by Shandi Boyes
I’m not lying. Henry is a cruel, vindictive, cold-hearted murderer, but even those who want to take him down know his crimes are never undertaken on the innocent. Unlike the men who hope one day to be him, he’s never been charged with rape, child molestation, sex trafficking, or any of those other horrendous crimes you usually associate with members of the cartel. If you were only to judge him by the stacks of papers in his file, some may say he’s no different than my father. He protects the innocent by slaying the men hurting them. There are better ways he could go about it, but at the end of the day, not everyone can rely on the justice system.
My parents couldn’t.
The tightness in Brandon’s shoulders doubles when I demand him to answer my question by saying his name in a low, gravelly tone. I still loathe my developing voice, but I hate it even more when its pitched with sadness.
After a quick scan of the room, Brandon shifts on his feet to face me. “I’m not protecting you from Henry. I’m protecting you from the people who will hurt him by hurting you.”
“What?” I’m wholly and truly lost. “Why would Henry be hurt if I were hurt? That doesn’t make any sense…” My words clog in my throat when my run-in with Henry last month filters into my head. His eyes were more empathetic than you’d expect most mob bosses to have, particularly when he was cupping my cheeks in a loving, possessive way.
They had the same spark they have now when he spots me across the room. He’s finished his chat with his friend, who’s making his way back to the main section of the gala. He looks like he wants to approach me, but the fast fanning of Brandon’s tuxedo jacket stops him. He’s carrying, and the expression on his face assures Henry he’ll have no hesitation using his weapon if it keeps him away from me.
Realizing I’m not worth a bullet wound, Henry dips his chin in farewell before he once again vanishes into the darkness of the night. I want to demand for Grayson to leave him alone when he’s quick to follow Henry’s retreat, but I lose the chance when Brandon pivots around to face me. He cups my cheeks as he did earlier, except this time, absolute awe isn’t filling his eyes. Panic is.
“Are you okay?”
Although I’m still embarrassed I thought there was more behind his kiss than there was, and I’m overwhelmed with guilt, neither of those things are life-threatening, so I nod instead of shaking my head like I really want to. “I’m fine, just a little confused.”
Brandon’s thumbs swipe at my cheeks as he says, “That’s understandable. We have a lot to discuss.” As his eyes dance between mine, his tongue darts out to wet his lips. I can tell the exact moment he tastes my mouth on his. His nostrils flare as the faintest pink coloring creeps across his cheeks. I just have to hope his response isn’t one full of remorse. His actions tonight are too contradictive for me to trust my intuition. It led me astray during our kiss. I won’t let it happen again. “Is there somewhere we can have that discussion…” he steps closer to me, hiding both his face and the movement of his lips from Fetu. “… in private.”
“Tiny is my… bodyguard.” Since I’m embarrassed that I need a protective detail, it takes longer to express my last word. “Julian is adamant Tiny goes anywhere I go.”
I assumed my comment would put Brandon on the defensive, so you can imagine my surprise when he keeps a cool, calm, and collected voice while asking, “What about when Julian is around? Does Tiny still hover like an annoying fly then?”
An ill-timed grin attempts to break across my face when Brandon’s muttered words reach Fetu’s ears. He glares at him, looking like he wants to snap him like a twig, but mercifully, he maintains his protective stance from afar.
Although half of me still wants to tell Brandon to go to hell, the other half is too inquisitive to know when to back away. “He’s less intrusive when Julian is around, so perhaps we should take this back to my room. Julian is there waiting for a call.”
I regret my decision in an instant when Brandon mutters, “Even gazillionaires have to wait for calls? Who would have known?”
“He’s not a gazillionaire.” I wait for the annoyance on Brandon’s face to shift halfway to pleased before muttering, “But he’s pretty damn close. He’s off by a billion or two.”
My comment was cruel and demoralizing, but one hundred percent necessary. It evened the playing field between us, ensuring both Brandon and my heart knows our kiss meant nothing. He was merely doing the job my father taught him to do, and once again, has me regretting my unusual upbringing.
As I turn toward Fetu to announce we are leaving, I spot the man I saw chatting with Henry earlier breaking through the hundreds of attendees of the gala. He’s possessively clutching the waist of a pretty brunette as he makes a beeline for the hotel’s valet parking bay. The worried expression on his face jumps onto mine when the woman he’s sheltering swings her eyes to Brandon. It isn’t the concern for him seen in her eyes that has my heart rate jumping, it’s the nasty snarl of a second dark-haired man on her left. He isn’t a fan of Brandon, which is surprising because most people love him. Furthermore, I swear I’ve seen him before, but I can’t recall where exactly.
Before I can work through half my confusion, Brandon stacks a heap more into my head. Instead of acting like Fetu isn’t in the room with us, he demands him to take me back to my room and not let me out until he says so.
“I beg your pardon,” I snap back, yanking out of Fetu’s hold. “I’m not a child. You can’t banish me to my room because your date got carted out of here by another man.”
My jealousy is unwarranted, but there’s no forsaking it. It clutches at me as vehemently as Brandon signing, “Seek shelter now.” He only ever signed those words when the situation was beyond his control, or he was scared. Today it appears to be a combination of them both.
“Please be careful.” Since fear is strangling my senses, I sign my worry instead of verbalizing it.
Only once Brandon dips his chin, wordlessly agreeing to my request, do I allow Fetu to guide me toward the elevator banks. Every step I take is done with hesitation. I’m not just fearful Brandon is sprinting headfirst into danger, I’m petrified I am seconds from being in the same room as Julian again. Not even on my darkest days can I lie to him.
I don’t see today being any different.
20
Brandon
As soon as the elevator doors snap shut with Melody and the giant she calls Tiny on the inside, I make my way to Hugo standing on the footpath outside of the hotel. The veins in his neck pump as rapidly as his fists clench and unclench.
“What’s going on? Why did Isaac drag Izzy out of here like her life was in danger?”
I swear to God, if I fucked up by chasing the wrong cartel entity, I’ll hand in my gun and badge first thing tomorrow. All intel pointed the finger at the Castros. The only surviving member of that syndicate is fighting for his life in a hospital as locked down as Fort Knox is, so why the fuck did Isaac rush Isabelle out of here the way he did? I get he’s a little possessive when it comes to her, but he agreed for her to spend the weekend at my family’s ranch, so it isn’t like her attendance at the gala was a surprise to him.
“Did it have anything to do with Henry Gottle’s pop-in visit?”
That piques Hugo’s interest. “Henry was here?”
I lift my chin. I could have left him in the dark, but his responses are telling me honesty will work better for me. “They were chatting outside just a few minutes ago.”
Hugo works his jaw side to side before straying his eyes to mine. “Henry isn’t a threat to Isabelle.”
What’s behind everyone’s sudden belief a mafia kingpin is a saint? First, Melody, now Hugo. Henry isn’t as bad as his predecessor, but still, he’s far from saintly. You can’t kill without punishment and anticipate a clear ride to heaven. It would take an ocean full of holy water to save that man, and that’s if he wanted to be saved.
My rant ends when Hugo pivots on his heels and races back into the lobby of the hotel. “Go back to
your date, Blondie. You’re not needed.”
If I were a man who didn’t care about his responsibilities, I’d use his dismissal as an excuse to reignite my conversation with Melody. Since I’m not, I yank my cell phone out of my pocket to call Grayson while making a beeline for the security office in the corner of the foyer. I’m not going to lie, I am running uncomfortably. I was so fucking hard while kissing Melody, I was certain when she broke away, I was about to be arrested for indecent exposure. I could have sworn my dick had busted through the zipper in my pants because it wasn’t just the tip feeling its nasty bite. It gnawed at my shaft as much as my teeth gnawed on Melody’s lips.
Since we’re being honest, I’ll also admit that I’m shocked. I never in a million years would have imagined the outcome of my kiss. I spotted Henry purely by chance. Although his focus was elsewhere, not even men with supermodel wives on their arm couldn’t help but drink in Melody when she floated by. She has a regal, old-Hollywood vibe going on tonight with pinned back hair, red-painted lips, and a dress that had my cock reacting long before the scrumptious taste of her mouth.
With time short, I had to think on the spot. I thought Melody would pull away in anger when I kissed her before reminding me she’s engaged. She did no such thing. She deepened my embrace before wholly ruling it. Her kiss—our kiss—fuck me. It was the best we’ve had, and we had plenty worthy of the hottest romance books. It pulled me under and made me feel like I couldn’t breathe, all the while making it seem as if my life didn’t end along with Joey’s seven years ago. It just paused for a little.
I ignore my once-again hardening cock when Grayson finally connects my call. “Please tell me you have eyes on Henry.”
“Unfortunately not. His driver is as friendly with the gas pedal as you.” Grayson’s voice echoes when he asks, “Why? Did he do a loop around?”
I disconnect our call and slide my phone into my pocket when he breaks through the rotating doors of the hotel’s lobby. “I haven’t seen him, but Isaac just raced out of here with Izzy under his arm like a missile strike had been ordered.”
Grayson slips his phone into the breast pocket of his jacket before twisting his lips. “Isaac wouldn’t see Henry as a threat. They’re more allies than enemies. Someone else must have a bee in his bonnet.” He nudges his head to the security office I was racing to before he returned. “Wanna play good cop or bad cop?”
“How about we play give us want we want, or we’ll have the feds use your hotel lobby as their haunt until your ‘special’ guests find another venue to host their ‘meetings.’” I air quote my last word.
Grayson smiles a blinding grin. “That’ll work.” He curls his arm around my shoulders before spinning me to face the security office. “That kiss changed you, and I’m not just talking about the funky growth in your pants. I feel like I’m standing across from that baby-faced teen who put an admissions officer double his age on his ass with nothing but a few words. I like it. It’s done you good.” He feels my growl more than he hears it when he murmurs, “Let’s just hope her fiancé doesn’t put a tempting bounty on your head, or I might consider cashing it in.”
Ninety minutes and one turf war later, we’ve identified the man Hugo spent the past hour and a half searching for. It isn’t who I was anticipating. He’s from neither the Castros’ nor the Bobrovs’ crews. He’s a Popov, which means he’s related to Isabelle by blood.
“What are you doing?” Grayson asks when I yank my cell phone out of my pocket.
While tsking his daftness, I swipe my finger across the screen of my phone. “I don’t owe Isaac shit, but I sure as hell do Isabelle. She deserves to know her brother is on the lookout for her.”
After snatching my cell phone out of my hand, Grayson shuts it down, then throws it on the desk we’re camped behind. “Leave it.”
“Leave it? That man is a killer. He wasn’t here for no reason, and if it was for any of the derived thoughts in my head, she deserves to know she’s in danger.”
Grayson scrubs at his jaw before sinking low in his chair. “Are we still talking about Izzy?”
“Don’t turn this onto me, Grayson. I’m too fucking tired to deal with another one of your mind twists.”
He folds his arms in front of his chest while shaking his head. “I’m not playing mind games. I am being straight-up honest. Enrique isn’t a threat to Isabelle any more than Henry is to Melody—”
“Just because they’re family doesn’t give them a free pass from scrutiny.”
“Doesn’t it…” he pauses in a way that would make Joey proud, “… ‘cause it certainly seems to be the case with your family.” He doesn’t let me get over his first hit before he whacks me with another. “You know your dad is as shady as shit. Have you done anything about it?” Stealing my chance to reply that I’m waiting for enough evidence to have him jailed instead of getting a slap on the wrist, he asks, “And what about your brother? You know Hugo didn’t rape that girl, but have you done anything to prove that? And Joey’s death? That’s still classified as a suicide.”
My jaw tightens to the point it feels like it’s about to crack when he adds, “And what about your girl? You tried and convicted her with the weakest evidence, even after seeing the devastation on her face the night she supposedly ‘cheated’ on you.” He air quotes ‘cheated’ while gagging. “If you think that’s normal, you’re more fucked-up than I realized. Girls don’t cheat on the loves of their lives then act defensive. They grovel. They beg. They don’t race out of the house with tears streaming down their face and cracked, broken lips.”
Even with it feeling like my heart is being ripped out of my chest, I can’t hold back my retaliation. “Why say all this now? Why not call me on it when it was happening?”
Grayson sits up straight before flopping his head to the side. “And add more shit to your plate? You were barely holding on.” He gets a sternness in his eyes I’ve never seen before. “Your fuck-up with Olivia was proof of that.” He pushes back from the desk before standing to his full height. “Leave that alone.” He nudges his head to an image of Isabelle and Enrique. “‘Cause you’ve got enough of your own shit to handle.”
After removing the old-style compact disc from the digital recorder, he exits the office, not speaking another word and leaving me in shambles.
21
Melody
My eyes float up from my balled hands to Fetu when he enters the living room of the Presidential suite I’m not enjoying since numerous attempts to reach out to Julian have been thwarted. I’ve been back at our suite for almost two hours, yet I’ve not heard anything from neither Brandon nor Julian. I’m panicked out of my mind. Julian isn’t known for disappearing acts, and Brandon usually finds me the instant the threat has passed.
“Anything?” I ask Fetu, hopeful Julian’s security team knows of his whereabouts.
Fetu shakes his head. “I’m not surprised—” Before he can finish his sentence, the buzzer of the suite rattles my bones.
“Fingers crossed that’s him.” I race for the door before Fetu can. His legs are long, but the length of his strides have nothing on my determination.
The air in my lungs leaves in a hurry when I swing open the door. Not only is Brandon standing on the other side, so is Julian, although he isn’t really standing. More leaning—on Brandon.
“Melly.” Whiskey slaps me in the face when Julian stumbles my way. “I’b mizzed you, babe.”
“Not quite as much as you missed the liquor bottle tonight.” I catch him just before he falls, then Fetu backs up my staggered movements with his large frame. If he hadn’t stood behind me, I’d be on my ass by now. That’s how unstable Julian’s sways are. “Did you drink any water tonight?”
Guilt crosses Brandon’s face when Julian mumbles, “Water is for pussies… or pansies. What’s the word again?”
“Either of them work.” I grunt, struggling to keep him on his feet as I move him deeper into our suite. “Although I doubt that’s true. Water i
s responsible.” Like you usually are.
My heart does a weird flutter thingamabob when Brandon says, “Here, let me.” He slides his arm around Julian’s waist before pulling him back into his side as he was when I opened the door. “Which one is the master suite?”
“I’ll take him.”
Brandon shrugs off Fetu’s offer like he’s not dragging a man the same weight and height as him across a ballroom-size suite. “It’s fine. I’ve got him.” A faulty battery could be causing me to mishear things, but I swear Brandon adds, “It’s the least I can do since his drunkenness is my fault.”
After following Fetu into the master suite, Brandon flops Julian onto the mattress before dropping to his knees to remove his shoes. When Julian pats his head like he’s a good puppy, the color drains from Brandon’s cheeks. He isn’t annoyed. He is feeling guilty.
“He’s nice. I like him,” Julian mumbles through hiccups. “You do, too, don’t you, Melly?” I’m not a fan of his new nickname, however, I’d rather it over the pained look in his eyes when he drifts them my way. They’re bloodshot and massively dilated, but they’re still the same truth-bearing eyes I’ve grown to love the past three years, so I’m confident he knows I kissed Brandon. Just like I know it’s tearing him up inside.
Hating how much I’ve hurt him, I join Brandon’s mission to make him as comfortable as possible. “Let’s get your jacket off. You’ll get too hot if you sleep in it.”
Every mumble of praise Julian bombards me with as I help him out of his tuxedo jacket before untethering his bowtie stabs my heart with pain. I deserve it. I deceived him when he’s been nothing but faithful to me.