Saved by a Sinner

by A G Henderson

  I blinked at him, ignoring the last bit. When had my little brother finally decided to grow up?

  “Right.” Manny slapped his thighs and stood. “I've gotta get back to work. Don't fuck this up.” He strode from the room, whistling.

  Isaac and I shared equal looks of confusion. It took me several tries to form words again. “Did he just-”

  “Manage to add something useful to a conversation for a change? Yep, seems that way.”

  “And is he really-”

  “Going to get work done? I doubt it. He's got a few joints tucked away in his office in case of an emergency.”

  “What emergency requires weed?”

  Isaac stood, tucking his book beneath his arm. “The kind where the neurons in his brain actually start firing again. We wouldn't want him to electrocute himself now would we?” I smiled wide at that. “Now if you'll excuse me, I was just getting to the part where the Black Queen plucks the heart from her rival's chest.”

  With the strangest parting shot in history, Isaac opened his book and walked out. I shook my head, refusing to try and contemplate what kind of story he was reading.

  Just as well.

  I had a call to make.

  ***

  Two hours later, I was pulling up outside of a nondescript, one story cottage in a nice neighborhood on the South End. I was ready to pull my hair out from having to drive myself through midday traffic, but George was currently acting as a taxi for Sylvia and Erin while they went around the city doing God knew what.

  I messaged him to fill me in on where they were going. Seeing as how he’d read it and didn't respond, that had been a waste of time. There was also a good chance a conspiracy was going on in my inner circle because Isaac had locked me out of my fucking tracking app again. I released the steering wheel from its death grip and took a breath.

  At least they were in good hands. George’s run and gun days were behind him, but I was confident he still knew his way around the highly illegal rifle hidden in the passenger seat.

  I made my way up and onto the porch, joining the silent, dark skinned figure that had stepped out to watch my arrival.

  Special Agent Devias Rockwell didn't look any different from the last time I saw him. Same army-cropped hair. Same clean-shaved mug. In other words, he still looked every bit the eternal pain in my ass he was. If a career politician and a decorated war hero got together to bring a new spawn into the world, he would be the product of their union.

  Cold. Precise. Calculating. We might’ve gotten along better if we weren’t so alike.

  I hoped the lack of his standard issue suit wasn’t supposed to disguise his profession because it wasn’t working. Not for me, anyway. You could put the man in khakis and a white polo if you wanted, but you couldn’t hide the careful way he held himself or the way he watched everything around him.

  Even leaning against the porch railing with a beer in hand, he couldn't pull off casual. It was like seeing a police officer out of uniform. You always knew.

  I was also willing to bet there was only soda inside the can he held.

  His dark skin was black as night, hooded eyes cooly distant. He didn't spare me a glance until the wooden stairs were creaking beneath my weight. When he did, there was nothing friendly to be found.

  Feelings mutual.

  “You're late,” he said plainly.

  “And you're in my city. Why?”

  “You don't call the shots here. Hell, neither do I. So do me a favor and head back down the steps and get back in your car, unless you can ditch the attitude.”

  I grumbled beneath my breath but reached for calm. Rockwell and I went back several years. I knew better than to think he would be the least bit rattled by my tone.

  He’d been the only one willing to give me, and the information I could provide, the benefit of the doubt. Then he’d worked hard as hell to convince his superiors my goal was honest and worth their while. The man had the patience of a saint and the hunger of a jaguar.

  Lashing out like a child would only threaten the very thing I hoped to achieve.

  I breathed deeply and rolled my shoulders, trying to alleviate some of the tension. Rockwell knelt down and grabbed another beer from the cooler sitting beside him, tossing it my way. I raised a brow but popped the top and took a sip.

  “Knew it,” I said on a low chuckle, carbonation still fizzing across my tongue. “Only you would be standing on a porch in October, drinking a fake beer. Do I even want to know why you carry around fake bottles of beer?”

  Rockwell shrugged, taking a sip himself. Likely to hide the smugness wafting from him. It didn’t work. “Same reason I always keep a pack of fake cigarettes around. Never know when I might need an excuse to hang around a place an extra minute or two.”

  “Please don’t tell me this is some random person’s house.”

  “Nah, it’s mine.”

  “You live here?” I was calling bullshit. “Since when?”

  He glanced at me from the corner of his eye. “Since before your file ever made its way to my desk.”

  My blood ran cold and I wiped my expression clean. He was implying that he'd been underneath my nose without me ever realizing it. Was it a bluff? He seemed difficult to miss, but maybe that was the point. I was living proof that hiding in plain sight was achievable if you knew the right way to go about it.

  “I'm fucking with you, Carlos,” he said, voice dry. “Relax. I just got into town two days ago. Long enough, at least, to see you haven’t improved the company you keep.”

  I shrugged carelessly, but my fingers danced along the edge of the metal can. “The Cartel. Vipers. Blackmail over most of the city council and a dozen other balls in the air. What’s one Sinner added to the mix?”

  “A pipe bomb ready to go off in your face if you aren’t careful.”

  “Is that concern I hear? For me? I didn’t know you cared.”

  “I don’t, but it’ll be my ass in the frying pan if the hornet’s nest gets kicked.”

  “So there’s truth to the rumors,” I murmured, spinning this new information around in my mind. Letting light fall on new facets. “Creed is really so untouchable?”

  Rockwell poured the rest of his drink into the grass below and stood up straight, facing me. “No one’s untouchable. Not even him. But better the devil you know and all that jazz. The mention of his name alone keeps crime rates low across several states. He even took that little town that was going to burn itself from the inside out and turned it into something unrecognizable.”

  “Besides,” he said. “We took our shot at him years back and failed spectacularly. Let me tell you, his response had the powers that be eager to look the other way ever since.”

  I blinked, trying to hide my surprise. I knew better than most how fearsome he could be, at least I thought I did. “I’ve never heard of this.”

  He scoffed. “Of course you haven’t. We aren’t exactly big on letting the world know when our own citizens give us a black eye without repercussions.”

  My eyes narrowed. “So you’re sharing this with me...why?”

  He drummed his fingers along the wooden railing, looking out over the quiet neighborhood. A woman ran by, pushing a stroller, and he returned her wave absently. “Do you know what my boss told me when she put me in charge of this area? She said, and I'm fucking quoting, ‘Here be monsters. Start a war, and if they don't kill you first, I'll eighty-six you, ship you off to some long forgotten hellhole, and leave you to drink your own piss.’”

  “Your boss sounds like a real hard ass.”

  “You have no idea.” He fixed me with the kind of glare I was used to dishing out. One laced with casual disdain. “We’ve gone to a lot of effort to make sure Pandora’s Box stays sealed tighter than a century old nun.”

  My nose wrinkled before I could stop it.

  “Which means I need you to keep that in mind while you’re running around all willy-nilly with one of the keys, Carlos.”

  I stood sw
iftly, fists clenching. “Don’t you think for a moment I would ever allow her to get hurt.”

  His eyes gleamed in satisfaction and I hated how easily he had played me. “Simmer down. I’m just making sure you know what you’re doing, because if you crack that box open it's both our asses in the fire. Keep a lid on that aggression for me, will ya? You'll need it for two Fridays from now. As long as you still think you’re capable of doing your part.”

  “We’re moving forward?” My body coiled, tense as a spring.

  He nodded slowly. “We’ve been running night and day surveillance since your last info dump. I’m in the city to move my guys into place, and each separate location has another team leader making sure things run smoothly. Should everything go according to plan, it’ll be the most coordinated strike this country has seen in decades, and a gigantic setback for the Cartel as a whole. So I’ll ask again. You good?”

  Am I?

  Things were going the way I wanted but it certainly made the danger real. Two weeks. I bit the inside of my cheek, letting the pain ground me. Two weeks was a lot of time to keep Narciso off my back. To him, having the Sinners in the city for so long was the equivalent of a sword being poised at his neck.

  The man was a rat, but even rats would fight back when they felt cornered.

  Either way, it was too late for second thoughts now. This was what was needed to end my woman’s nightmare so I would make it happen.

  There were no other options.

  CHAPTER 25 - Tanner

  There weren’t many things quite as motivating as making a colossal mistake. It was a fact I was certain of. Enough to where I considered tattooing it across my forehead when I had no other tattoos.

  The question was, what would it say?

  Jackass.

  Dipshit.

  Drunk fucking fool who betrayed his closest friend in the worst way possible.

  Alright, maybe that was too long to fit but I was sure I could think of something.

  I rubbed bleary eyes and blinked at the bright computer screen in front of me, waiting for my search to finish. This shit was taking forever. At the rate I was going, I was never going to get the smell of beer and cigarettes out of my skin.

  The door to the bar opened behind me and cold air flowed in, hitting my back and making me shiver. I ignored the booted steps coming up behind me and reached for the beer bottle beside me instead. I managed one room temperature swig before it was snatched from me abruptly enough for several drops to spill on my jeans.

  “Fucking Christ,” Raze complained, voice way too damn loud for the empty space.

  Maybe that was the hangover speaking. Did it still count as a hangover when you hadn’t actually been sober in days?

  He tipped the bottle up, draining its contents into the sink on the other side of the bar. “Isn’t there anywhere else you could go and do whatever the fuck it is you’re doing? Bro, I’m gonna have to burn that barstool because the funk you’ve embedded will never leave otherwise.”

  “I’m only going to acknowledge the first half of that.” I pointed a finger his direction, blinking rapidly as he blurred. I focused on the scar Sly had left on his chin until there was only one of him again. “I was as surprised as you’re about to be, given the super shitty condition you keep this place in, but you’ve got some of the best internet around.”

  He pulled a cigarette from somewhere and lit it, the cherry glowing bright red in the relative gloom. “More like this is the only place you can try to drink away whatever it is you're running from without being at risk of getting kicked out.” Smoke blew into my face and I coughed, fanning it away. “I'll gladly run up your tab as much as you want but I'm starting to feel like you owe me rent.”

  Raze slapped the top of the bar, then vaulted over it in one smooth motion. His acrobatics weren't helping my headache. Or maybe it was because my blood was more alcohol than water at this point. “Remind me again why I haven't thrown you out on your ass?”

  I glanced at my computer but it was still spinning. And spinning. And spinning. Fuck.

  “Your memory isn't that short is it?”

  He grabbed a rag from the sink, smell testing it and finding it wanting. “Goddamn, that's gross,” he mumbled around the cigarette bobbing in his mouth. Raze turned on the tap and started rinsing it out in the sink. “But for the sake of discussion, TT, let's pretend my memory has gone to shit.”

  “TT?”

  He added soap to the water, which honestly surprised me. I was sure nothing in this bar had seen any sort of cleaning in years.

  “Tanner the Terrible. Come on man, get with the program.”

  I squinted, trying to make out if he was bullshitting me, but there wasn't enough light and my eyesight was too unfocused anyway. “You made that up. No one has ever called me that.”

  Raze placed the rag flat over the edge of the sink and grabbed two tumblers from beside it. He took a deep drag and blew the result into both glasses before filling them with amber liquid from the stacked shelves behind him.

  “No one has ever called you that to your face,” he corrected, tossing back the first shot. Was it still a shot when the liquid was almost overflowing the rim? All these questions were going to drive me fucking nuts when I got around to contemplating them.

  “Good thing I'm a special breed,” he said. “Social niceties don't do anything for me so I don't bother with them.”

  Why Creed had appointed this irreverent asshole to the top spot of his own chapter was a mystery to me.

  “Can we get back to the part where I hold it over your head that you can’t touch me because of your own fuck ups. I liked that part. And pass me one of those, yeah?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  Raze grabbed the second glass, downing it slowly. Peering at me over the edge while he did so. Didn’t he realize I needed it more than he did? He lived above a bar for fuck’s sake. Meanwhile, if I let myself get too sober, my bubble of relative numbness was going to pop and the ocean of self loathing I was swimming in would drown me.

  God, the look on her face-

  No. I shook my head roughly, nearly falling from the barstool. I wasn’t going there. I couldn’t. Apologies would have to come later, along with the judgement I knew needed to be faced.

  “You’re cut off, Sinner,” he said, pouring another glass - this one with water - and sliding it to me. I ignored it. I’d have to grab another beer when he wasn’t looking. “For the last week and a half, you’ve survived on alcohol and warmed over bar food, and not even enough of that. I’ll be in just as deep shit if you drink yourself to death as I would be if you go to the big man with the current sitch.”

  “I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” I muttered, letting go a humorless laugh. Once I came clean to the others about what I had said to Sly, Raze was likely to get a thank you note for disposing of my dead body. “But I do have to say it was a dumb fucking move to let yourself wind up in this position. We put you here to stay above the Cartel, not beneath them.”

  His brows wagged. “Doesn’t seem to be working out too bad for your little stabby friend, now does it?”

  My back went ramrod straight and I brushed the hair from my eyes to give him a deadly look. “Do not go there,” I said quietly. “Not about her.”

  He finished his cigarette, stubbing it out in what looked to be some woman’s underwear. Where had that come from? Jesus, had he been carrying that in his pocket this entire time?

  “Spare me the dramatics. For a change, I meant no disrespect. Sure, I’m a little bit miffed she bled me on the floor like a pig, but I understand why she did it.”

  My anger faltered and I relaxed back into my seat, head pounding anew. “Didn’t have to go down that way if you’d confided in us in the beginning.

  He folded his arms over his chest and shrugged. “I knew which basket I was throwing my egg in. You’ve got a bias against the guy, and I don’t blame you for it, but Carlos doesn’t do half measures. He doesn’t act without pl
anning a dozen steps ahead.”

  I wanted to believe that, if for no other reason than it would help in how worried I was about Sly. Except I had gotten myself cut off. Tone was no longer speaking to me and despite my own misery, I had too much pride to crawl back to any of the others and hope they would share a crumb of information. No, my own digging would have to be enough. Even though my own digging was trying to kill me through a thousand cuts.

  “The two of them running around the city together is supposed to be part of the plan?”

  Keeping a finger on the pulse of social media had never been such a lash across my back as it had been these last several days. Carlos was a celebrity in his own right, and there were pictures of them everywhere I looked. Grabbing hot dogs at a food truck downtown. Sitting together courtside at a basketball game. The two of them heading into his office building, his hand on the small of her back.

  The list went on.

  “Just say it, TT,” he prodded. “Rip the bandaid off and stop skirting around the issue that’s got you on the wrong end of too many bottles.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said flatly, looking away.

  “Right.” His answering laughter was mocking. “So you don’t have an issue with them being together?”

  A hot knife stabbed its way into my chest and I hunched over in pain, stomach revolting. Blood rushed through my ears, making my head swim, and I squeezed my eyes shut tight, like I could hide from the memory of what I had seen that night at the diner. It would’ve been a mercy my conscious knew I didn’t deserve, so it played back once more.

  The same loop intent on torturing me until it felt as if my mind would break.

  His arms around her.

  His lips on hers.

  The way she had melted against him.

  Stop stop stop. Please, God. Stop.

  “If you throw up on my floor, swear to God it’s on you.” Footsteps retreated, but I was only there in a physical sense.

  My mind was on another night. The one that had changed everything. Broken. Everything.

  The two of us together, having fun like old times.