Dirty (Raw Family #2)

by Belle Aurora

  The best I’ve had in years.

  “I need to make a phone call.”

  Ethan Black glances up from his newspaper a short second before he goes back to reading, and he mutters, “What for? You don’t know anyone anymore. Everyone thinks you’re dead.”

  “Not everyone,” I say quietly, from my place at his dining table, picking up the mug of hot, black coffee and sipping it in silence.

  Black and I may never be friends, but I’m a man who understands what it would take for a guy like him to take in a guy like me. Ever since the capture of Egon Baris, I’ve been treated less like a criminal and more like a colleague. The day after the bust, we flew back to San Francisco. We stopped by the SFPD to have a powwow with the chief and then Black jerked his chin to me. “Grab your things.”

  I didn’t ask questions. What was the point? It wasn’t like Black would give me a straight answer anyways.

  When we arrived at the two-story house in the suburbs, I followed him inside, where he walked me down the long hall to an open doorway, waving his arm to guide me in. “This will be your room.” He pointed to the end of the hall. “Bathroom and shower are that way.” He glanced to the right. “Kitchen is over there. Help yourself. I’m not your maid, so you’ll have to wash your own clothes and make your own food.”

  Saying thank you is the hardest for me, so I diverted attention by asking a question. “I thought you were married with kids?”

  “I am,” he responded, before blinking at me. “You didn’t think I’d actually take you to my house, did you?” His lip twitched. “This is one of the FBIs many safe houses. You and I will be living here until the completion of our terms.” He sobered almost immediately. “There will be times when I’m going to have to leave you here alone. I don’t want to ask you if I can trust you not to disappear on me, because I’m not stupid enough to believe I can cage you—not anymore, anyway. All I ask is that if you decide to leave the house, wear your hood and keep your head down.” He placed his hands on his hips and turned fatherly on me. “And, for all that is holy, leave a fucking note.”

  When he spun on his heel and turned, shaking his head, I walked into my room. It was decent. I’ve had worse, that’s for sure. It was simple, with a built-in closet, a chest of drawers and a queen-sized bed.

  Yeah. I’d definitely had worse.

  It would serve its purpose, and I would get decent sleep at night. It was more than I could have hoped for. After all, I could still be in the never-quiet, never-darkened cells of the SFPD.

  Black’s eyes come away from his newspaper in meaningful sluggishness. His brows rise as he asks, “Just how many people know you’re alive, Twitch?”

  I keep my gaze on him, not needing to think about the answer. “One of my boys and an old associate. Now, Officer Quaid, the chief, and you.”

  He thinks about this then his lips stretch into a smile. With a slight shake of his head, he chuckles aloud, and it pisses me off. I’m not the butt of anybody’s joke.

  “What’s funny?” I grind out.

  His chuckle turns into an outright laugh. “I would not like to be you when your lady finds out you’ve been alive all this time.” He mock winces. “No, sir-ee. She’s going to make your life a living hell.”

  Shit.

  My body turns cold at the thought. I try to justify myself to a man who has no fucking idea what it took for me to leave Lexi behind. “She’ll understand once she knows the reason I left. I didn’t have a fucking choice. I had to leave.”

  “You’re telling me?” He snorts a laugh. “Have you ever dealt with a woman scorned, Falco? Do you know anything about women at all?” He watches me frown then softens his tone. “There’s no fixing this. She’s not going to forgive you. You’ll be lucky if she lets you see your son at all.”

  “I’m his father,” is my lame argument.

  Black murmurs, “And according to his birth certificate, you’re deceased. Even with your new identity, the one we fashion for you, you won’t have any rights. Not in a court of law.”

  My stomach turns at the thought of being kept from AJ.

  It’s already been so long.

  I need my son.

  I’m in bad shape. I’m dying without him, without her.

  Shaking off the unbearable thought, I repeat myself, “I need to make a call.”

  Motioning with his head to the phone on the kitchen counter, he says, “Secure line. Pick it up, wait for the three clicks, and then dial.” He takes a moment to stress, “Do not use your cell phone. Not even if it’s a burner. Even burners can get picked up.”

  As I stand and move toward the counter, Black utters conversationally, “Hope you’re not too attached to that.”

  I hate when he speaks in riddles. “Attached to what?”

  “The tattoo.” He taps his cheek, denoting my infamous 13. “Because it’s got to go. It’s an indicator. We can’t afford for someone to see it and start spreading rumors that you live.”

  That means he plans on taking me on the other stings. That was good. I could deal with that.

  “No.” I lie, although I want to get violent. “I’m not attached.”

  I try not to think about it, although he’s suggesting that I remove my past, the day I met Lexi. That day is everything, and fuck yeah, I am attached as hell to the memory of it.

  “Good,” Black mutters, nodding. “Because your first session of laser is this afternoon. The guy says you’ll need four to five sessions, four weeks apart.”

  Well, fuck.

  No way out of it, then.

  I’ll do it like I’ve done everything else in my life.

  I’ll take it like a man.

  Picking up the phone, I put it to my ear, wait for the three clicks to sound, and then dial. It rings once, twice, three times then he answers.

  “Fuck me. It’s 6:00 a.m. Someone better be dying, asshole,” Viktor Nikulin groans into the phone, and I fight a grin.

  I get to business. “Viktor Nikulin?”

  “Yeah,” he mutters, and I hear him shuffle, likely to sit up. “Who’s this?”

  I speak quietly, but firmly. “I live in the shadows of the underground and see a lot of things, deal with a lot of people, know a lot of firms.” I pause momentarily, feeling Black’s eyes on me. “Your brother is a problem for me.”

  Viktor Nikulin responds, a mixture of anger and disgust lining his voice. “I don’t have a fucking brother.”

  “Yes, you do. We both know you do. And it’s fine to disown him, murderous psycho that he is, but Maxim Nikulin is a problem for me. I need to know where to find him.”

  He pauses a moment. “You gonna kill him when you find him?”

  “No,” I tell him honestly. “But he’ll probably die in prison.”

  He sighs. “Listen, I don’t like my brother, but even if I knew where we was, I wouldn’t tell you. Shit. I don’t know you, man. For all I know, you could be a cop.”

  I chuckle softly. “I’m definitely not a cop.” Just working for one.

  He sounds puzzled. “Who are you?”

  “I can’t tell you that.” I try to get the information I can. “And I know you don’t speak to your brother, but he’s still your family, and I get that you want to protect him. Wouldn’t he be safer in prison? Seems Max has gone out of his way to make a lot of enemies.”

  “I’m not worried about him being put away. I don’t want to protect him,” Viktor confides quietly. “I’m worried for all the men he’ll take a knife to while he’s in there. I want to protect them.” He inhales deeply then exhales slowly. “Do me a favor, yeah? Whatever beef you got with Maxim, leave me and Anika out of it.”

  The dial tone hums in my ear.

  Shit.

  No luck.

  Maxim Nikulin is going to be a pain in my ass.

  One week later…

  “I need a gun,” I shout at Black as his soldier boys scatter around the waterfront property owned by Neo Metaxas.

  I’m more than a littl
e pissed. There is no point in me bringing down these men if I can’t enjoy my life because I fucking died trying to achieve it.

  Black is being an asshole. “You don’t need a fucking gun! Stay back, away from the action.” He grabs the front of my shirt, shaking me. “We had a deal!” he roars, and spittle sprays me. “You don’t get to make orders. You fucking take them!”

  So that’s how it is, ‘ey? We’ll see about that.

  He releases me, and I stumble while he jumps into the fray. Neo’s men pull their guns, but Black’s soldiers are quicker. Shots are fired, and I stay back, my goddamn baton in hand.

  With my helmet and half-faced mask on, no one is going to recognize me, and it’s a good thing because Neo and I were friends. His men know me.

  The now-interrupted poker game scattered all over the floor of the mansion, I watch as red stains splatter onto the pristine white velvet sofa.

  Neo’s going to be pissed. He always did have a thing for white furniture.

  When I spot one of Black’s men crying out, a hunting knife sticking out of his thigh, falling to the floor in a heap, clutching at his leg and groaning in pain, I don’t think too much about running in the middle of an all-out war to get the guy someplace safe. Placing my hands under his arms, I pull with all my might, because this guy is a fucking tank. I manage to drag him into the empty kitchen and sit him up against the fridge, out of sight.

  He moans, and I shush him. Not in a soothing way, more of a shut-the-fuck-up-and-don’t-draw-attention-to-us kind of way. He groans some more and places his shaking hands on the handle of the knife. I know what he plans to do, but I push his hands away and grip his sweaty face. “You take that out now, and you’re gonna bleed to death. Right here. In this house.” He doesn’t seem to be listening, so I shake him. “Is this where you want to die?”

  The man shakes his head, and it’s then that I realize he’s young, maybe in his mid-twenties.

  Somehow, my thoughts wander to my son and my heart squeezes.

  I gentle my hold on the man-boy and grip his shoulders lightly. “Don’t touch it. Stay here. Don’t make any noise, not unless you want to die, understand?”

  Sweating bullets, he nods as tears stream down his face. I reach for the pistols at his thighs and take them out of their holsters. Holding them up, I tell him, “Now, I’m taking these, all right? And I’m gonna shoot some bad guys.”

  “Take ‘em down.” Speaking through gritted teeth, he pants out, “Take ‘em all down.”

  I grin, although he can’t see it through my mask. “Oh, I plan to.”

  Just as I make to back out of the kitchen, the solider wheezes, “Behind you.”

  My feet turn me at lightning speed and time slows. In the blink of an eye, I see the guy pointing a gun at me, and I know him. The man is Neo’s brother. George the fucking Greek, we called him. He has a wife. He has kids. He’s got people who depend on upon him, and right now, in this moment, he’s coming at me. Coming to kill me.

  I go from semi-startled to furious in a second flat.

  This is the man I used to be. I was a man who thought only about money and himself. But this guy, George, he has a family, and the fact he is throwing it all away for a couple mil is revolting.

  I suppose some people take what they have for granted, but being away from my son for so long… nothing on this earth could make me go back to being the greedy, egotistical jerk I was before, not when I have him to live for.

  Aiming for his heart, I remember Black’s words.

  “Maim, injure, mutilate… but do not shoot to kill, goddamn it!”

  My aim lowers, passed his groin, lower still and when I’m there, I pull the trigger.

  As his bullet flies past my arm, mine meets its mark, and I watch in complete satisfaction as it pierces his knee, tearing him apart. With a shocked yelp, he falls to the ground and, shaking, still aims his guns at me. Before he has a chance to shoot again, I run toward him, and my steel-toed boot connects with his face. The back of his head smashes into a kitchen cabinet and his eyes turn dull as his consciousness fades.

  “Here,” I mutter to the young man, as I take George’s gun in my hand, handing back one of the two I’d taken from him.

  His expression one of agony, he takes the gun and tells me, “Get out of here. I got this.”

  I peek out into the hall before making my move and running across the open living area. One of Neo’s men wrestles with one of Black’s, and Black’s boy is about to be knocked the fuck out.

  As I move toward them, I call out, “Hey!” for a moment’s distraction, and it works. Both men look up at me, and I take that moment to kick Neo’s guy is the face, off Black’s soldier. Once off him, Black’s boy regains control, taking the guy down and keeping him there.

  My work done, I move on to find some other asses to kick.

  Two of Black’s boys flank a guy with his head turned at an unnatural angle, blood all over his face, his neck clearly broken, as they hold a second, cuffed man.

  The doors to the patio open and I spot Black reading Neo his rights, although, they’re a little different to the ones I’d heard before.

  Black stands tall, glaring down at a silent Neo Metaxas. “If you speak, I will pistol whip you. If you breathe too loudly, I will box you right in the fucking mouth. If you so much as look at me the wrong way, I’ll have my boys beat your ass, so do yourself a favor and keep your mouth shut, Metaxas, because nothing is going to save you from the hell I’m going to deliver you to.”

  You know, now that I think about it, Black and I aren’t complete opposites. He’s kind of a badass, not that I’d ever admit it to him.

  When Black spots me holding two guns, he scowls hard, before taking them from me and placing them on the table by his side. Like a fucking child having his favorite toy taken from him, my anger spikes, but I don’t dare speak in front of Neo.

  From the corner of my eye, I see one of Black’s boys sitting beside a man who might’ve been unconscious at one point, but is no longer. When he jumps up and knocks the soldier on his ass, reaching for his gun, I react. And I do this quicker than any of the motherfuckers in the entire force.

  Reaching behind Black, I take one of the pistols off the table and, this time, I don’t aim low.

  Neo’s man stands, aiming his stolen pistol right at Black.

  Ready. Aim. Fire.

  Boom, bitch.

  The dude’s eye crosses as my bullet hits him, taking out his left eye, leaving a gaping hole where it used to be, his brains splattering all over Neo’s dove-white armchair. He lands on the floor where his face will forever remain a picture of eternal astonishment, his eyehole oozing red.

  My heart races and my chest heaves. I’m running on pure adrenalin.

  I turn to see all of Black’s men on their feet, weapons raised, staring at me. I look from Black to Metaxas then back to Black. Taking a step back, I place the gun back on the table, laying it down with a gentle clunk. I move to leave the patio, but before I do, I move toward Black. Leaning in close, right up to his ear and only loud enough for him to hear me, I grunt, “You’re welcome.”

  I walk back inside and ignore the curious stares of all of Black’s men, taking myself into the kitchen, where I watch the young man be loaded onto a stretcher by a couple of medics, the knife still lodged in his thigh.

  I cross my arms over my chest and wait in solitude for the commotion to die down.

  Next time I ask for a fucking gun, something tells me I’ll get one.

  Julius lies on his back with me pulled in close. My cheek rests on his pectoral, and with our hands entwined over his beating heart, I mutter quietly, “My brother.”

  His fingers pluck at mine softly, as if he has to reassure himself we are here, together at long last. I have been waiting my whole life for this man, only I didn’t know it. Now, as we are, a solid feeling of contentment washes over me. He grunts in confusion.

  I raise my head reluctantly and muse aloud, “I should speak to my
brother. I need to know what’s happening. I need to know that my sisters are okay.”

  A look I can’t quite read passes over his face and, without malice, he utters a drowsy, “Baby, what you did… you have to understand, you ain’t got no family anymore.” My heart just about shatters when he adds, “I’m your family now.”

  He’s trying his best not to spook me. Am I so precious that I need to be spoken to like a child?

  I need to let him know how things are in terms a man like Julius will get.

  “I may not be shooting at people every other day like my pal Ling over there, but I’m not squeamish, and if somebody posed a threat, you better believe I will take that threat down with brutal force should the need arise. It’s just you for me, Julius.” Leaning down to him, I press a soft kiss to his chest. “Don’t be afraid for me. I will protect you, cariño.”

  When I glance up at him, I see that look. I see it clear. He’s asking himself, ‘Where did the Ana I need to protect go, and who is this woman?’

  And I can’t stop the roll of my eyes.

  This life of ours is not normal.

  This life is dirty.

  The thing is, no matter how hard my father tried to raise me to be good, I never intended on staying clean.

  “Don’t look at me like that.” I straighten things out by gripping his strong, stubbled chin between my fingers, holding him still and repeating the words my brother told me all those years ago. “We all come into this world kicking, screaming, and covered in somebody else’s blood.” I have never been more honest in my life when I admit, “I have no goddamn problem going out the same way.”

  He blinks down at me as I release his chin. “Fuck,” he exclaims, before rolling on top of me, holding his weight off me by his forearms. His warm lips descend, and I shiver when he kisses my collarbone. His lips against me, he rolls his cock against my thigh. “I have never been hornier than I am right fucking now.”

  My eyes flutter closed at the feel of his mouth on me, and I wrap my legs around his bare, lean hips in silent approval.