by K. Michelle
I crack my neck from side to side and look down at my tanned arms, the sun still kissing my skin from 2,700 miles away. Small tattoos scatter across them, and paint splashed on to my matte black nails.
Smiling, I jump up as an idea pops into my head, and I quickly wash out my brushes, put my supplies away, lock up, and hop into my Jeep.
Cohen wants to play a game.
He should know by now that I’m the one who makes the rules.
Henry: Pier. Now.
Me: On my way.
Clenching my fists, I take a deep breath before changing into my work clothes. I throw on my long black Henley, black jeans, and my leather jacket, grab my bag and make sure everything is there before I get into my truck and head to the pier. Henry stopped being “Dad” and started being Henry at the young age of thirteen years old. At that age, according to him, was the time to learn the family business and assist on runs, errands. Prior to that, I only observed with him at the warehouse—watching what they would do to other people.
Torture.
Henry Russo runs this city. Lake Meadows covers a lot of ground and even more people. From the drugs to the guns and everywhere in between, Sanctum has its name on it. Consider us untouchable. Elite. Of course, much of the power has gone to Henry’s head. He’s become sloppy and careless, making it bad for business and harder for Evan and me to go about undetected. Henry raised the two of us, and our childhood consisted of extensive training so we’d become the perfect protégés.
Now, at twenty-two, he’s successfully molded me into being the finest negotiator he could’ve dreamt of. His background in the military and his fucked-up mind undoubtedly played a part in that.
Once I’m at the pier, I grab my bag from the trunk and walk into our warehouse and down to the bunker, soundproof and all. Henry has Mike, the guy I’m questioning, tied to a chair already, as he bends over and spits in his face. “Ah, just in time. You see, Mike, Priest isn’t as, how should I say it? Patient.” Henry grabs the man by the neck, squeezing with force. “He’ll make you sing one way or another, so spare yourself some pain and talk.” He lets him go as I take off my jacket and push up my sleeves, laying out my tools of choice.
“What do you need to know that Vex was incapable of doing?” I ask, not looking at Henry. Partially because I can’t stand his fucking face and the other part … Well, that’s it.
“I need information from the little rat, and I don’t need him dead. I use Vex for killing. Don’t be smart. Mike knows what I want. I just need you to do what you do best until he gives you the answer.”
“Oh right, I should be thanking you for not doing the kills. Noted. But you do realize that is a monumentally stupid plan, don’t you? He could easily lie and give me any answer he wants because I don’t know what the hell it is I’m fishing for.”
“Just do it.”
“Sure thing, Henry. Sure thing.” I pat his shoulder twice before he walks past me, leaving the warehouse. Grabbing a nearby chair, I turn it in front of me to face and stare at Mike. It’s an intimidation thing. My glare makes them uncomfortable, and in return, makes me happy, for lack of a better term. A solid ninety seconds pass without blinking, and once my hazels have done their job, he’s sweating and rightfully nervous by the time I stand.
I walk behind him, bending down to his ear. “I had things I wanted to do today, but instead, I had to come here because you won’t cooperate. Do you know what that is?” The bravado in my voice causes him to panic even more. “I’ll tell you what it is. It’s rude.” Picking up one of my smaller knives, I wave it around. It’s not intimidating to the eye but does a hell of a job, and since I left my prized set of knives at home, this one will have to do. “Do you know why they call me Priest?” I question as his head shakes back and forth, and every step I take closer to him, his chest heaves faster. “It’s because I make sure you pay for your sins. But lucky for you, I’m feeling rather gracious today. And this is a very rare occasion, so I’d take advantage of it if I were you.”
Mike’s hand is nailed into the chair, and I sit in front of him and grab a finger, clicking my tongue. “Oh, looks like you have a couple of hangnails. Those can be a bitch. Let me help you out.” I take my small blade and push it underneath his fingernail, slowly peeling it upward until it’s half off. Setting my knife down and picking up a pair of needle-nose pliers, I grip the nail, ripping it from the nail bed. His hands shake severely, and his cries echo throughout the room. I follow suit with another one, then another one. His screams slightly muffled by the rope in his mouth. “Ah, there we go. All gone.” I sweetly smile and reach around his head to untie the rope, pulling it from his face. His sobs prevent him from giving me any answers.
“Ready to sing? I’m not much into music, except my mother loved singing me nursery rhymes growing up. Did you know that “Eenie, Meenie, Miney, Moe” may have been used for choosing human sacrifices? Fascinating stuff, really. Hmm, it might be useful for another finger.”
“Please, please, just stop,” he says, spit riddling down his chin.
“Eenie, meenie, miney, moe ...” I say, pressing the tip of my knife into the remaining fingers. “Well, that really made my decision a whole lot easier, didn’t it?” I reach for his finger, and what do you know? He sings.
“Locker 4276, eighteen-forty-five-one. That’s it. I swear.”
Smiling, I lightly slap his face. “Good man.”
Taking my gloves off, I grab my phone from my pocket to ring Henry. “Locker 4276, eighteen-forty-five-one.”
“Well done, Son. Write it down and drop it off at my office. Put it on my desk. I’ll send Harvey down for the cleanup.” Henry hangs up, and I grab my shit to go to his office so I can get back to trying to figure out why Dessa left California to come back here.
Forty minutes later, I’m downtown in Sanctum headquarters.
“Cohen! I wasn’t expecting you. What can I do for you?” Henry’s secretary’s posture changes to push her tits out, and her red claws slightly pull down her lower lip. It isn’t fooling anyone, making me roll my eyes at her. I wouldn’t touch her again with a forty-foot pole. Or whatever the Grinch said.
“Vicki,” I kindly nod, “I know you weren’t expecting me. And nothing. You can do nothing for me.” I leave her glaring as I step into Henry’s office and make my way to his desk, opening his drawers looking for a notecard to rewrite the message since there’s blood on this one. I open up several drawers, unable to find the goddamn sticky notes through the clutter.
And that’s when I see the name that has the ability to make my heart stop and beat faster all at once. I blink my eyes a few times, wondering if what I’m seeing is fucking real. My jaw clenches at the sight of those twelve letters, and my blood pulses through my veins faster than any adrenaline rush could do.
Rebecca Russo
I pull out my phone and call Evan.
“What’s up, man?”
“You were right. Henry has a Sanctum file on mom.”
I’m standing in line at this coffee shop, pretending to be oblivious to the little lion, thinking she’s hunting her prey. It’s cute when she believes she’s topping me. I shake off the dirty thoughts of her on top of me as it’s my turn to order.
“Good morning …” I pause to look at her nametag, “Lily.” A smirk stretches across my face, and her eyes grow big, her cheeks pink. It never gets old, especially from the ones who typically don’t receive attention. “A large black. No room. And don’t look, but a girl is hiding in the back of the shop. All black clothes, bright blonde hair, icy blue eyes, can’t miss her. I’ll make it worth your time if you could bring her an Iced Vanilla Coffee. Extra soy, light ice. Tell her, ‘Nice try,’ for me.”
She’s looking at me, as to be expected, with a what-the-fuck? look. “Um, okay. Yeah, I can do that. Can I get you anything else?” And her smile is back in place. I like this one.
“That’s it. Thank you.” I pay and tip her an extra twenty dollars. It’s nice to have people
on your side, and this new little barista is now in my pocket. Which is only good for playing mind games for coffee, but you never know. I stand off to the side, patiently waiting for my drink, letting Dessa burn holes through my back while she can’t see the smile on my face. They call my name, and I grab my drink with a nod and head out the door. I get in my car and adjust my mirror just in time to see my new favorite barista bring Dessa her coffee. Her brow furrows, and she huffs, thanking the girl, and whips her head in my direction. She glares like it’s a competition, and I smile back in my mirror. She delivers me a middle finger, and I deliver one back to her through my windshield.
I pull out of the coffee shop and go where I know she’ll follow me. She doesn’t have to track me to know where I’m going. She’ll feel it, just like I do. We’d always known when the other one was there—every fucking time. After four years with her gone, it’s time to see if we still have this sense between us.
My childhood home is mine now, and after parking, I proceed my way through the woods to the place I found her when we were kids. My black boots crunch over the broken branches and dirty leaves lying on the ground, crisp from the cool fall air. Minutes later, her footfalls echo behind me, and the sick and twisted part of me that wants her relishes in the satisfaction she knew. She knew, and she came. I want to reward her, but I want to punish her at the same time for being stupid enough to follow me every damn time she knows I’m out here. The same way I want to punish myself every time I come to her when I feel her here. The woods is our forbidden territory that we both protect desperately. The place we can drop our guards and allow parts of ourselves to indulge in each other without judgment. The place I attempted to ruin the last night we were here four years ago.
“You came.” A statement, not a surprise.
“I did. I didn’t want to, but I did.”
“Four years, and you still feel it.” I turn and close the distance between us and back her up against the tree. Not one part of me is touching her, but if I make one move, I will.
“The only thing I feel for you is hatred, don’t flatter yourself, Cohen.” She said it with such confidence, but the tic in her eye gives away her lie. She doesn’t even know she does it. It’s the quickest bat of her eye. A double blink. But it’s so fast no one would normally catch it.
“You can speak every lie you wish was true, but we both know, Dessa. We both know, and neither of us has to say it out loud.” Her jaw grinds at my words, and she diverts those ocean blue eyes from mine because I’m pissing her off. I’ve hit a sweet spot, and she doesn’t like it. But I, on the other hand, am fucking loving it.
“Tell me, Little One,” I say, and her eyes snap to mine when she hears my name for her, and my body pins hers against the tree. The tip of my nose runs over her face, my touch light as a feather. Her chest heaves slowly against mine. “Tell me how much you missed this. Tell me with the words you’re holding back, what your body is begging for.”
“Fuck you, Cohen.”
“You can either tell me, or I’ll force what I already know out of you.”
She raises her brow at me. “I left without a word just like you asked after the night you made it clear you conquered me, Russo. You don’t know shit about me anymore. I’ve changed.”
“Is that another lie you wish was true, Dessa? Because we both know that’s bullshit. I know everything there is to know about you, and I have since I found you crying in the woods when we were eight years old. Every. Single. Thing.”
“Yeah, well, I hate to tell you, but you’re wrong. There are things you don’t know. Things about me that would break your little image of me, Cohen, so don’t go and dig for answers. You’ll fall into a well so deep, you can’t get out. Trust me. I know from experience because I’ve been breaking my nails trying to climb out for years.”
“Little One, I’ll dive into that same well, because the only one who gets to hurt you is me,” I repeat the same words I’ve said before, and slam my lips against hers, prying hers open and invading her mouth. She pushes me back and slaps me, and the sound rings out and falls against the trees. My mouth slowly curves as our eyes won’t leave each other. What feels like minutes is only mere seconds before she pulls me back to her, and we pick up right where we left off.
“I want to hear it, Dessa,” I say before returning to our battle.
She pulls away suddenly. “No, now shut up for once.” We’re both fighting two battles, one with words, the other with our bodies. “And I’m not joking, Cohen. Stop digging.”
“If you think you can hide from me, you’re sorely mistaken. That Southern California sun really fucked with your head if you believe that.” My statement causes her to pull away, and I smile at the shock in her eyes when she realizes I know where she was all along.
“How did you know where I was? I sent my confirmation right before I left.” She waits for a response she’s not going to get. “How did you fucking know, Cohen? I would’ve felt you.” She let that little piece of information slip out by accident.
“You should know by now, I’m always one step ahead, Little One. Always.”
She chews a hole through her lip at my reply and diverts her eyes, causing me to believe she may have something in her arsenal that I don’t know about. I reach into her pocket and grab her phone, trying the passcode she used to use in high school. It’s still the same. I text my number from her phone, lock it, and hand it back. Her eyebrows snap together, deep in thought.
“What the hell am I even doing here?” she asks herself, pushing off the tree and trudging through the thick trees.
I call out for her, and she stops at the sound of my voice. “You’re here because you want to be. Simple as that.”
She turns to me, waving her finger in the air with fury in her eyes. “You are the last person I want to spend time with. Don’t let your false imagination inflate your ego any more than it already has.” Once more, she turns to leave, but never strays too far.
“Till next time, Little One,” I say to her retreating back. She flips me off yet again, and the flame in my chest that went with her four years ago, leaving me cold and heartless, heats up. I pull out my phone and text Ev.
Me: She’s back.
Evan: How’d she take it?
Me: Hasn’t changed a bit.
Evan: I’m going to enjoy watching this blow-up between you two. Remind me to pick up some popcorn.
Me: Whatever. Bring food when your sorry ass comes over. I have some random locker information we need to look into. The one Henry had me carve out of that guy.
Evan: Copy.
I roll my eyes, making my way back to the house. After starting a fire, I turn on the TV for background noise to buffer the silence while looking over the board we’d set up to track Sanctum’s movements, all from before my mom died two years ago, until now. I was certain she wouldn’t make it past my graduation, but she did somehow, only to die two years later, just when she was showing signs of improvement. It never made sense to me, but she was sick, and we knew we wouldn’t have her forever. But when I found the Sanctum file on her, it gave life to my suspicions.
Henry started getting messy about a year ago, and Evan started noticing things. Things that didn’t add up. Numbers slightly off, times slightly late. And when you run a company such as Sanctum with perfection for over ten years, it’s cause for asking questions. Questions which Evan brought only to me, because he hates Henry as much as I do for dragging us into this fucking business. He wanted to train Evan and me side by side, but even my black heart knew better and begged Henry to keep him on the inside where it’s less dangerous, and the only time he ever did a fatherly thing for me, was listen to me on this. Only two people have ever had my back, and one of them is dead now. Evan is the other, and he’s my brother in every sense of the word other than blood. We would lay down our lives for each other, and he loved my mom just as much as I did.
I get so lost in trying to connect the dots—I realize Ev is late, which he never is.
Just as I’m about to call him, he bursts through the door.
“Cohen, you’re not going to believe this.”
“Highly unlikely, but hit me.”
Evan slams the folder on the table in front of me, “I found these, in Whitaker’s file. Keep your cool, because we can’t let anyone know we’re digging into the uncharted territory of Sanctum, and if you want to get to the reason there’s a file on your mom, and now these, you need to keep your head on straight.”
And then I understand what he means. Peering down at the file in my hands, my jaw tightens and fists clench. I take a deep breath and close my eyes as the phrase I repeatedly tell her runs through my head. The only person that gets to hurt you is me. But I feel nothing but rage.
Because all I see are pictures of Dessa.
I’m rage painting, which is what I have to do to keep myself from physically punching a hole through a wall. Or Cohen. He’s my one weak spot, and he knows it, so he exploits it. I let him too, and I’m pissed at myself for falling for it so easily. My hips sway to a cranked Y2K song, but I don’t hear it. I’m lost in this piece. All I hear are the words his lips whispered against my ear. My face. My mouth. I shake my head out of the trance he’s put me in yet again. I fall back into the strokes of deep blues, greys, and blacks. I threw my hair into a messy knot over my head, wearing a fitted white cropped top under my overalls, all of it covered in paint.
I step back, taking in what I’ve let out on the canvas so far. Unintentionally, I bring my fingers to my lips, soothing where his assaulted mine. Honestly, I didn’t think he’d keep tabs on me while I was gone. That was the last thing I would’ve expected him to do. Looking back, it wasn’t but a dumb assumption. Which means he has a bit of an Achilles heel for me as well. In the woods, I knew he’d let his guard down with me. But once we left, our walls built right back up like before, leaving all vulnerability in the woods. It was an unspoken agreement we both made the moment I told him I’d punch him in the nose. Yet we kept going back. The same spot. The same time. We never once missed each other. That alone should’ve told me all I needed to know—Cohen is my ultimate weakness.