by McLean, Jay
“No Tiny?” Agent Neilson asks, opening the front door wider for me.
Shoving my hands in my pockets, I sidestep him and enter the house, saying, “Nah, he had to take care of some business.” I follow Perceval into the evidence room and take my usual spot on the couch, my mind reeling with all the things I need to say. Once Neilson joins us, I tell them both, “We should probably find somewhere to meet that’s a little closer. Coming all the way out here takes a big chunk out of the day, and if I keep missing important transactions, people are going to get suspicious.”
Neilson scoffs. “Transactions?”
“Yeah.” I glare up at him. “Transactions.” Then I bite back my anger, my frustration, because he’s not the cause of it.
“So, have you heard?” Perceval asks, one eyebrow quirked as he looks between Neilson and me. We should probably put a stop to these dick-measuring contests we keep having because going by what I saw at the bar last night, neither of us is likely to win.
“Heard what?” I sigh out, dropping my head in my hands, my thumbs to my temple.
“You feeling okay, DeLuca?” Perceval asks. “You look like shit.”
“I’m fine.” I’m not. I retrieve the pills from my pocket, down three at once.
“Tell me whatever you just popped is legal.”
Licking the dryness off my lips, I look up at him while Neilson sits down next to me and cracks, “We can hook you up with a doctor if you need some medical marijuana. Oh, wait…”
I side-eye him. “Funny.”
“Seriously, though…” Perceval leans against the desk and crosses his arms. “Are you okay?”
I relax into the couch, try to find some form of comfort. “I have a heart condition,” I tell them.
“Well, shit,” Neilson mumbles. “Sorry, man.”
“It’s fine.” I shake my head. “It’s manageable. It’s just a pain in the fucking ass.” But I’m not here to talk about my medical issues, so I focus on Perceval again. “Have I heard what?”
“They identified the dead guy from the river.”
“Okay…?”
“Marco Ricci,” he states. “You know him?”
I shrug. “Name rings a bell.”
Neilson scoffs. “Philly PD are looking for suspects as we speak.”
Another shrug. “Cool.”
“Cool?”
“What do you want me to say?” I almost laugh. “That I did it? I already told you guys: prove it. And is this why you had me come out here, because if so, quit wasting my time.”
“It’s not,” Perceval rushes out. He knows I’m two seconds away from walking out of here. “We need your help.”
“Aren’t I already doing that?”
“We need to gain access to Benny’s house.”
I bust out a cynical laugh. “Sure, let me just call him real quick and ask if I can come over with some friends.”
“That’s not what we’re asking.”
“Right.” I flex my fingers. “So, what are you asking?”
“Isn’t there a way you can get him out of the house for an hour, tops?”
“This is a joke, right?” I look between the two agents. “You’re fucking delusional.”
Neilson speaks up. “Just one hour.”
“And maybe…” Perceval says, and it’s clear he already knows what he’s about to say is pitiful. “Maybe turn off any security he might have.”
He doesn’t have any security, but I’m not going to tell them that. Besides, isn’t it their fucking job to know this shit? “I can’t help you. And even if I could, what are you expecting to find?”
“Anything,” says Neilson, at the same time Perceval sighs out, “Nothing.”
I focus on Perceval.
“We’re grasping at straws here because—” His voice cracks and he clears it. “Because we’re going nowhere, finding nothing. And the bureau—they’re not too happy about it. Soon, they’ll be cutting our funds, and we’re going to have to pack up and go home, and I’ll have to look my youngest daughter in the eye and tell her that her daddy couldn’t find her big sister—a sister she’s never even met.”
I lower my gaze, hide my emotions.
“So, I’m asking for your help, DeLuca. Because I don’t know what else to do.”
I let his words sink in, let them fester. “He has two capos who flank him whenever his eyes are open. Sometimes, he has them stay overnight to man the perimeter. He doesn’t like common soldiers knowing where he lives, so he’s particular about who goes in and out.”
“There’s a gate, right?” Neilson asks.
“Pin code or buzzer. It’s the only way in or out unless you want to tackle the twelve-foot fence.”
“Do you know the pin?”
“No.”
“Does—”
“No!’ I snap. Then take a calming breath. “That’s as much as I can give you, and now I need you to do something for me.”
A silent agreement passes between the two agents. “What do you need?” Perceval asks.
“I need you to find a way to do this without Bailey.”
“But she’s—”
“She’s not coping.”
“Bailey or you?” Neilson asks.
I ignore his snide remark and tell them, “She messaged me this morning saying she wasn’t doing too well emotionally. She uh… she feels lost and um…” I rub the back of my neck. “I just think this isn’t the best situation for her to be in right now.”
A beat of silence passes before Perceval pushes off the desk, moves to sit behind it. “I disagree.”
My eyes narrow on his. “You can’t disagree with how someone feels.”
“That’s not what I’m saying,” he says, shaking his head. “But what would you rather? Throw her out on her own? Because right now, in this situation, she has every single person in this room looking out for her.”
I huff out a breath. “Yeah, but she’s living a lie.”
“Look around you, DeLuca,” he says through a scoff. “Aren’t we all?”
“Besides,” Neilson interrupts, “that probably has to do with what happened last night more than anything.”
My gaze snaps to his. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
He glances at his partner before coming back to me. “Ashton didn’t tell you?”
“Tell me what, exactly?”
Shaking his head, he stumbles over his words. “I—she uh—” Then he sighs. “Look, I shouldn’t have said anything. It’s between the three of you.”
I get to my feet, that frustration I’d been holding back returning, trying to force its way out of me through my trembling hands. Is he talking about me seeing them at the bar? No. Because Ashton wasn’t there, and this involves her.
“Speaking of your wife…” Perceval sings, and I need to get the fuck out of here. I’m at the door, my back turned to him when he adds, “Why didn’t you tell us who Ashton was before she became a DeLuca?”
My feet glue to the floor, hands balling into fists as I close my eyes, expel my built-up rage through my nose. “Because it’s none of your goddamn business.”
Chapter 38
I’m losing my mind.
My patience? I lost it a long time ago. Probably why I have Parker up against a wall with my forearm to his throat. I’d busted him trying to look through my phone. Luckily, he won’t understand anything in there. And even luckier, it wasn’t the burner that has “Madison’s” messages.
I’d been distracted, pissed off at the world—or more likely, my lack of control in said world—and his actions just tipped me over the edge.
Now I’m spiraling.
Down, down, down.
I don’t even comprehend the words we exchange or the motions it takes for me to hold my weapon beneath his chin. It’s not until the closed door of my office bursts open and Tiny yells, “What the fuck!” that I realize what I’m doing.
Slowly, I lower my gun, keep my eyes on Parker. “Get the car, Tiny.”
I look him up and down one more time, drown in the images in my mind of him and Bailey together. “I’m done here.”
* * *
“Why am I here, Agent Perceval?”
Sitting behind his desk in his office, he looks up at me. “Because we need to talk.”
“Obviously,” I say, throwing in an eye-roll. “But can we make it quick? Ky’s at the gym, but he won’t be there much longer, and then he’s going to be looking for me.”
“You and Parker are getting close, huh?”
I shrug, keep my secrets safe.
“Well, he’s going to have to wait. Dr. Aroma is on her way.”
A puff of air leaves my lungs. “It’s really not necessary.”
“Are you sure?” he asks, raising an eyebrow. “DeLuca mentioned you messaged him yesterday…” he trails off.
I wish Brent were here with me, but he’d made himself scarce since picking me up and dropping me off. He probably knew what was coming, knew I’d fight him on it. Smart move on his part. I mumble, “I was just having a bad day.” But then Ky made it better, filled my world with color. But most of all, he gifted me with hope. And I cling to the edge of that hope as it sits inside my bag, a vision of a future I want nothing more than to experience... if only once in my lifetime.
“Was it because you went to see DeLuca’s wife?”
Yes. “No.” I mean, it wasn’t just that, but meeting her made me realize that there were so much more than just the two sides to our story. It wasn’t only Nate and me, not anymore. We were all living such convoluted lies, and not a single one of us is going to come out of this unscarred. But Ashton and Ky—they were the innocent ones, the bystanders. I didn’t want to hurt either of them.
Perceval clears his throat and moves some files to the side so he can lean his forearms on the desk. “Don’t do that again.”
“What?”
“Don’t go to her again.”
My brow knits, and I scoff. “I don’t see how that affects you.”
“Because she could be our ticket.” He releases a long, drawn-out breath. “She has the ability to single-handedly blow this case wide open or shut it down completely.”
“Ashton?” I ask incredulously.
“You have no idea who she is, Bailey. And we didn’t either, not until—”
A knock on the door silences him, and a moment later, Dr. Aroma pokes her head inside. “Sorry I’m late.”
Perceval stands. “No, no. You’re just on time.” I stare up at him, my breath held as I wait for him to finish his sentence. But he doesn’t. He merely makes his way to the door, welcoming the therapist into the room. She sits down where he just was, oblivious to the fact that the man who just left had dropped a bomb on my lap… and I don’t know how or when I should detonate it.
“How are you today, Bailey?” she asks, but her voice is distant, fading in and out between the copious thoughts rushing through my mind.
I stare at her, my entire body numb.
“Bailey?”
Without thinking, I pull out the picture frame from my bag; the generic image still held tightly between the glass and the backing. “I want this.”
“Frames?” she asks, taking it from me. She flips it between her hands, searching for what I see. It’s a picture of a couple standing in front of a fountain. They’re facing each other, the girl with her arms around the guy’s neck, his arms around her waist. They’re smiling, but more, they’re loving each other. And they’re loving freely.
“The picture inside it,” I whisper, my heart heavy. Tears well in my eyes as I attempt to sniff back my heartache. “I want what they have.”
Her gaze shifts from mine to the picture in the frame, and I watch her stare at it, scrutinize it, and with each second that passes, I can see the understanding dawning in her eyes. “Oh, Bailey.” It’s so pitiful, the way she says my name. The way she looks at me.
Liquid hope streaks down my cheeks. “Tell me how to get it,” I plead.
Dr. Aroma sets the frame carefully on the desk before clearing her throat. She looks away. One second. Two. Needing that time to compose her feelings. And when she looks back, there’s a clarity in her eyes, a fortitude in her stare. “There’s this phrase that people often link back to organized crime. To the Mafia.”
I choke on a breath.
“It goes: The law of the streets is take or be taken.” She pauses a moment as if coming up with the right words. “This life, this world, it’s going to eat you alive if you’re not careful. And it’s already taken so much from you. You want my advice as a person, a friend, as someone who’s come to care for you?”
I nod.
And what she says next becomes the lyric to my fight song. “Take what you want, Bailey. Because you fucking earned it.”
Chapter 39
“Parker just arrived, and he’s not alone,” Tiny says, spinning his laptop around so I can see the footage of the front doors of the gym.
It’s no surprise that Bailey’s with him, that they’re walking in together, hand in hand. From what I can tell, they’d been spending a hell of a lot of time together lately. I try to convince myself that it’s the reason why she isn’t responding to my messages like she used to. I’m lying, though, because this morning, I’d watched from my car as she walked alone, reading a message I’d just sent, only to pocket the phone again without a reply.
The walls of my office feel like they’re closing in, but still, I force myself to watch. Because I can’t not. Even though she’s with another guy, my mind, my heart—they still crave her. And that might be the most honest truth I’d ever admitted to myself.
Through the screen, Parker guides her to a chair beside the ring and sets her up with what looks like an iPad. He glances back at Gunner, my trainer, making sure he’s watching before leaning down and covering her mouth with his. My eyes pinch shut, a groan escaping, and I shove the laptop away from me.
“What?” Tiny asks, followed by an, “Oh.”
When I open my eyes again, he makes a show of swiping all the bags of meth off the desk and shoving them in a duffle, zipping it up, and securing it between his feet. I want to tell him that it’s fine, that I crave her more than I crave any drug, and even if I was going to relapse, it sure as fuck wouldn’t be with meth.
With a heavy breath, I get to my feet.
“Where are you going?” he asks.
“I’m just going to talk to her. Relax.”
“Nate…” He hesitates to add, “Are you sure you want to do that?”
Ignoring him, I open the door and regret it immediately.
Bailey has Parker’s shirt fisted in her grasp, holding his mouth to hers. My stomach turns, the ache in my chest weakening my strides. “Good luck,” she says to him, her eyes bright as they lock on his.
She used to look at me like that.
Before.
Parker’s at the weight station now, and I suck in a breath, gather what little strength she’s left me. “Well, well, well,” I sing, sitting next to Bailey.
Discomfort forces her back to straighten.
“Maybe it’s time I watch you in action,” I tell Parker as I lean back, throw my arm behind his girl.
Parker eyes the two of us, asks Bailey, “You good, babe?”
She nods quickly. “Yeah. You go ahead. I’ll…” She lifts the iPad.
“Let’s spar!” Gunner yells, and I crack a smile.
“We sparred this morning!” Parker says. “I thought we were doing strength and conditioning?”
“Is this your gym?” Gunner spits out. “I didn’t think so.”
I contain my chuckle.
“Whatever you say, man.”
Parker starts making his way back to us, but Gunner yells, stopping him, “No gloves. No gear!”
I wait until Parker’s in the ring before tapping Bailey’s leg with mine. “You stopped replying to my messages.”
She pretends to be fixated on the iPad. “I have nothing to say to you.”
She glances at Parker, makes sure he’s not watching us, before turning her eyes to mine. “Did you know you killed Ky’s brother?”
Well, shit.
My lips thin to a line.
“Jesus, Nate,” she whispers. “What the hell is wrong with you?”
“It was a long time ago, Bailey.”
“It’s Madison,” she snaps. “And it happened the night you found me.”
“One: I’m not calling you that. And two: is this why you’re pissed at me? I didn’t put a gun to the kid’s head and force him to take the drugs.” I didn’t even realize some of the shit we were getting was laced with fentanyl until that night. We’re clean now. I’ve made sure of it.
“Yeah, but you knew. Afterward, right?” she accuses. “You knew what you were peddling.”
I shake my head in disbelief. This isn’t what I came out here for. Honestly, I don’t even know why I’m here. Clearly, I’m a sucker for pain, and if I keep going, if I keep holding on to the memories of her before this mess, I’m going to overdose on it.
“Nate, you keep saying that you don’t want this life, but you’re still here.”
I need her to stop talking, because the more she does, the tighter the pressure in my chest becomes, and I… I won’t come out of this alive. “I’m losing you, aren’t I?” I mutter.
It’s not a question, and she doesn’t take it as one because she doesn’t respond.
I should leave.
I should stand up, stand my ground, and forget all of this. But I don’t.
For the next hour, I sit silently beside her, knowing that she’s beyond moved on, that she barely notices me next to her because she’s too focused on watching him.
And I do this because—like I said, my mind, my heart… they crave her. And I can’t shake that craving no matter what I do.
Gunner catches my stare, his eyes asking an unspoken question about how I want him to treat Parker.
I nod once, tell him to do something Bailey once asked me to do: make it hurt.
“How many people have you killed, Nate?” Bailey asks out of nowhere.
