by A. Zavarelli
34
RORY
“YE’RE OUT TONIGHT,” Crow tells me as I hammer the bag with my already bloody knuckles.
I stop and turn to him, shaking my head.
“Like fuck I am.”
“Watch what ye say to me,” he growls. “You are a mate and a brother, but you’d do well to remember I’m also your boss.”
“And ye have no good reason for keeping me out of the ring tonight. I’ve made you a boat load of cash over the last two weeks.”
“Aye,” Crow agrees. “And you’ve also done your shoulder in and your leg is banjaxed as well. Have a look at yourself.”
He gestures to the mirror, but I ignore it.
“Just needs a bit of ice and I’ll be sorted.”
“What ye need is some time off,” he says. “And that’s not a request, but an order.”
I slam my fist into the bag, and Crow walks off.
“Would you like to have a go at me instead?”
I turn around and catch sight of what can only be considered the dumbest prick on the planet.
“Do ye have a death wish?” I ask him. “Coming in here?”
“No,” he answers. “But I do have another request. And it’s been a while since I’ve sparred with anyone.”
“This isn’t an open gym,” I tell him. “Piss off.”
“It’s about Scarlett.”
I ignore him and go about fixing the wraps on my hands, even though all I really want to do is thrash his face until he stops talking altogether.
The bloke takes his shirt off and makes himself at home, stepping up into the ring. My fucking ring in my fucking gym.
“I’m only looking for a fair fight,” he says. “So full disclosure.”
I glance up at him, and he rolls up his pant leg, revealing a prosthetic.
Again, the bloke is obviously short of a few brain cells.
“I know you’re a man of honor,” he tells me. “So how about it?”
“You don’t know jack shit about me.”
I’m in the ring with him now. I have no objections to loafing him in the head a few times before I send him on his way with his tail between his legs. He can run back to Scarlett and show her what a twat he is.
“I’m Booker,” he tells me.
“And I don’t give a fuck.”
I head straight at him, throwing out a lead hook, which I expect to smash his head halfway around his shoulder.
Instead, he dodges it, and socks me with an unexpected punch to the gut.
And well what do ye know. The fucker knows how to fight.
He shrugs, and then we go back to circling each other like sharks.
I am a man of honor, and I don’t need shady tactics to win, so we keep it strictly to punches. After a few minutes, I have it sorted that he’s not so comfortable with the uppercuts.
I smash him with a whole load of them from that point on.
But he gives as good as he gets.
Mostly with hooks, which has never been my weakness, but he’s fast. And well trained. He tells me that he was former military as if it wasn’t obvious already.
Eventually, we call it a draw. And I still don’t like the fucker, but at least I can respect him now.
He takes a seat on one of the benches and drinks the bottle of water I tossed him while I clean up with a towel.
I know what comes next.
He’s got something to say about Scarlett.
But I don’t want to hear it.
“You should go,” I tell him.
He’s quiet for a while, and then, “I’m not her boyfriend.”
I shovel all my gear into my bag.
“I’m an FBI agent.”
This time, he’s got my fucking attention, and he bloody knows it. Every muscle in my back has gone rigid, and betrayal slices through me all over again.
“It isn’t what you think,” he says.
“Then what the fuck is it?” I scowl. “Every bloody word out of her mouth is a lie.”
“You know why,” he says. “She does it to protect herself.”
“It’s not my concern anymore,” I tell him. “So get to whatever ye came here to say.”
“I fucked up.”
He’s staring at the floor now, and I don’t like the sound of that, even less than I liked him telling me he’s a bleeding fed.
“I was trying to help her. I was trying to do the right thing. But I was also being selfish.”
“Is she in trouble?” I ask, because it’s the only thing that matters at this point.
“She was supposed to testify against Royce Carrington,” he says. “And the others too. But the case fell through.”
“Who the fuck is Royce Carrington?”
He shakes his head.
“One of the five.”
I pull up a chair and sit down across from him.
“Why didn’t she tell me?”
“Because she didn’t want to drag you into it. She knew she was going to be under scrutiny. I told her that if she cared about you, she would need to let you go.”
I look up at him, and there are no secrets between us. He knows what I do. Who I am. And I have a hard time believing that a federal agent- who isn’t on our payroll- would do something like that.
For most of these guys, it’s black and white. We’re the bad guys, and that’s it. For others, money talks. They know who the real criminals are, and often it’s their very own elected officials. Corruption is everywhere if you look close enough.
But this bloke doesn’t fall into any of those categories. He’s obviously been to war, and I suppose maybe he knows that some things aren’t so straightforward.
“There was never anything between us,” he admits. “It was all for show. She wanted you to believe.”
“Well she fucking fooled me, alright.”
Jesus Christ.
My evil little hellraiser. I’m going to punish the ever-loving fuck out of her when I get my hands on her again.
“You should know there’s a bounty on her head,” he says.
“Where is she?”
He reaches down and pulls a file out of the bag he carried in here with him, tossing it into my lap when he stands.
“I was a SEAL first and foremost,” he tells me. “Turns out, I can still swim a good fifty meters.”
He leaves me with that puzzle and the information he’s compiled and then he walks out the door. It takes me a few minutes to realize exactly what the fuck I’m looking at.
It’s Royce’s ugly mug.
One of the five.
The leader, and her tormentor. Her obsessive stalker that I never fucking knew she had. I would kill him myself if the fucker wasn’t already dead.
The official report states that he drowned when his car plunged into the Charles River. Witnesses reported that the car was driving recklessly and well over the speed limit when the tragedy occurred, and further tests indicated that he had been drinking.
There are also statements by some of his colleagues who report that he had been acting erratically as of late.
And I have to hand it to the fucker, Booker is solid.
A man of honor.
He did this. A fucking fed.
And that isn’t all.
He’s given me a treasure map.
Details about the private jet that Quinn uses to fly around the globe. Bank account names and numbers.
There’s an itinerary, and invitations to a party two nights from now.
Which doesn’t leave me a lot of time.
I pick up my phone and video call Alexei. His wife Talia answers and says he’s been expecting me.
“Well?” he asks when she gives him the phone.
“I need another favor.”
35
SCARLETT
SINK OR SWIM, baby.
Booker is back, keys jingling in his pocket.
“What now?” I grumble.
“Nothing,” he says. “Just checking in on you.”
>
“Everything’s peachy here. Just the way that prison should be.”
He nods and I gesture to the kitchen.
“Carl’s in there, probably eating another goddamn sandwich, if you’re looking for him.”
“The bureau says we can’t spare any more federal resources,” he tells me. “So you are officially free to go.”
“Giving me early release, huh? I knew there was overcrowding in prisons, but not safe houses too.”
“I think you’ll be more comfortable at Rory’s,” he says.
“Rory?”
“He’s waiting outside for you.”
“Are you fucking with me?” I ask, because I don’t believe it. “Is it really Royce out there and this was the plan all along?”
“I’m not fucking with you,” he says.
But still.
It doesn’t make any sense.
Why would Rory come for me after what I did to him?
“I told him the truth,” Booker admits. “Since I figured you would have trouble doing that yourself.”
“And he’s… not mad?”
Booker shrugs. “I don’t know. That’s for you two to figure out.”
I give him an awkward pat on the shoulder.
“You know, you aren’t so bad, Booker. For a fed.”
He smiles.
“You aren’t so bad either. For a hooker.”
I flip him off and my hand is on the door already when he asks the thing I knew he would.
“If you see her…”
“Sell her out?” I turn back and shake my head. “Let’s not get carried away.”
“I’m not looking to hurt her. I just want to help.”
“My god,” I groan. “There are two of you. What is it with you guys trying to save women? Maybe Storm doesn’t want to be saved.”
He’s quiet. And sad like a puppy, so I give him a bone.
“I’ll talk to her about it,” I say. “But I’m not playing any tricks. And for the record, I’m not a rat. The people who end up on the streets have had a rough enough go of it already without me screwing them over.”
“I know that,” he says. “And thank you. All I’m asking is for you to talk to her.”
He scrambles to give me a card before I leave, and I take it.
“See ya around,” he says.
“Yeah,” I agree.
But we both know it isn’t true.
Rory’s car is parked outside, just like Booker said. He rolls down the window and doesn’t even look at me. He just gives me a command.
“Get in.”
I’d tell him to fuck off for taking that tone with me if I didn’t think I deserved it. So I get in. And he speeds off.
I wait until we hit the interstate.
“Rory…”
He glances at me across the car, and he’s still angry with me.
“Later.”
That’s all he says.
The rest of the ride is silent until we get back to his place.
I’m happy to see that Whiskey is still as cat like as ever. Lounging in a brand-new bed that wasn’t there when I left.
He licks his paw and gives me a cursory glance before he goes back to cleaning himself.
“He missed you,” Rory says.
“I missed him too,” I whisper, fully aware that neither of us is talking about the goddamned cat.
I want him to grab me and boss me around. I want him to say mean things and fight with me so we can really make up. I want him to hate fuck me and punish me, so I can punish him too.
For believing the bullshit I put him through.
But he does none of those things.
“There’s something on the table for you,” he tells me.
Then he disappears down the hall and leaves me to it.
It’s a death certificate.
For Royce motherfucking Carrington.
My fingers stab into the paperwork as I yank it closer, ensuring that my eyes are not deceiving me. But no, they are not.
He is dead, and he didn’t even suffer.
Drowning.
He fucking drowned in a watery tomb in the Charles River.
What the actual hell?
It doesn’t make sense.
I read it, over and over again.
And then it hits me.
Water.
It if walks like a SEAL, and talks like a SEAL, then it’s probably a goddamn SEAL.
This has Booker written all over it.
He did this.
This is why he let me go. Because he knew he couldn’t get Alexander through the proper channels without him likely harming me or anybody else first.
So he resorted to his own form of vigilante justice.
And goddamnit, I am not even angry about it.
I lean back in my chair and try to process the feelings that I do have.
In the movies, it’s always simple. The calm after the storm is always peaceful. Characters trotting off into the sunset and regaining control over their lives.
But my storm isn’t over yet.
Quinn and Duke are still out there, along with the legion of men they probably have on my trail. There will be no peace in my life until they are gone too.
Rory’s eyes are on me when I close the file, and I don’t know how long he’s been there, watching me.
I am tired.
I am worn and battered and a little bruised. But with him by my side, I can go the distance. I can finish this fight.
He crosses his arms and leans into the wall beside him.
“We do this together,” he says.
He knows me well.
He knows that I can’t give it up and I won’t let him do it for me.
“Yes,” I answer.
“They have a million-dollar bounty on your head.”
He doesn’t need to tell me what that means. A million dollars is a lot of money to some people, even though it’s nothing to them.
That sort of money will draw an army. The low-level street thugs and elite hitmen alike. Money is money.
“They probably have a whole load of security too,” I say.
Rory nods.
He’s done the research already. And when he tosses some invitations onto the kitchen table, he’s got a plan in place too.
The white cardstock is covered in gold scrawl, detailing the Gatsby themed event.
In New York.
“Quinn and Duke will be there tomorrow night,” Rory says. “Their private jet is scheduled to leave after the party, so we only have a small window.”
“Okay.”
“This is how it’s going to be,” he tells me. “You do what the fuck I say, when I say it. Do ye understand me, Scarlett?”
He’s all business right now, and he’s never looked so serious… or so hot. He’s done fucking around. He’s going to tell me how it is, and I’m going to like it or leave it.
I like this alpha male in him, issuing his omega orders.
“What happens if I disobey you?” I tease. “You going to give me a taste of my own medicine?”
His eyes flash and he wants to punish me already, but he doesn’t.
“Just behave for once in your life,” he says. “I don’t need any more shite from you.”
The teasing game is over and his words sting, but I don’t show it.
“Got any friends as batshit crazy as you are?” he asks.
“How many do I need?”
“Just one.”
There’s only one face that comes to mind, but that means I’ll have to track her down. Tonight.
“I have someone. But I’ll need to find her first.”
“Aye,” he says. “Well we better get to it then.”
36
SCARLETT
What a fool I was not to tear my heart out on the day when I resolved to avenge myself- Alexandre Dumas
IT’S no small wonder that Booker hasn’t been able to locate Storm himself.
If I hadn’t already seen her in the
flesh, I’d think she didn’t even exist.
We asked around the usual sources- people who are always good for giving me the information I need- and they didn’t know jack about her.
Which leaves us with good old fashioned detective work. Trawling through bars and hotels and clubs and anywhere else I think she might be.
It’s after midnight, and these heels are hot but uncomfortable, and Rory’s acting like he hasn’t noticed them at all.
All I want to do is curl up in his bed. To feel him against me again. To breathe him in and have his whispered words.
I want him to make me crazy promises all over again.
But we’re still a long way off from that.
When I look at him right now, I’m not sure if we’ll ever get back to that place again.
He can barely look at me.
I touch his arm, and he glances down at me.
“Kiss me,” I tell him.
He’s going to say no, so I make up a whole thing.
“If she’s here, then she’ll see it, and she’ll want to take you away. She likes to play with my toys.”
He grabs my wrist, and his grip is hard and unforgiving.
“I’m not a goddamn toy, Scarlett. And I’m not kissing you either.”
“Fine,” I pout. “Then I guess we’ll be here all night.”
Only we aren’t.
Because there she is.
Across the room, in the shadows, seeking out her next prey. Tonight, she’s wearing a blue wig and horn-rimmed glasses while she sucks on a lollipop.
She is not lacking for victims, and I need to do this fast.
I move towards her, and she glances in my direction. And smirks.
Rory follows after me, and she doesn’t seem to mind my tag-along.
I don’t know Storm well. But I know she’s like me. She doesn’t want long drawn out explanations, and she’s short on time and patience.
“I need your help,” I tell her.
She smiles at me, like she was expecting me to say something like that, before she tilts her head to the side and examines Rory.
“What’s in it for me?”
“You get to fuck up a couple of rich guys,” I offer. “But we’re not talking catch and release this time.”
She’s still looking at Rory- still sucking on her lollipop- and it’s pissing me the fuck off now.
“How about you let me play with this toy?” she asks.
“How about I shove that goddamn sucker down your throat until you choke on it?”
