, it’s no fucking wonder I feel like my heart’s going to explode out of my chest every time I shut my eyes.

  Or breathe.

  Tiny’s phone rings, and he stops short of entering the salon. Bringing the phone to his ear, he tells me, “I gotta take this. I’ll meet you there.”

  With a nod, I step inside and—fuck. The last two people I want to see right now are in the waiting area. Obviously, I’d expected them to find me, but I’d hoped they’d give me the common courtesy not to do it here.

  Neilson’s eyes are so fixed on his phone, I could pull out my revolver and put one through his chest before he even knew what was happening, and Perceval’s eyes… they’re on Ashton. Her ass, to be exact. And damn if I haven’t made a deal with two of the most aloof federal agents in the country. “You got some wandering eyes for a married man,” I say, stepping up to Perceval.

  He stands quickly, shaking his head at me.

  Neilson follows, a lot more relaxed than his partner. “Pot, kettle, black,” he murmurs.

  Before I get a chance to retort, Ashton approaches us, her fraudulent smile aimed at the suits. “Cut or color, boys?”

  Perceval’s eyes go wide. “Excuse me?”

  “This is a salon, gentlemen.” Ashton crosses her arms. “You don’t get to come in here and take up one of my waiting chairs with no expectation of paying for a service. Cut or color?” She picks up Perceval’s hand, inspects his nails. “Mani-pedi?” Her gaze trails to Neilson. “We have a discount rate for couples.”

  Perceval’s cheeks flame red, and he lets out a scoff. “We’re not—I’m not—”

  Ashton quirks a single, perfectly manicured brow while the pain in my chest lessens. Perceval continues to stumble over his words. Until: “I like pussy!”

  “Jesus,” Neilson mutters, running a hand down his face.

  I hide my almost-smile with my coffee, while Tiny reappears from his phone call. “What the fuck?”

  Ashton drags Perceval to a wash station and forces him into the chair.

  “We’re a man down,” Tiny tells me.

  I watch Ashton drape a cover cloth over the agent, then pin it around his neck. “What division?” I ask Tiny.

  “205.”

  I eye Neilson up and down, just to fuck with him. “You think you’d make it one round in the ring, Suit?”

  His eyes narrow, lock on mine. “Depends on who I’m fighting.”

  I stand taller. “Or maybe it depends on who you’re fighting for.”

  His entire body stiffens. “Don’t fuck with Bailey more than you already have.”

  I take a step forward, but Tiny’s hand on my chest stops me. “What do you want?” he asks the agent.

  Neilson looks around us. “You want to do this here?”

  Tiny pulls out a business card from his pocket. “Call me on this number in an hour.”

  Neilson glances at the card, then up at Tiny. “Sanitation Extraordinaire?”

  Tiny smiles to one side. “I take care of garbage.”

  “Like human garbage?”

  It’s not at all a subtle hint, and Tiny knows it, too, but all he does is shrug. “Whatever it takes to make the world a cleaner place,” he says, towering over Neilson. Mouth to his ear, he says, his voice low, “Isn’t that why we’re all here?” He takes a step back, his usual jovial demeanor completely wiped. Right now, he’s my protector, my confidant, my opposite. He’s level-headed, always thinking two steps ahead.

  I’m… not.

  I’m the guy who’ll get into your parked car in broad daylight, put a pistol to your temple and tell you to drive until there’s nowhere left to go, then I’ll… I’ll do whatever it is the medical examiner’s report says I did.

  Tiny is the clean-up, the make-sure-it-doesn’t-come-back-to-me guy.

  He’s also the guy who understands that while my passion is my downfall, it’s also that same passion for redemption that gets me to rise.

  “Enjoy your treatment,” I call out to Perceval. Then to Neilson: “Don’t let your boyfriend leave without paying.” I set Ashton’s coffee behind the counter for her and start for the exit, Tiny right behind me. “I think it’s time to pay our new best friend a visit,” I murmur over my shoulder while sending a text.

  Nate: Meet me at O’Malley’s bar at 1600, soldier.

  His response is instant.

  Ky: I’ll be there.

  “You think Parker’s hungry to fight or eager to please?” Tiny asks.

  “Both,” I reply, pushing open the door. “I also think he’s got a fuckin’ death wish.”

  “Why? Because he kissed Bailey?”

  My lips thin to a line. “No. Because he so much as tried.”

  30

  NATE

  The problem with dealing with feds who stick out like dog’s balls is that there’s nowhere to really meet. No middle ground. So when they call at the time Tiny told them to, we agree to go to the house where Bailey had led us the first time.

  Since we found out that Benny and/or Franco had access to the security cameras, we switched out everything at the salon and apartment and had the car stripped completely to check for GPS or bugs. Luckily, there was nothing there, which wasn’t too surprising considering Benny’s old school. He uses his phone only to make calls and has absolutely no electronic security besides the gates at his house, which are only monitored through an intercom, no cameras. When I’d brought it up with him, he showed me his .44 Magnum and told me it was all the security he needed. That and his two capos who flank him. That leads me to the next problem. Dante Franco. It’s clear he’s the mastermind behind the tapes, the photographs. But it’s them, together, who are in charge of the human trafficking. I tell all this to the agents while over fifty sets of eyes from missing persons’ posters stare at me. It’s a mindfuck of a room, and I wonder if that’s why they brought me in here. Shame, really, because my mind’s fucked enough as it is.

&n
bsp; “How are things with Parker?” Neilson asks, loosening the tie around his neck.

  “We’re going to meet him after this,” I tell them.

  A beat of silence passes while the agents share a look, and I know what it means. Right now, we’re on the same team, fighting the same fight, so they’re hesitant to bring up the real reason they wanted to see me. “Listen,” Perceval says, his gaze flicking quickly to the poster of his daughter before focusing on me again. “I don’t want to know, but I have to ask…”

  Tiny, standing by the doorway, straightens his shoulders—a move Neilson catches, but doesn’t react to.

  “A body was pulled out of the river early yesterday morning…”

  I lick the dryness of my lips. “So?”

  “So?” Neilson interrupts our exchange, and I shift my attention to him. “The physical descriptor of the male victim is very similar to the man Bailey describes as kidnapping her and holding her captive.”

  I raise my eyebrows. “And?”

  Neilson releases a long, drawn-out breath. “And we’ve been looking for that motherfucker for over a year,” he says, his jaw tight. “How did you find him?”

  Shrugging, I tell him, “Who says I did?”

  “DeLuca,” Perceval scolds. “We’ve been through this. You can’t just wipe them out one by one. As I said, there will be others.”

  I relax into the couch. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Yeah?” Neilson again. “Strange that he was found exactly how Bailey was, minus the pain of two-inch deep, circular wounds. What the hell did you use?”

  I found the exact brand of canned food he’d given Bailey in that shithole, cut them open, and kicked those fuckers into him one by one. I wanted him to know why I was doing it, and who I was doing it for.

  Perceval sighs. “How the hell do you keep a guy that size down long enough to do it, assuming he was alive at the time?”

  Perks of being a drug dealer of my magnitude; I can get my hands on pretty much anything. A small amount of tetrodotoxin, a drug found in poisonous sea life, is enough to kill a person if ingested. That is, after the nausea, vomiting, diarrhea, and abdominal pain. But there’s a window, a few minutes, where the muscles no longer work, yet the person is lucid enough to feel the pain. Those are the money minutes. The ones that count. He had tears in his eyes. I wonder if he ever looked at Bailey the way I looked at him at that moment. Without a single fuck to give.

  Perceval adds, “The autopsy’s being done as we speak. It’ll tell us everything we need to know.”

  In most cases, death comes after respiratory failure. We didn’t let him die. Not before we threw him in the river. I wonder what the report will show.

  “DeLuca!”

  I laugh once, unable to stop it. “Like I said, agents. I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.”

  “We gotta go,” Tiny says, tapping at his watch. “We gotta meet Parker.”

  I stand up, shove my hands in my pockets. “It’s been a pleasure. We should do this again soon, boys.”

  I’m at the door when Neilson says, “We know it was you, DeLuca.”

  “Yeah?” I turn to him. “I’d like to see you prove it.”

  31

  NATE

  “I don’t care where I fight. I just want to fight,” Parker says, looking around the basement of O’Malley’s bar.

  I watch him, trying to figure out my next move.

  The feds, Bailey—they want me to fly under the radar, business as usual, but I don’t know how fucking long I can do that before I beat this guy’s head against a brick wall. His lips—they’ve been on her lips. His hands—they’ve…

  His eyes meet mine, questioning.

  “Good,” I tell him, then start for the stairs because I’m too fucking close to losing it. I can tell by the way my chest aches and my fingers twitch, not for any other reason but the need to grab my gun and end it all right here. In the few days that Bailey’s been back in my life, I’m no longer too soft or too trusting or too vulnerable, and as much as I don’t want to admit it, it’s a problem, and I need to get my shit together because if I don’t, it’ll all be over before it’s time. “Keep your phone on you at all times,” I say, stopping at the top step and turning to him. “You want to fight? You do what I say when I say it. You’re in my world now, soldier.”

  Parker gives a short nod, but I can see the anger flaring deep inside him. I return his gesture and leave him in the room, knowing exactly what he’s going to do next because I would do the same.

  I give him just enough time to get comfortable, to look around. Then, light on my feet, I make my way back down. He’s standing at the end of the hallway where the storerooms are, phone in his hand, taking pictures of the space.

  Ah, such predictability.

  I cross my arms, watch him a moment before snapping, “What the fuck are you doing?”

  His shoulders jerk, just slightly, but besides that, there’s no other tell in his features. No fear. It’s impressive, really.

  “So?” I push.

  He matches my stance. “Just checking things out.”

  It’s strange—this calmness that washes through me while we stare each other down, waiting for the other person to break first. Fortunately for him, I’d made plans. And going by the ruckus outside the basement stairs, those plans have just arrived.

  The exchange between Franco’s guys goes down smoothly even though we have to wait for Parker to clear the fuck out.

  Meeting first with the agents, then with Parker, set us back a few hours, and now we have to rush to get the supply out to all the runners. But I have time for Bailey. I always will. Sitting in the car opposite her complex, I get my fill. She’s standing in the foyer, her bottom lip caught between her teeth as she stares outside. If she looked hard enough, she’d see me. She’s not looking for me, though, which means she’s probably looking for him.

  Jealousy tears at my insides.

  But then she walks to the mailbox, unlocks it and peers inside, and as lame as it is, my chest fills with warmth.

  It isn’t time yet, Bailey.

  “Can we go now?” Tiny whines, gripping the steering wheel.

  I almost say yes, but then Parker appears, on his phone, walking into the apartment building. He must say something to her because her head throws back, and when she turns to him, she’s laughing. Laughing. And it’s not fake like it should be. It’s real, and it’s genuine, and it takes everything inside me to breathe.

  Parker’s off his phone now, and she’s pursing her lips, eying the ceiling. Playful. They’re talking to each other, flirting, and Tiny says, “You’re going to kill yourself with this shit, Nate.” He pulls away from the curb just in time for me to see her push open the door, a beat of hesitation in her step as she faces the outside world alone.

  Abandoned.

  “I’m good,” I tell him.

  And I hold on to that lie until I’m standing behind the counter at my gym, handing a drink bottle filled with drugs to one of my runners when a text comes through:

  Madison: So he asked me out.

  “Take over,” I tell Tiny, who’s standing beside me.

  Mind reeling, I don’t take my eyes off the burner phone as I make my way to the office. I shut the door, shut out the world, and type out a reply as I flop onto the chair behind the desk.

  Sara: Yeah? Are you going?

  She replies immediately.

  Madison: Yes… we’re going to dinner and a movie.

  I groan, drop my head on the desk. Smack it a few times. Dinner and a movie. What I wouldn’t fucking give to be able to grant her such basic life experiences. And now she’s getting them with someone else. I fight the rage and lift my head off the desk, pick my pride up off the floor.

  Sara: Good.

  32

  NATE

  I must’ve looked at a bag of cocaine a little too longingly while I was divvying them out because Tiny’s crawled up my ass about it and
made himself a nice little home there. Metaphorically, of course. But he won’t back off. Won’t give me room to think. Or breathe. And I should be grateful that he cares so much, but… all I want to do is get into bed, throw the covers over me, and lie in the darkness.

  “I dated a girl in high school who thought that you play the game as Zelda,” he says, scoffing as he smashes buttons on the game controller. “Zelda!” He shakes his head. “How can you confuse Link for Zelda?”

  My living room has never felt so small. “Uh-huh.” On the television, two animated figures walk through picturesque scenery as we try to complete our next quest.

  “I broke up with her.”

  I eye him sideways. “Because of Zelda?” I ask incredulously.

  “Zelda’s no fucking joke.”

  Sighing, I fling my controller to the side and slump down deeper on the couch. “You don’t have to be here, man.”

  He shakes his head, his focus on the screen. “No, I need your help with this.”

  I manage to contain my eye-roll. “I’m not eight, Tiny. You don’t need to lie to me under the pretense of needing my help. You’ve completed this entire game over thirty times on your own.”

  His shoulders drop, defeated. “I’m allowed to be worried about you, Nate. And if you say otherwise—”

  “That’s not what I’m saying.” I shake my head. “And I appreciate you, man, but I’m fine.”

  “Pretty sure you said that last time, and next thing I knew, you’d burnt an entire house to the ground.”

  I dig the heels of my palms against my eyes, trying to ease the frustration blooming inside me. “It’s different now.”