“… in upstate New York by a private physician at an undisclosed location.”
Oh. Shit.
“You need to explain what is going on,” Ronnie says, once inside my cell. “And tell me the truth. Because I can omit it if you need me to.”
My mouth opens and closes several times as I slide down the wall to the floor. I’m defeated. I’m not sure I can do this. “I just hurt myself when I was a dumb kid.”
She closes the door and squats in front of me. “Look, Sal, I don’t know the truth behind who you are or why you’re here, but I’m willing to help you if you tell me the truth.”
My eyes drift over her plump cheeks. “Agent Sal Raniero. I’m a government-funded contractor. Black ops. Sent in to find Sherman “Violet” Hendrix. I broke my ankle during my capture and subsequent training at Sibyl.”
“What is Sibyl?” She asks, plopping on her butt and crossing her squatty plump legs in front of me.
“It’s a collective—a society—of covert agents doing things you don’t want to know about.”
With her head propped on her hand, she lifts a brow, curious to know more. “… Funded by which government?”
I shrug. “Bidding is open.”
“Jesus,” she mutters, pressing her hands together in a steeple and pressing them under her nose. “Let me make sure I’ve got this. You are a federal agent?”
“Yes, Ma’am.”
She gasps as her eyes widen. “With a badge?”
I grin. “I have one, yes.”
“And you chose to come to prison?” A look of disbelief cascades over her face and she hastily questions, “Are you insane?!?!”
“Only marginally.”
“You are in a medium-security facility, Sal. This isn’t a ride at an amusement park. These guys are tough.”
With an unwavering stance, I declare, “I’m tougher.”
“You’re arrogant, too.”
“I make a habit of knowing what I’m good at,” I reply, pulling my knees up and wrapping my arms around them. “I’m damn good at stopping sex trafficking. It’s kind of an art.”
“Holy shit…”
“But currently, I need to know why Violet has been hiding in prison for eighteen years.”
Her hands drop to her knees as she straightens up her back. “You have any other hidden trinkets in your toy box?”
Scanning over her eager expression, I decide to take the plunge and go all-in because at some point, trusting others is an essential facet to getting shit done. I don’t solve cases alone. It takes a vast amount of teamwork and effort by many people which I might have eliminated from The Unholy in my hasty rogue efforts.
I have Martinez and Cameron on my side, but a side piece is always an excellent secret weapon in the arsenal. My gut instincts ping that she doesn’t have any affiliation to Lotus or Cinco. She is an innocent, likely single, hardworking mother. “I’m the only Raniero son of the Boston Raniero Crime Family.”
Leaning forward, she drops her lips apart, wide enough to fit a French bread loaf inside — one of those big, warm ones at the grocery store that melt on the tongue.
Fuck. I’m hungry.
And I don’t even eat bread.
“Let me get this straight—you’re an agent working for the good, the light, the just, and righteous people of America…”
“Humans… I’m an international man of many talents.”
She lifts a finger. “And your family is full of the vile, evil scum you are trying to rid the world of?”
“That’s a very accurate description.”
“Thank you,” she mumbles, rowling herself up. She unmistakably tilts her head this way and that until she fiercely declares, “Let’s get to work.”
Astonished, I confirm, “You’re going to help me?”
“Of course, I am,” she maintains, looking like she’s ready for a fight. “I’ve got twin daughters and one son at home if I don’t do what’s right, how can I possibly ever expect them to?”
Extending my hand, I smirk. “I think I’m in love with you.”
“The feeling is mutual,” she says, smiling and shaking my hand. “Now, what do you need?”
“I need paper and a pen.”
Her eyes pivot back and forth. “I can do that as soon as I finish your file and move you to general. Would you like me to eliminate the ankle from our records?”
“You’d do that?”
“I can make the details vanish,” she says with a wink. “Say you broke it playing football and…” Her hands flutter about as she blinks up and continues the lie. “One of the kid’s dad was a doctor, and…he set it until you arrived back home.” She smiles.
I lift a brow. “You have any other skills besides fiction, like juggling?”
“Baby, I got three teenagers,” she reiterates with a smirk. “I can fucking juggle.”
“I need some food.”
“I’ll bring you a dinner tray,” she says, rubbing her lips together. “It’s not uncommon in holding. Inmates tend to go into a moment of shock. No one will suspect a thing.”
“No bananas.”
“Okay, anything else?”
“I’m not fond of milk products,” I add, snarling. “And Ronnie, don’t get caught.”
Her deceptive grin is one I recognize. “I won’t.”
“You help me with this,” I thoughtfully offer. “And I’ll make sure you aren’t working for meager rates in a state prison anymore. And if it helps to sweeten the deal, I’ll set up three college funds with fifty grand each.”
“Oh my God…” she covers her mouth as tears fill her eyes. “You would?”
“Ya, no problem,” I reply, grabbing her hands. “I just really need some help.” Her tears fall to my hands. “What did you do before this?”
“I served three tours in Afghanistan, Sir.” Now, she has my attention. “My husband was…killed in the line of duty on his fourth tour. I never planned on this, but when you live in a small town in Texas, and your kids are established with their friends and family…and my son playing ball, you do what you got to do.”
I understand her situation all too well. “What position?”
“He’s a running back,” she proudly announces. “He’s hoping to play in college.”
“I know some people who know some people, and I’ll see what I can do.”
Ronnie shakes her head like she just won the lottery. “This case must mean a lot.”
“I think it’s the key.”
Sniffling, she says, “I’m going to go get you some food.” I stand up fast and help her up. In an awkward move, she blinks and embraces me. “Thank you for trusting me.”
“Don’t trust anyone, Ron.”
“I don’t.” She looks up at me. “And I’ll get to work on quietly researching where Violet is. He’s got to be in under an alias, but that seems so wrong.”
“Welcome to my world.”
She releases from our hug and heads for the door. “And Sal, next time I see you, have your shirt off again.”
I laugh. “Hey, does anyone do ink?”
“That’s against the rules, but yeah,” she giggles, pointing at me. “Mock does amazing work.”
“I looked for him out in the yard.”
She sighs. “Yeah, he’s in solitary again for fighting. He’s a good guy, but he doesn’t take kindly to being bullied.”
“Who started it?”
“Some new little punk ass named Pico.”
I stop breathing as the past collides with the present. I’ll be cleaning up the rubble in the future. “… Santino Neves?”
Her brows furrow in a distinct line. “Yeah, do you know him?”
“I’ve heard things,” I loosely fabricate, knowing he is the youngest of three brothers of my deceased wife’s adoptive family. “What did he get brought in for?”
“Drugs,” she informs sighing. “Crossing the border from Juarez to El Paso with over thirty pounds of meth.”
Jesus. Fuck.
“Thank you.”
“Sure thing, I’ll be right back.”
If Cinco’s idea of sending protection is coming in the form of Pico Neves, then I’m as good as a dead man. The brothers blame me for Kaci’s death while they kept Merritt Amos Hope-Cruz a secret at their South Texas compound.
Deputy Martinez won’t be able to stop what is coming.
And neither will I.
Agreeing to prison may just be my death sentence.
12
Battles No Matter
Dinner consists of Swedish meatballs, peas, canned fruit, milk, and what Ronnie referred to as a “vitamin drink.” I stick with water and manage to get the peas and fruit down. I’m going to have to modify my nutritional profile, and I can’t say Kary Vega didn’t warn me.
“You’re gonna have to eat, or you’re gonna be worthless to me when you get out,” Kary said from the elliptical machine when I was laying on the weight bench. “Don’t starve yourself.”
We met after my first case about twice a year. We’d do a boy’s weekend for specialty training at any number of stateside locations.
The case had been a high school girl—raped (we found used, bloody condoms providing evidence), abducted, and never recovered the body. I knew I’d never find her. Julie Kildare was the first of many losses.
Wins were rare.
“I’ll do my best.”
“Eat the fucking bananas, Nero.”
“I hate how much you know about me,” I replied as sweat dripped from every pore. “It’s not fair.”
“Would you prefer I lied?”
Doing several more reps, I hooked the bar in the holder and sat up. “No,” I said, yanking off my fingerless workout gloves. “I’d prefer if my past didn’t come to haunt me at every corner. Just when I think it’s safe, I get tossed into the waves of a shitstorm.”
“Just do me a favor and make sure you eat.”
Julie Kildare.
Sixteen. Sophomore. Cheerleader.
Her whole life ahead of her—gone.
Vanished without a trace.
Picking up the spoon, I scarf down the Swedish meatballs. I don’t taste. I minimally chew. I’m a spoiled brat accustomed to ten-dollar protein shakes and three hundred-dollar dinners for two.
Julie Kildare is gone; I never say dead, I can’t. I pop open the milk carton and slam it back, knowing I have no other choice. Julie Kildare suffered. I gave up milk when I gave up Mierne, but now, I want a fucking cookie. And Julie Kildare is still missing.
This is my psychosis.
Shoving the tray away, I lay down on the cold cement floor and stare at the ceiling until the pattern blurs and I close my eyes. I touch the cross on my neck and remember why I’m here—because I hypothesize whatever Violet knows will connect the dots.
It may be a pipe dream and mean nothing at all but a man on the run. I want to believe it’s more, so I roll onto my knees, prop my elbows on the bed, and pray. I talk to my Old Poppa. I talk to God. I talk to my Angel.
… My Angel, whose Mother was murdered in cold blood, and I—a black ops agent with as many tactical maneuvers as a Navy SEAL—couldn’t stop it.
I failed. I lost. I suck.
“Raniero,” Ronnie says, peeking behind the door. “I’m was about to leave for the night, but you have a visitor.” She checks her watch as I grab my shirt. “But you only have twenty minutes. I’ll stay until you get back to your cell.”
“Thank you.” The automatic locks buzz and the door opens. I’d know those beckoning blue eyes anywhere as I run over and hug Cruz. “What the fuck are you doing here?”
“It took me all day to gain clearance,” he informs, holding me close. I never considered crying happy tears. “Talk to me. What do you need?”
“Julie Kildare.”
Giving a questioning look, he backs up with his hands latched on my guns and says, “… Who?”
“My first case,” I remind him.
“The one with the missing girl in rural New York?”
I say, “Yeah.”
“How is she involved in this?” he asks as we move to the chairs. He pulls out two. “I’m not following.”
“What if all the missing girls go back to the same source?”
“You mean like one distributor of stolen girls?”
“Ya,” I say, leaning my elbows on my knees. “I mean if that were the case, it would make sense.”
“You’re talking about a massive undertaking,” he points out. “Someone would have to be running it like a damn military operation.”
“I know. There are vulnerabilities everywhere,” I panic, scattered. “I need you getting Amber out of Arkansas.”
Deacon lights a couple of smokes and hands me one. “How do you know she’s in Arkansas?”
“Because Jaid came to see me before she broke up with me.”
Spreading out in the chair, he repeats, “… Broke up with you?”
“She says she was moved off of my team by Dom, but I don’t know. Nothing feels right. Like maybe she asked to be moved. If he moved her…”
“If he moved her, he is aiming at us,” Deacon angrily states. His jaw grinds at a wicked rate. “I’m fucking gonna kill that son-of-a-bitch, Nero.”
“Not yet,” I say, lifting my hand flat. “Message Jas. Tell him I want all of my unsolved cases looked into. Tell him I think there is a connection.”
“… Is he still in the cornfield?” he quizzes as I nod. “We’re getting too close to the fire.”
“I’m telling you some shit is about to go down. Rampage rebuilt too fucking fast. Pock doesn’t have that kind of coin, which means someone is funding them. Do you have any idea who popped Lydia?”
His sad blue eyes stare at mine. “I know one thing,” he says, cracking his knuckles. “That bullet met the wrong damn target. Lily Miller-Armstrong was standing right there.”
Closing my eyes, I mutter, “No.”
“Oh, yes,” he assures, hunching over to talk to me. “Nico, Serene, and I have spent all week analyzing the video. That bullet was for Lily, Sal. So, you’re absolutely right when you say something is about to go down.”
“Get to Arkansas before they take Amber away from me, too.”
“You think Dom moved Jaid on purpose?”
I breathe with uncertainty. “I don’t know. I want to think he is just playing his best hand. I want to believe that, but there is the fact that he is a Gennaro looming over him like a dark cloud. How do I know he isn’t turning on me?”
“I’m not ever turning on you,” Deacon promises, gripping my hand. “You may piss me off sometimes, Sal. But I’ll never sail you down the river.”
“I appreciate that,” I laugh and he smiles. “God, I miss you.”
“I know you do,” he says, not letting go of my fingers. “But you have to find Violet, and I have to keep Iris moving.”
“And message Jas and get Amber,” I reiterate the list. “Don’t worry about Jaid. I’ll figure that hot mess out when I get fucking released.”
“That could be a while,” he sniggers as I run my fingers through his pretty golden threads.
“And if you need to fuck my mistress…”
“I know.” He smiles at the corner of his mouth. “You won’t kill me.”
“Just call me a matchmaker.”
“I tend to think of you more as the playmaker,” he chides, grinning. “Got to make those moves.”
“Shut up, bitch.” I give a side-eyed glance, knowing I have to be honest at some point with him. I have to tell him about Merritt Amos Hope-Cruz being his son, but not today. Not today. “We ain’t got time for a reunion.”
I hate seeing Deacon.
In the middle of the holding cell, I stand bare-assed naked in the dark as my fist pumps around my cock. This is what he does to me. It has zero with wanting to have him on my dick and everything to do with his ability to submit to my guidance. I could handle a visit from anyone other than Deacon or Iris. They both listen
far too well for it not to turn me on.
I know she is safe under his watch, even thousands of miles away. Iris is a tough cookie and not a girl to be fucked with. She’ll push a loaded syringe into a man’s heart or chop someone’s ready rod off before she gets hurt. And Deacon is a madman. He’ll shoot first and ask questions later. I want to believe I’ve calmed him some, but I think I’m kidding myself.
I’m so desperately hard.
And despite the thoughts running through my mind, this is not easing the need. I’m a fucking control freak and not having someone to bow down before me is worse than the bars of my cage. My strokes get harder as I tighten and try to find some pain to detour the crazy.
“You wanna talk?” I said, sitting on the window ledge.
“No,” he said. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
Taking the smoke from his fingers, I asked, “You wanna forget about it?”
“Yes,” he whispered. “And then I never want to talk about it again.”
Without any more discussion, I ripped my belt off with a pop and commanded, “Kneel.”
“You don’t mean that,” Deacon said, flabbergasted.
“Don’t fucking question me twice, boy.”
“Yes, Sir,” he deferred, dropping in front of me. “You can’t be serious… You are Salvatore-fucking-Raniero.”
“And you’re going to be fucking Sal Raniero in about ten minutes.”
The memories come back like a tidal wave of a tsunami and threaten to extinguish my flames. I run my fingers through my hair and breathe. It’s so good. So unexpected. So far away from reality.
I get closer to the edge and slow my pace. Not yet. Not yet. I grit my teeth as I flip through the pictures in my mind to The Dollhouse—head down and ass up—hair was strewn over white sheets, and her body beckoning me.
“You fucking my ass?”
“One day, when you least expect it,” I said, snapping the belt against her skin. She marked beautifully. “Until then, I’m loving your other two holes generously.” I dipped my finger into her wetness to coat my dick in her before sliding in.
“And what about Cruz?”
I eyed him sitting in the corner of the room, palming his dick, and grinning like this was our perfection. “He’s going to love you, too. But if I fall, you go with him because he’s the only one in the world I trust you with.”
Famous Last Words (a Tomb of Ashen Tears Book 2) Page 11