Disorderly

by Grace, Hazel

  “Price isn’t an issue. I want the best shit you have. One without a key and one with a key. I want a chain link lock as well. So, if you’re done staring at her ass, just point me in the direction of the security systems.” Rora’s eyes turn into slits as she shifts her weight to one leg, and I shrug. “Thought you had shit to do.”

  “I do, but being an asshole wasn’t one of them,” she retorts.

  I can’t help the tug at my lips as she turns to Kyle and mumbles something to him, forcing his eyes to look over at me from her shoulder.

  A few moments later, Aurora gives me a glare before walking by me, two locks in her hands, on her way to what I’m assuming is the security systems. Dodging carts and kids, I’m not over-exaggerating when I say I hate large stores. The shit is too much.

  After getting all the supplies that I see fit, we get out of there. Rora must have an obsession with loud music because she cranks the volume up to an oldies station.

  After three songs, my ears on the verge of bleeding, I turn it down. “How are you not deaf yet?”

  She shrugs. “It’s surprising, isn’t it?” She peers out the window, at the small highway we’re on, lined with just green trees before turning in her seat to face me. “If you can guess the artist of the next song, I’ll keep it down. If you don’t, radio goes back up.”

  My eyes drift toward her, and she winks. I try to hold back a smirk, so I just say, “Stupid game.”

  The slow tempo of the guitar strums through the speakers and I feel Rora’s eyes on me. I contemplate pretending to think about the song or just blurting it out.

  Fuck it, I’ll take the latter.

  “‘Name’ by the Goo Goo Dolls,” I answer. It was a song Isla used to play when she worked in the garage, narrating the song out loud.

  “How in the hell would you know the Goo Goo Dolls?” she questions with a look of shock.

  “Don’t judge a book by its cover,” I assert.

  She chortles. “Yeah. Story of my life. Best two out of three?”

  I laugh. “No.”

  My phone vibrates in my back pocket, and I instinctively pull it out.

  Lev: We found the bodyguard who killed Isla.

  ___

  “I was able to get my hands on the surveillance tapes at Isla’s apartment,” Beast tells me, leaning back in his black leather chair, hands intertwined together. He does this every time he finds something that bothers him. It’s probably to save his computer screens from his fist going through them. “A woman and a man enter the front entrance about fifteen minutes before you got the phone call. When they leave, the woman is on the phone and gets into a black Mercedes. Fast forward a few days after and a few days before, I never see these two again.

  “I was able to zoom in on both of them. The man I was able to pin down as Ricardo Vasquez. He was convicted of assault and attempted murder at sixteen. Served thirty-two years before he was released. He’s under Lydia’s payroll, I believe as a bodyguard or some shit.”

  Lev leans forward in his chair. “We want his address, what car he drives, if he has family—”

  “We aren’t going to touch his family unless they have ties with Isla,” I contend.

  Lev glares at me. “An eye for an eye. A—”

  “Shut up, you’ve never been to church in your life.”

  “I’ll still dig into it,” Beast voices behind his desk. “He’s in New York now, lives in an apartment, Lydia owns the whole thing. Hacked into the security cameras from across the street, a lot of girls come in and out of there dressed like escorts. I think Lev might be right on the prostitution or even the escort service.”

  “How hasn’t she been on any radar for this?” I ask him.

  “Commissioner of the pigs is under her bank account.”

  “She’s paying off the fucking cops?” Lev shouts.

  Beast nods. “Found his name on the payroll.”

  Lev directs his attention to me, his eyes full of hope and anticipation. Every piece of information Beast obtains, Lev eats it up like candy. And when my brother’s lips turn into a small smirk, I know we’re making another trip to New York.

  ___

  Flynn: No new information here. She goes to work, comes home, and does it all over again.

  I tap my index finger on the back of my phone as I read the latest text from Flynn. I have him staked out at Rora’s apartment and place of business while I’m in New York and, while I’ve been trying to focus on the task at hand, my mind drifts back home. Flynn asks no questions on who she is or why I’m doing this, which is why he got the job. He’s the only one I trust with her while I’m away without the million questions.

  “You ready for this?” Lev asks me through my speaker phone.

  “Yep,” I deadpan as I shoot a quick text back to Flynn to keep me updated.

  “Make sure you double wrap. Don’t want your dick to fall off.”

  “You stay the fuck in while I’m out,” I order, sitting back in my rented BMW. “I swear to God, if you pull any bullshit while I’m gone, I’ll kill you myself.”

  “I’m just going to get room service and order porn off your credit card.” And he will, no doubt, just to be a dickhead.

  Glancing out my window, I’m parked across the street from Lydia’s posh apartment, studying the men standing outside the doors. While they’re dressed like valets and doormen, their muscle doesn’t fool me. The bright lights from the lobby show off neck tattoos, partially covered by collared shirts. It confirms this is more than just a property that Lydia owns, it’s a base of shit she is keeping under wraps.

  “I gotta go,” I tell Lev, placing my gun in the glove compartment. I have a feeling these men are going to search me as soon as they see my tattoos. Even though I’m dressed to the nines with an expensive, rented suit, we’re not going to be bullshitting each other with our attire.

  “Be careful,” Lev adds.

  I hang up, straightening my suit and opening up my car door. I’m not nervous, I’m ready to get possible information to revenge my sister’s death. We’ve only been doing this three or four months now, and it feels like years with no results.

  Both goons at the door eyeball me as I approach, striding toward them and playing the role of an arrogant, rich asshole.

  “Evening, sir,” one of them greets me. “Can you please open your coat?” I don’t respond, just do.

  “Meeting someone?” the other asks me.

  “I am,” I deadpan.

  “Which lady?” he asks me. I’m thinking it was a trick question, they never told me the name of the woman I was going to meet when I called in offering two grand.

  “Hopefully the brunette I asked for,” I reply. “Room 439.”

  “He’s good,” the first guy announces, stepping aside to let me through.

  “Enjoy your time, sir,” the other chants. I mumble my thanks and walk in. The apartment is just as nice as the outside—pink, gold, and extremely feminine. It goes to show the kind of taste and style Lydia has, which is tacky as hell and misguiding.

  The elevator dings ahead, a man standing inside waiting for me to enter.

  Geezus fuck. Are the dickheads that come here not able to press their own button.

  He greets me as “sir,” asks me the floor, and we ride up silently to the fourth floor. When I step out, the hallway is adorned opposite of downstairs. Black wallpaper with silver designs of pearls and lace, dimmer lights, and the room doors are bright pink.

  My God, men get hard-ons for this shit?

  Finding room 439, I knock. My hand barely leaves the door when it opens, displaying a beautiful petite brunette. She is wearing maroon lingerie that fits like a one-piece bathing suit, except the front is cut down all the way to her belly button outlined in lace.

  “Hi,” she greets with a smile, stepping aside to let me in.

  Now this is awkward as shit. I’ve never paid for sex in my life, it came to me more than I actually wanted it, so I remind myself this is a business deal.
Even though the brunette reminds me of a woman I left at home.

  “I’m Tasha,” she tells me, closing the door as I overlook the large room. A California king bed adorned with pristine white sheets, a matching sectional, and handcuffs at the end of the bed. My request when I made the call.

  “That your real name, Tasha?” I ask her, walking deeper in the room and keeping my back toward her.

  “No, we’re not allowed to use our names,” she advises, following me.

  “Shame,” I deadpan.

  “The room to your liking?”

  I turn to face her. She’s smaller than Rora, shorter, but her voice sounds too innocent, which is annoying. I know she’s playing a role, but I’m not in the mood for games as I force the charm to radiate off me.

  “It is.”

  “How about me?”

  I furrow my brows. “You’re serious?”

  She gives a weak shrug but keeps a shy grin on her face. “We’re supposed to ask.”

  “You’re perfect, darling,” I convey, giving her one of my best smiles.

  She blushes and tucks her chin into her chest. “Thank you, sir.”

  “Baron,” I correct, closing the inches between us. “Not sir.”

  “Baron,” she repeats, her eyes following up my body until she meets my face. I brush my hand against her hair, it’s soft and silky, reminding me again of shit I don’t need to be thinking about right now. Tasha’s hands find my chest, letting them linger there for a moment before trailing down my hard stomach.

  “You work out?”

  “I did.”

  She tugs my white shirt out of my belted slacks and pulls it up to take a look underneath. She lets out a small groan of approval as my fingers graze her arms up and down.

  “To your liking?” I tease.

  She nods furiously. “Yes.” Unbuttoning my shirt, little Tasha must be trained to have a wild streak within her because she gets my whole chest on display. “Holy shit.”

  I lean closer to her, giving her a devilish smile. “My turn.” I rip her lingerie in half, not knowing if there are rules to this shit or if she’ll get in trouble, but my concerns aren’t for her but the lust that’s taking over my body for a whole other reason.

  “You’re a bad boy, aren’t you?” she coos, making sure she touches every inch of my chest.

  “Oh, you seriously have no idea.” I lift her in the air to throw her on the bed, but Tasha has other, faster plans. Wrapping her hands around my neck, she slams her lips to mine. They’re soft, but they don’t do shit for me. Tasha tastes of champagne, probably to get through nights of fucking random guys. I guess I can’t blame her.

  She groans in my mouth when our tongues clash together, my hand roaming the inside of her thighs, heat radiating off her pussy as though she’s never been so turned on in her life.

  “What’s your real name?” I ask her through broken kisses. She ignores me or doesn’t hear me, I’ll give her the latter. Throwing her on the bed, she bounces a few times before stopping. I crawl over her, keeping as much of my weight off her small frame as possible.

  Eyeing the handcuffs, she speaks. “Ready to use them on me? Or you? I’m up for either.”

  The corner of my lip quirks. “Definitely you.” She smiles and puts both of her wrists together in silent compliance. This is too easy, and I feel a little bad because shit is about to go from good to really bad for her within seconds.

  Hearing the locks on the cuffs click, I nestle my face within the crook of her neck. “How soundproof are these walls?”

  “You could have me screaming at the top of my lungs and no one would hear,” she vouches.

  I lick her neck. “Sounds a little dangerous for you, doesn’t it?”

  “It can be.” My lips taste her skin, and she relaxes, her breath sounding in my ear. Pushing off the mattress, I plant my feet back on the black carpet.

  “What are you doing?” I don’t answer her but pull her up to sit, running my fingers through her hair and tugging lightly. Her brown eyes lock onto mine, and I can see them laced with confusion.

  “We’re gonna play a game,” I deadpan.

  “I like games,” she purrs.

  “Good, sweetheart, because I’d like to get answers to my questions as soon as possible so I can get out of here.”

  Her eyebrows furrow. “Okay…”

  “What’s your name?”

  Her eyes narrow. “Listen, you’re sweet, but we’re not allowed to have boyfriends.”

  I shake my head slowly. “I don’t want to be your boyfriend.”

  “Then what’s with you asking my name twice since you’ve been in here?”

  “Because I’m going to threaten you with your family,” I deadpan. The amount of blush on her cheekbones doesn’t hide the paleness of her face or the horror. It jogs my memory of Rora in that street. The way she jumped out of her skin when I called out for her. The crazed look in her eyes when I took a step toward her. This is what is making me feel bad for little Tasha here.

  “My family?” she repeats.

  “Thank God you’re smart.”

  Tasha yanks at the handcuffs. “You need to go."

  I ignore her. “How long have you worked here?”

  "Two weeks.”

  “Jesus Christ,” I murmur. “How often does Lydia come here?”

  “Who?”

  I raise a brow. “Seriously?”

  “I don’t know a—” I pull on the cuffs, not giving a shit what kind of mark it leaves her.

  “Quit acting fucking stupid,” I bark.

  “I’ve only been here two weeks,” she repeats. “I was hired by a man named Ricardo. I didn’t ask a lot of questions. The money is good, and they pay for my lodging and food.”

  “I want to know if she comes here, what kind of girls she hires, and where they come from.”

  “My roommate is Russian, she doesn’t speak English. I’m not around a lot of the girls yet. They watch our progress, how much we’re…ordered and such. To see if we’re any good. I’m on probation.”

  “Find out how she got here.”

  “But how will I—”

  I clasp her chin and squeeze. “Figure it the fuck out.” I pull out my phone, a burner, especially bought for her. “Text me when you get something. I want information in two days.”

  “But—”

  “Two days,” I blurt. “Or I’ll find all about who you are, who your family is, and next time, I’ll know all their names.”

  “I’ll try my best,” Tasha stutters, shaking in my hand.

  “I sure as fuck hope you do.” I let her go and take a step back. "This is my definition of fucking you. I’ll be back to visit you in a few weeks. Keep your persona of the perfect whore up. Can’t have you fired now, can we?” She wobbles her head back and forth. Pulling a few hundreds out of my pocket, I toss them on the bed with the key.

  Turning on my heel, I stride for the door when her voice stops me. “Why are you looking for information on Lydia?”

  I don’t turn around or peer over my shoulder but open the door and say, “Because she killed my sister.” And slam the door behind me.

  “Dude, I wish I was related to Reddington,” Paige announces over her chopping on popcorn. We’re binge-watching The Blacklist, our weekly ritual filled with junk food and beer.

  I tsk. “Why? Having him around means your life is fucked up.”

  Paige points at her TV, hand full of popcorn as some drop to the floor. “Because he's badass as hell, and Elizabeth doesn’t appreciate how much he does for her.”

  “Then why doesn’t he just tell her who her father is?”

  Paige scoffs. “What’s the fun in that?”

  I nudge her. “Says the person who isn’t dealing with it.” She shrugs, pulling a small fleece blanket over her body. The familiar buzzing of my phone sounds again for the tenth time in the last five minutes. I’m not in the mood to talk to whoever may be on the other side of that screen.

  “You go
nna get that?” Paige questions.

  “Nope.”

  “Could be Noah.”

  “I’m tired,” I lie, not telling her that I just want a break from men in general right now.

  Buzz.

  “Can you throw it on silent at least, Nov?” Reaching over, I tap the phone on to go to my settings. When an unknown number catches my attention.

  Unknown: Hey.

  Me: Who is this?

  Unknown: The one and only, Rugged.

  My eyes saunter over to his first text. Just “hey.” This fool can take his bipolar ass and go find some other chick to save because I’m over whatever the hell is going on between us. Whether I imagined it up all in my head, the way his heated gaze consumed my whole body or when he swallows when we touch, he needed to go. And by go, I mean away from me. Far the fuck away.

  Me: How the hell did you get my number?

  Blowing out a breath, I scroll over to Noah’s text.

  Noah: Hey beautiful, just seeing how you were. Text me when you can.

  Me: Hey! Doing okay, busy day.

  Before I can place my phone down, my phone goes off again.

  Noah: That’s right! Meghan’s cake tasting. How many flavors did you make? A few hundred?

  I smile automatically.

  Me: LOL…..NO! Ten. Paige stopped me at ten.

  Noah: Thank fucking God!

  Me: Noah! Did you just swear?

  Noah: I’ve sworn in front of you before…..haven’t I?

  Me: Uhhh…maybe the word shit?

  Noah: That counts.

  Me: Not when I’ve used probably every single one of them around you.

  Noah: One of your many wonderful qualities.

  Wyatt’s text notification shows up on my phone, but I ignore it.

  Noah: What are you doing?

  Me: Watching The Blacklist at Paige’s and ordered a pizza…an hour ago.

  Noah: Perks of living in a small town. There is only one of everything here.

  Me: Still adjusting.

  A knock sounds at the door, and Paige immediately hops off the couch as another notification from Wyatt pops up.

  “Finally, my pizza!” Paige exclaims. “Forty-five minutes, my ass. Whose idea was it again to move here?”