by Chelle Bliss
“I’ll go with you.” I take a step toward Pike before he tightens his grip, stopping me.
“Stay here in case I need you. Please,” he begs with knitted brows.
What the fuck am I supposed to do from here? How can I help him if I’m thirty minutes away? He’s crazy if he thinks I’m just going to stand by, twiddling my damn thumbs until he sends me a text message.
“Okay,” I lie. “I promise,” I lie again.
He exhales as his shoulders finally relax. “Thank you.” He leans forward, placing his lips on my cheek and whispers, “I promise everything will be fine.”
I don’t know if I want to scream or cry as he releases me, backing up toward the agent, our eyes locked on each other. I want to beg him not to go. Beg him to stay here, but I know it’s useless.
Pike folds himself into the back of the guy’s unmarked car, staring at me through the window as the dickhead slams the door. I lift my hand and wave, wishing I could tell him everything will be okay. He may have whispered the words, but I know he didn’t believe a word he spoke.
The agent smirks as he climbs into the front, revving the engine like that piece of shit Capri is a hot rod.
I walk toward the car, following as it slowly rolls toward the exit of the apartment complex. Pike turns in his seat, peering at me through the window, barely visible in the darkness.
I waste no time, grabbing my phone and dialing the only person I know who can help in this situation. The only one I know who can keep his mouth shut.
“It’s fucking late. This shit better be good.”
I wince. “Um, Uncle James. I need you.” I look into the darkness as the taillights of the agent’s car disappear.
14
Pike
The sound of metal on concrete snaps me out of the haze from sitting too long in a quiet room at four in the morning. Fuck, I need to be at work in eight hours, and I’m nowhere near my place and need to get some damn sleep so I’m not useless tomorrow.
So far, the asshat agent hasn’t said much but has come in to bust my balls every few minutes just as I’m nodding off. I assume it’s all part of his genius master plan, trying to deprive me of sleep so I’ll tell him whatever he’s fishing for just so I can leave.
“Sorry,” a new guy says, plopping down in the chair, almost spilling the coffee he’s holding in one hand. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”
Fucker. “Can we just get this shit over with so I can get out of here?”
They took my phone as soon as I got here. I’m pretty sure there’s probably dozens of texts from Gigi, possibly a few missed calls, all growing in levels of panic. I wasn’t looking forward to having her chew my ear off for ordering her ass inside and telling her to mind her own business, even if I said it in a nice way. Or at least, the nicest way I knew how.
The man flips open a folder, fingers a few pages, staring down at the words. “Your father is Colton Moore?”
“Yes.” I grit my teeth together, slouching over in the chair and rapping my fingertips on the metal table. “I thought we established this.”
“I’m the new shift.” He peers up for a moment as he turns a page. “Have you ever worked for the firm of Moore, Justice, and Sanders?”
I glare at this dumbass. “Do I look like a lawyer?”
“I guess that’s a no,” he says, pulling a pen from a pocket on the front of his shirt. “Have you ever spent time in his office?”
“Recently? I mean, my ass is in Florida, so that would be a no.”
Is this guy fucking serious with these dumb-ass questions?
“Ever, kid. Have you ever spent time in his office?”
“When I was a kid, sure. He is my father.”
He scribbles something on the paper, flipping to the next sheet. “Have you ever heard the name Dominic DiSantis?”
My face doesn’t move because I’ve heard that name a million times in my life. Dirty Dom. That’s how my father always referred to him, especially when talking with other friends and clients he’d bring back to the house. The man was a criminal and my father was his attorney, but half the shit my dad did for him wasn’t covered under the umbrella of a normal attorney-client relationship.
They thought I was too young to understand when they’d talk in my presence. Just figured I was some dumb kid who was too busy pushing around the same shitty toy truck I’d had for three years to know what they were saying, but I heard every word and took it all in.
“I’ve heard the name,” I tell the guy who is staring at me across the table, waiting for me to lie.
I’m pretty sure he already knows the answers to the questions. A quick background check would’ve told him I haven’t lived in Tennessee in almost a decade, and being Colt’s kid, of course I heard names I probably never should’ve heard.
He raises an eyebrow. “Care to elaborate?”
I raise mine right back. “Care to tell me why?”
The man sighs, leaning back in the chair, pushing the folder of papers toward the middle of the table. “Dominic DiSantis is a mobster.”
I nod because anyone who’s anyone and pays attention to the national news knows this shit. He was popped a year ago and is awaiting trial for money laundering and a whole long-ass list of shit I’m pretty sure he did.
“He’s currently locked up and awaiting trial.”
“Tell me something I don’t know.” I kick back, putting my hands behind my head, acting as chill as I can so I don’t lose my shit. “Why did you haul me down here to tell me something I already know? This is bullshit, verging on harassment.”
“Your father was on retainer with Dominic.”
“I know,” I bark, losing my patience.
“We believe your father may be involved in Mr. DiSantis’s criminal enterprises.”
I lean forward, resting my arms on the table and glare at this buffoon. “Whether my father is or isn’t, I don’t know how you think I can help. Do you know how close I am to my father?” I pause for a second, and just as he’s about to say something stupid again, I continue. “I haven’t spoken to my father in over ten years. I lived with my grandmother as soon as I started middle school because I couldn’t be around the asshole another minute. He may be my blood, but that doesn’t make him my family. I know you want to nail him and DiSantis, but there’s nothing I can say to help you.”
The agent crosses his arms, studying me. “Whether you’ve talked to him in ten years or not, you know things, were privy to things no one else was. If you’re not willing to help us, maybe we should visit your little brother at summer camp and see if he’s willing to help us.”
I force myself to stay in my seat because all I want to do is lunge at the asshole and wrap my fingers around his neck until he begs for me to let go. “Leave Austin out of this.”
“We’re running out of options, Mr. Moore. Either you help us, or we’ll have no other choice but to speak with Austin.”
“Talk to my mother. I’m sure she’ll flip on him if you offer her something she wants, like a new life and an unlimited bank account.”
“She’s dead, son.”
I blink a few times, thinking I must have heard him wrong. “Excuse me?”
“Died this morning. Gunshot to the back of the head after she dropped Austin off at camp. We figured it was an execution, sending a message to your father from Mr. DiSantis.”
My head spins with the news as it slams into my chest like a ton of bricks. My mother is dead. She and I had a tenuous relationship at best, but I wasn’t her favorite and always seemed more like a burden than a blessing. She never once stopped my father from putting his hands on me. Never once stopped the man from treating me like an outcast in my own home. If she had a maternal instinct, it didn’t appear until Austin was born.
I never went to summer camp. I never got shit as a kid. There wasn’t a new toy in my room until the ones I had were so worn out they basically fell apart. I don’t remember being hugged or snuggled, even if I was sick or bleeding.
The two of them were worthless. The day my grandmother caught my father, hand raised, ready to strike me, she took me in and I never looked back.
“You think DiSantis killed my mother, and you track me down, harassing me for hours, and don’t even bother to mention that shit until now?” I ball my hands into fists, wanting to punch this fucker straight in the face. “And you make me leave my girl alone and vulnerable so you can haul me down here, not even thinking it’s a good idea to clue me the fuck in on the day’s events?”
“We have no reason to believe your girlfriend is in danger.”
“Pardon me if that isn’t reassuring. Did you think my mother was in danger, or did you let her take one for the team?”
“Son…”
“Don’t fucking call me that!” I yell, pushing back from the table and rising to my feet. “Don’t ever fucking call me that. I want to talk to your superior.”
The man’s up, studying me as I pace around the room, running my hands through my hair to do something with them besides knock his lights out. “I don’t think…”
“That seems to be the norm around here,” I taunt, wishing he’d get pissed and swing on me just so I could land a good one on him.
He turns his back to me as the handle to the door turns and opens, and a man appears. “Agent Carson, the interview is over.”
“Damn right, it is,” I bark out, leering at the two men across the room from me.
“We weren’t finished,” Carson replies, turning and tossing his pen on the table that sits between us. “Just a few more minutes.”
The other man shakes his head. “Can’t let that happen. We have an issue.”
“What kind of issue?”
“The Director called and isn’t so happy about us bringing Mr. Moore in for questioning.”
Carson stiffens. “How the hell does he know?”
The man gives a small shrug. “I guess the kid has a few connections. Calls were made. Favors exchanged, and we’re to let him go or else…”
Connections? Favors? No one knows I’m here except for Gigi. Fuck. She didn’t listen to a damn word I said. By now, the entire Gallo family probably knows my ass is downtown, sitting in FBI headquarters for some unknown reason. I’ll have a lot of explaining to do and a lot of begging if I am going to be allowed to stay at Inked and at least finish out the contract on the chair I so badly want.
Fucking perfect. If shit wasn’t fucked up enough already, my mom dead, my brother motherless, and my father who the fuck knows where, my job is in jeopardy because Gigi couldn’t let me handle my own shit.
“What the fuck? The Director knows how important this case is.” Carson throws out an arm in my direction. “And we’re just supposed to let him go?”
The other man raises an eyebrow. “You want to call him at this hour and tell him you think he’s wrong?”
Carson glances toward the ceiling and lets out a loud grunt. “Fuck. This is bullshit.”
“It’s all bullshit,” I mutter, still pacing so I don’t go ballistic about the entire situation, including the two assholes in the room with me.
“We’re sorry about your mother, Mr. Moore,” the new guy says like somehow his condolences are going to make anything better.
My mother cut ties with me years ago. The last time I talked to her, I was already living at the Disciples’ compound, which she snubbed her nose at, reminding me that she thought I was a piece of trash before and always. That was the last time I said goodbye to her, and that time, I meant that word completely.
I should be crying, shedding a tear that the woman who gave birth to me is lying somewhere on a cold metal table, stiff and not breathing. But I can’t bring myself to cry. I care, of course I do—she is family—but there’s no love between us. There never will be now.
The thing I care most about is the fact that Gigi’s out there and I don’t know who’s had eyes on me. If DiSantis was watching my parents close enough to off my mom, is he watching me too? Has he seen Gigi and me together? Would he use her to keep me quiet?
“You can go, Mr. Moore. If we need you further…”
I wave him off, pushing past Carson. “You know where to find me the next time you want to drop a bomb in my lap and harass me.”
“The department truly is sorry,” he says as I brush against him, wishing I could knock them both over as I make my way toward the sterile gray hallway.
“Save it. Just give me my phone and let me go.”
“The receptionist at the front desk will give you your things before you leave.”
I pause for a minute, waiting for someone to offer me a ride home, but they say nothing. I stalk down the hallway, happy to be heading toward freedom and to make my way back home to check on Gigi. I have to figure out what to do about her. Do I distance myself from her entirely? Distance myself from her family too? I don’t want my father to put her and her entire family at risk because he’s a money-grubbing asshole.
I’m staring at the floor, watching the black-and-white checkered pattern pass in a blur and thrilled as fuck to get out of here, even if I have to hitch a ride home with a stranger.
“Pike!” Gigi screeches.
I lift my head, catching sight of the beautiful brunette running toward me like we haven’t seen each other in years. “Are you okay? Oh my God. I was so scared. I thought they were never going to let you go.” Her gaze darts over my body, checking for some sign of wear and tear. “Did they hurt you? I was so worried, I didn’t know what to do. I’m so sorry.” She looks over her shoulder toward a man who doesn’t look happy and is scarier than any dude in this place. “I had to call someone. Don’t be mad at me,” she finally pleads, sucking in a breath because she hasn’t given herself a chance to come up for air and stop talking long enough to breathe.
“I’m not mad, darlin’,” I whisper, mindful of the man looking a little like a caged lion and totally pissed off to be here at this hour. I want to wrap her in my arms, steal her away from this place, and put her where I know no one will find her, but the way the man she came with is staring at me, at us, I know I’d better keep my hands to myself.
Gigi turns toward the tall, dark-haired man behind her. “This is James,” she says and pulls me toward him, locking her fingers with mine. “My aunt Izzy’s husband.”
My eyes widen. “You called Izzy’s husband?”
She nods, smiling at me like her decision made all the sense in the world. “Izzy’s not stupid. She knows something is going on. Plus, James worked for the DEA, and I figured if anyone had connections with the FBI, it would be him. What else was I supposed to do? Just leave you here?” She squeezes my fingers and gives me the sweetest smile, like it’s going to make all this shit okay.
Fucking great.
“Well, yeah.” I pull my hand from her grip because Uncle James hasn’t taken his eyes off our connection, and there’s no happiness on his face. “I would’ve figured something out sooner or later.”
James stands taller, crossing his arms as he spreads his legs farther apart. “You two about done?”
“We’re done.” I look the man in the eye because he deserves my respect. No matter what, he pulled my ass out of a jam, getting up in the middle of the night to help a person he didn’t even know. “Can you just take us home?”
James shakes his head. “You two are going to my place. Izzy’s waiting, and she’s probably climbing the walls right about now. If I don’t bring you there, she’ll have my ass. And besides losing sleep, I don’t need her chewing my ear off all morning about dropping you off at home.”
“I’m sorry,” Gigi says again.
“It’s fine,” I lie because what else am I supposed to say? Nothing about this night has been fine. From the moment the asshole interrupted our kiss until the moment I walked out of the interrogation room, nothing has been fine.
“We’re coming, Uncle James.” Gigi turns to me, grabbing my hand, giving my fingers a light squeeze. “Okay?” She stares up at me, looking for my conf
irmation.
I nod. I’m not sure if it’s something I want Gigi to know because she’d flip her shit and rightfully so. Maybe I need to explain the situation to James, get his thoughts on what my next move should be and how we can shield Gigi from any potential blowback.
James practically punches the door open, walking into the thick night air with Gigi and me following behind him. She glances at me, giving me a small smile every few steps before staring at her uncle and frowning.
I know she has a lot to say. I know she wants to ask me everything, but she’s holding back…for once. I have a lot to say too, but I’m not sure I can put everything into words just yet. There’s so much swirling around my brain, I can barely make sense of it all.
“Pike, sit up front. You and I are going to talk,” James says as we approach his kick-ass Challenger parked just outside the doorway since the place is deserted.
“Um,” Gigi mumbles, wanting to say more but shutting her mouth when James turns his gaze toward her. “Got it. I’m in the back.”
I fold the seat forward, letting her crawl into the impossibly small back seat, thankful I don’t have to contort myself in crazy ways to sit next to her. I slide in under the watchful eye of James and stare straight ahead, feeling something strange wash over me.
“Seat belts, kids.”
I don’t argue with the man. I’m not stupid. I’m not even in the mood to tell him I’m not his kid because I’m almost certain he’d knock me upside the head, and I’d still have to put on my seat belt before he’d drive away. Right now, all I want is a place to lay my head, sort out my thoughts, and say goodbye to this day.
“How do you know DiSantis?” he asks before we’re even out of the parking lot.
“I don’t.” I shrug, staring out the front window as the oncoming cars pass in a blur. “My father worked for him.”
“That’s it? You never did any side jobs for him?”
“That’s it. I was a kid last time I was around him, fifteen years ago, maybe. I forgot about the guy until I saw he’d been arrested splattered on the front page of the newspaper.”