by Monica James
I follow Stevie through the house, barely paying any attention to the rich furnishings. When we walk toward the other side of the property and up the stairs, I know I’m about to learn the real reason I’m here. Stevie must know I’m carrying, but he hasn’t said anything—yet.
He opens the door to a den, gesturing for me to enter. The place is furnished simply compared to the rest of the house, and that’s because this room isn’t for show. It serves a purpose. There are two leather couches, a fireplace, and a large wooden bar. I also notice a door leading out onto a balcony.
“Drink?” Stevie asks, closing the door behind him.
Nodding, I scope out the room.
He busies himself behind the bar while I wait. “You know, I can’t find anything on you because the man who would do the research has vanished.” He goes straight in for the kill. He can’t find anything on me because he doesn’t know my real name.
He offers me the glass filled with amber liquid and clicks his glass against mine.
I drink my scotch coolly. “Why are you so interested in me? I do my job, don’t I?”
Stevie mulls over my words while tossing back his drink. “I thought so, but after you lost a fight you should have won, I got a little curious.”
There is no way he’s going to kill me. He would have disarmed me by now. “You know what they say about curiosity,” I say, finishing off the scotch. “It killed the cat.”
Stevie grins, but he isn’t amused. “Well, at least something is dead.”
I have no idea what he means until he gestures over my shoulder. I’m hit with a cool rush of wind when the balcony door slides open. I don’t bother turning around. I keep my eyes trained on Stevie. This is his show after all.
I hear stifled screams and someone’s feet digging into the carpet as they’re being dragged along, and when that someone comes into view, I curse the motherfucking universe.
Paul is flanked by Dudley and Vincent. They hold him tight, but that doesn’t stop him from flailing, muffling his stifled apologies from behind the gag.
“Unless this little thief rose from the dead, you didn’t do your job. You lied to me because you told me it was taken care of,” Stevie says, watching me closely.
Still, I say nothing. I need to keep my head calm.
“Dudley and Vincent have been keeping an eye out for Kong because I thought he’d be back by now. But what they found was most surprising.”
Paul’s eyes widen as he stares at me, begging I forgive him for getting caught. But I’m the one who should be seeking absolution from him because I’ve just sentenced him to death.
Dudley digs into Paul’s pocket as he squirms, trying to break free. When he retrieves the envelope with the cash, I clench my jaw. I should have done it. I should have made the time and done it myself. But I’ve been so caught up with protecting Tiger that I forgot others were relying on me to protect them as well.
“So why is this asshole stuffing money into Kong’s mailbox? He said someone paid him to do it. Someone he doesn’t know, but I don’t believe him. Help me understand, Tommy, because I sure as shit don’t understand.”
Paul struggles, attempting to escape, but he and I are both prisoners.
“I admit, I invited you over for dinner with an ulterior motive. I want to know more about you. I usually don’t trust men I just met. But Kong vouched for you. And I’ve known Kong for a long time. So I know he wouldn’t just leave his family unless something happened to him.
“So when I saw the man you were supposed to kill stuffing a large wad of cash into Kong’s mailbox, I jumped to conclusions.” He inhales before delivering, “I think Kong disappeared because of you.”
And there it is, the truth. The reason I’m here.
“First of all, that is a kid, not a man.” I point at Paul. “And fine, I didn’t kill him because I decided to use him as my errand boy.”
Stevie narrows his eyes, rubbing over his chin in thought.
“Kong disappeared because, like I told you, he got into some shit with Jaws.” This is the only angle I can play as I know he won’t ask Jaws if I’m telling him the truth.
“What do you mean?” he asks, the change in his demeanor immediate.
“I don’t know the details. All I know is that he asked me to give his family some money to help them while he’s gone.”
This is my story, and I’m sticking to it.
“I couldn’t drop off the money, so I asked the kid to do it. See, he comes in handy.”
Paul doesn’t look impressed with me, but I’m saving his fucking life.
Stevie pours himself another drink. He doesn’t bother asking anyone else if they’d like one. The time for playing gracious host has long passed. “I just don’t understand why he wouldn’t come to me. He knows Jaws won’t cross that line.”
He’s wrong. Jaws has crossed many lines, like asking me to play double agent.
“You once asked what my beef was with Jaws,” he says, rebottling the decanter. “Well, Jaws and I used to be friends. Can you believe it?”
I remain tight-lipped because no, I cannot fucking believe it.
“We both made the streets our home, hustling the corners and selling for the same dealer—Pedro, Bianca’s father.”
This intricate story has so many layers. Years of revenge to be made up for.
“When we met her, we were no longer friends because we were competing for her affection. Bianca loved the attention. Her little perritos. Puppies,” he clarifies, which explains so much.
They followed her around, no doubt, while she enjoyed the attention of both. She still does.
“In her own way, she loved us both. But Jaws doesn’t like to share, so when she didn’t want to choose between us, he wanted to prove who was the better man.
“He got in with her family, wanting to show her father he was worthy of his daughter’s love. But that’s always been Jaws’s problem; he has always thought he was more important than he really is. He organized a big buy for Pedro, but he didn’t do his research. They were undercover cops. He got Pedro locked up for life.”
I have no idea why we’re taking this little trip down memory lane, but I don’t interrupt.
“Bianca never forgave him for that even though her relationship with her father was volatile. None of her family did. But Jaws is a leech. He watched and learned and thought if he took over for Pedro, he would earn the respect of the family and win Bianca back. But all that did was piss them off.
“With money comes power, and it seemed Jaws was able to make a name for himself on the streets by bringing down the infamous Pedro. Loyalties were split, and two drug lords were born. There was Jaws’s team, and then there was mine. José is Bianca’s cousin. But once upon a time, he was Jaws’s best friend.”
There will be a moral to this story, one that will most likely end with blood spilled, but this insight is what I need to defeat the enemy.
“José never interfered because Jaws took a bullet for him. He owed him. But things change, and now he is my best friend. Jaws doesn’t know he is my man. And we like to keep it that way.”
He’s wrong. Jaws does know. And if he thinks he and José are BFFs, he is sorely mistaken. His comment about him wishing Stevie wasn’t a part of his family has me believing he wishes Bianca had chosen Jaws instead.
“I don’t understand. Why don’t you just kill him?” The words burn like poison because no one is ending his life but me.
Stevie throws back his drink, and I can sense his anger. “Because the thing about Bianca is that she still loves the Jaws she once knew. And I cannot hurt anything she loves because it will hurt her. And that’s why I’m still alive.”
This is un-fucking-believable.
These two lovestruck dickheads have waged a war but have some agreement not to harm the other because of the woman they both love? I suppose infamous wars have started because of a woman. But this is ridiculous.
If José was once Jaws’s BFF, then he surely
knows Scrooge has ties to him. I don’t think he’s pieced anything together—yet. But it’ll only be a matter of time.
“Kong also used to be Jaws’s best friend. Did you know that?”
This doesn’t seem like a trick question. His body language reveals he’s telling the truth.
“No, I didn’t. Seems Jaws used to have a lot of best friends. He should probably get a dog, seeing as he doesn’t have the best track record with people.”
Stevie smiles. The first real gesture I’ve seen all night.
“I would like more than anything to end him, but we have come to an agreement. Don’t fuck with mine, and I won’t fuck with yours.”
Jaws missed the memo, seeing as I’m playing double agent.
Stevie sighs, his little tale coming to a close. “So, as you can see, I’m loyal. A man of my word. And I expect my men to be also.”
He is far from loyal. I witnessed him getting his dick sucked.
Paul squirms against Dudley and Vincent. He too knows what’s headed his way.
“I know you’re carrying. So I want you to finish what I ordered you to do. If you can’t, then maybe it’s time I got to know your pretty little friend better.”
Inhaling deeply, I take a moment to compose myself. Tiger was always the backup plan, but I don’t play that way.
“No,” I finally say, refusing to kill Paul. “He gave back your money. If I should be shooting anyone, it’s those fucking morons for letting a kid steal from them.”
Dudley grits his teeth together.
“You’re right,” Stevie says, nodding. “But I don’t need another errand boy. I have enough.” His insult is slurred my way.
“He’s of use to me,” I argue, “and that frees up my time to be more available to you.”
Paul is now whimpering around the gag, his skinny legs shaking. I want to assure him that it’ll be all right, but I can’t show weakness around him. Look where that got me with Tiger.
Stevie ponders deeply, before shrugging. “I suppose you’re right. Let him go.”
Paul’s cries stop while Vincent snarls in protest. But both he and Dudley are walking a thin line with Stevie. I watch as Dudley rips the gag from Paul’s mouth. He moves his jaw from side to side while his eyes beg that we get out of here. They push him toward the balcony, but he turns over his shoulder, looking at me for guidance. Always so fucking stubborn.
Stevie isn’t going to escort him out the front door. His exit is over the balcony.
“Go,” I order him. The drop from the balcony is short. He’ll be fine.
“I’m sorry,” he says, shaking his head in anger that he got caught.
Now isn’t the time for sentiments, but this is fucking breaking me in two. “I said go.”
He doesn’t need to be told twice and quickly sprints for the balcony door. Just as he opens it and is granted his freedom, it is cruelly taken away with a deafening boom.
Reaching into my holster with lightning speed, I grab my piece and spin around, training the gun on Stevie. But it’s too fucking late. In his hand, he grips a piece of his own, the piece that just fired a bullet straight through Paul’s back.
Stevie arches a brow, challenging me to shoot him. I grip the handle, so ready to end this motherfucker, but when I think of Tiger, of Jordy, I know that I can’t. Not yet.
With my heart in my throat, I slowly lower my gun, submitting defeat. I failed, I failed Paul because the shot was fatal.
“Go on then,” I contest, but he tosses the gun onto the bar. He wasn’t carrying at dinner, so he probably picked up the piece when he filled up his glass. “But if you wanted me dead, I’d be dead already.”
He smirks, ignoring the fact a kid is bleeding out on his plush carpet. “You’re right, I need you alive. We have a great partnership. But let this be a lesson learned—you do what I say, when I say because that”—he juts out his chin toward Paul—“is what happens to people who steal from me and people who lie to me, but you know better, don’t you?”
He brought me here to teach me a lesson. This is what will happen to me, to the people I know if I ever disobey him again.
He knows I threw the fight. He doesn’t know why, which means he doesn’t suspect José. Or maybe he does, but he doesn’t want trouble in paradise.
Whatever it is, he’s just sealed his fate. I was going to hand him over to the cops once this was done, but Paul’s death is on me. And I will make sure Stevie pays for it.
“Clean it up,” he orders me, then gestures for Dudley and Vincent to split.
They walk out of the room, their heads held high as they’re no longer on Stevie’s shit list. They happily sacrificed the life of a boy to please a psychopath.
Stevie doesn’t want me to use the door. He expects me to toss Paul from the balcony like nothing but trash. The hatred for him grows to biblical proportions. And he knows it.
“You’re angry with me, aren’t you? The distant Tommy does have feelings after all,” he mocks while I inhale slowly.
I want to drop him where he stands, but I can’t. I can’t do a fucking thing.
He leaves the room victorious while I’m too afraid to turn around and see the mess I’ve made. But Paul deserves a hero’s farewell. Spinning slowly, I take a moment to process his lifeless body sprawled out on the carpet. One arm is outstretched, his fingers skimming freedom. But that’s all he got. A mere fucking taste.
Placing my gun in its holster, I take off my jacket and walk over to Paul with nothing but regret. Standing over his body has memories crashing into me, and I can’t breathe. Another life lost because of me.
“I’m sorry, kid,” I whisper, feeling something wet sting at my eyes. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say they were tears. But I quickly wipe away whatever it is with the back of my hand.
Bending down, I lift his limp body into my arms. A bright red stain has collected on the carpet, enraging and saddening me all in the same breath.
His body is light, warm, but it won’t be long before that changes. Sighing, I kick open the balcony door, blinking back the snowflakes which stick to my lashes. Climbing over the balcony, I hold on to Paul tightly and jump down onto the snow.
My shirt does nothing to keep out the cold, but it could be summer and I’d still feel this bone-deep chill infecting every part of me. I trudge through the deep snow, breathless and totally numb. The only warmth I feel is from where Paul’s blood is seeping into my shirt at my chest.
I march toward the truck on autopilot, each step making it harder and harder to deal. When I open the tailgate, I spread out the tarp and gently place Paul down onto it. Peering down at him, I shake my head, feeling nothing but regret.
“I am…so fucking sorry. I failed you.”
Paul was something I haven’t had in a long time—a friend. I didn’t realize that until now. And I repaid that friendship by getting him killed. I shouldn’t have underestimated Stevie. I just didn’t think he’d kill in his own home.
Once I cover Paul with another tarp, I slam the tailgate shut, wipe my bloody hands on my pants, and trek back toward the house. When I get to the front door, I shove it open, searching from left to right. We’re leaving. Now.
Stevie saunters into the foyer, cigar in hand. Tiger trails him, and when she sees the blood on my shirt and my hands, she pushes past him and runs toward me.
“Are you all right?” She frantically touches my chest, but I brush her hands away, angry with the fucking world.
“We’re going. Where’s your coat?” I should have complimented her on her beautiful blue dress, but I can’t. My body is vibrating in utter fury.
A maid appears out of nowhere, carrying Tiger’s coat in her hand. Tiger stands dumbfounded, begging for me to explain what’s going on, but now isn’t the time. Snatching the coat from the poor woman, I spin Tiger around and force her arms into it.
She thankfully snaps into gear and puts it on.
“Bianca has a migraine. She sends her farewells.” Stevie is
three seconds away from getting his teeth knocked out.
I seize Tiger by the elbow and march her toward the door. However, before I can flee, Stevie coolly says, “Take the backroad to Upper Crest. You can take care of business there.”
Snarling, I don’t bother replying and yank Tiger out the door and down the front steps.
She can barely keep up, her heels catching in the snow, but if I stop, I will turn around and fucking kill Stevie. “Bull, talk to me!” she pleads, attempting to break free. I only hold on tighter.
All I can focus on is the truck and getting her away from here, a place I never should have brought her.
“Goddammit!” she cries. “Let me go.” But I can’t. I need to touch her because I am so fucking afraid. “You’re hurting me!”
Only when those words leave her trembling lips do I let her go.
She is breathless from being hauled across the snow and also from fear. Her cheeks are pink, her eyes wide. She is looking for answers, but how can I tell her what’s been done?
“You want me to talk to you?” I snicker, shaking my head angrily. “Here, let me show you instead!”
Marching toward the truck, I yank back the tarp, flinching when I see Paul’s frozen body. Flecks of snow have stuck to his eyelids and under his nose. When Tiger walks over and sees what I’ve revealed, she gasps, placing a trembling hand over her mouth.
“Oh, oh my god.” She looks like she’s about to be sick. “I kn-know him,” she stutters. “He came into Blue Bloods. He tipped me really well. Why do you—” She stops, realization hitting her. “It wasn’t him tipping me, was it? It was you. He what, works for you, and now—”
“And now he’s dead?” I offer, gripping the tailgate.
“Why? I don’t understand any of this,” she whimpers, wrapping her arms around her middle.
“I don’t either, Tiger,” I confess, dropping my chin.
