by Rose, Emery
I returned my eyes to the street, staring down the headlights of a black Escalade with black-tinted windows, the driver’s face obscured. I focused on the silver Cadillac logo on the grill, playing a game of chicken, before I returned to my lane.
Minutes later, I crossed the finish line where two groups of guys waited to declare the winner. The Camaro was nowhere in sight as I pulled into a parking spot behind a GTO and cut the engine, taking deep breaths to steady my nerves. My grip on the steering wheel tightened, an attempt to stop my hands from trembling.
I watched from my window as money changed hands and saw the top of Z’s shaved head in the middle of the action. He organized the races, moving them around to different locations so the NYPD didn’t get wind of them. He kept the books, allegedly using codes the cops couldn’t decipher.
I took a few more deep breaths, pocketed my keys and stepped out of my car on shaky legs. The Camaro screeched to a stop, fishtailing only a foot shy of where I was standing. Tyler slammed out of his car and advanced on me, his face flushed with anger, eyes narrowed into slits. “The fuck was that?”
I folded my arms over my chest, putting up a barrier between us but I held my ground. “I wanted a clean race. You crossed the line.”
“I bet on you, man,” a guy in a wifebeater and basketball shorts said, shoving Tyler’s shoulder. “You said you were a sure thing. I’m out five hundred bucks.”
“Get the fuck away from me,” Tyler snarled.
The guy shoved Tyler to the ground, and they wrestled each other, rolling on the ground and taking punches. I edged away from the ruckus, searching for Z so I could collect my money and get out of here as two guys joined the fray and pulled them apart. Swiping the back of his hand over the blood dripping from his split lip, Tyler glared at me as if it was my fault he’d lost.
A small, wiry guy with shifty eyes wrapped an arm around my shoulders. “I fucking love you right now. Just goes to show…when you bet on the wild card, it pays off.” He released me and fanned the cash in front of Tyler’s face, taunting him with his winnings.
Tyler got right in my face, his breath skating over my skin, his voice low. “You’re going to pay for this, Racer Girl.”
I heard the thinly veiled threat but chose to ignore it and him. The buzz from the race was starting to wear off and I just wanted to get out of here. My eyes scanned the crowd, looking for Z who had vanished. I tried to step around Tyler, but he blocked my way. “Move. Please.”
“Make me.”
I rolled my eyes. How old were we? Twelve?
I put my hands on his chest and shoved him, putting all my weight into it. Momentarily knocked off balance, he stumbled then righted himself as I darted past him. He grabbed my arm and hauled me back. My elbow connected with his ribs. I was about to get all Kill Bill on him when a guy pushed his way into the circle and crossed his arms over his wide chest. My eyes widened. What was he doing here?
“Kosta, my man. You come to bet or race?” the guy with shifty eyes asked.
Kosta?
His dirty-blond hair was longer than when I’d last seen him and scruff covered his firm jaw. He looked different. More badass. But his face was still the same as I remembered. Somewhere between pretty boy and rugged man. My gaze traveled from the black T-shirt molded to his muscular torso, down his black jean-clad legs to black military boots and then back to his face. Green eyes flashed with anger before they narrowed on me. I read the warning in them: Keep your mouth shut.
“Is there a problem?” he asked, his gaze focused on Tyler.
“Who the fuck are you?”
“The guy who’s going to make you sorry if you don’t get the fuck out of here in the next two seconds.”
“Dude, he ain’t joking,” the shifty-eyed guy said.
Tyler shoved past him, got in his car and slammed the door. Pussy. Seconds later, he took off, but I wasn’t paying attention to Tyler. I was watching the guy standing across from me.
He jerked his chin at me. “You okay?”
“I’m fine.”
I collected my money from Z. Without bothering to count it, I stashed it in my back pocket and took one final look at Kosta before I returned to my car.
His eyes were on me as I pulled away. I didn’t need to look in my rearview mirror to confirm it. I just knew he was watching. My heart hammered against my ribs. From the adrenaline. From the race. From the run-in with Tyler. But mostly, from seeing him again.
* * *
Deacon
What the fuck was she thinking? I ran all ten fingers through my hair and let out a frustrated breath as I watched her taillights disappear into the night. If I had my badge, I’d shut down these races, but if I tried to do it now, it would raise suspicions. I couldn’t afford to do that, not with Eddie watching me. He had a gambling problem, among other things, so I wasn’t surprised to see him at an illegal street race. I was surprised to see her, although I probably shouldn’t have been. She was a rebel and a lawbreaker. I’d figured that out the day I met her. Her father’s Porsche had been sporting stolen plates from North Carolina. When I had asked to see her license, she whipped out a fake one. A good fake. But still. Fake. I chuckled under my breath at the memory.
Eddie side-eyed me. “Chick’s smokin’ hot, ain’t she?”
She was fucking gorgeous. Reckless. Wild. Keira Shaughnessy was a perfect storm. I shrugged one shoulder, adopting a relaxed pose. The last thing I needed was for Eddie to get up in my business or catch on that I knew Keira. “She’s okay. Not my type.”
He raised his brows but refrained from commenting. I eyed the guys he was hanging out with as they called out to him. Thankfully, I didn’t recognize any of them. “Yo Eddie. We’re out of here. You coming?”
“You hanging out at the club tonight?” he asked me, ignoring the guys who were waiting for him.
“Just left.”
He jerked his chin toward my Escalade. I knew what he wanted, and this would work in my favor. He climbed into the passenger seat and spoke before his door was even closed. “You got any gear on you?”
“Nope.”
His right leg bobbed up and down. “Just enough for a few lines.”
“Let me see if I can get you fixed up.”
“Thanks, man. Appreciate it.”
I called Dmitri. He answered on the first ring. “Got Eddie with me.”
I turned the phone on speaker and set it next to me on my seat so Eddie could hear the conversation as I pulled out of the parking lot.
“Cocksucker.” Dmitri spouted off a few more choice words as Eddie fumbled with the door handle in an attempt to get out quick. He’d rather take his chances, drop and roll from a moving vehicle than face Dmitri. I hit the gas and the doors locked automatically, preventing his escape. “Bring him to me.”
Eddie shook his head, his face filled with terror as I drove toward the club. I had no intention of dropping him off for Dmitri to deal with, but Eddie didn’t know that. As we neared the club, I slowed down as if I planned to stop.
“Why don’t you let me shake him down?” I said. “Save you the hassle.”
Dmitri paused for a beat, considering my offer. “Two grand. Not a penny less.”
Eddie opened his mouth to protest. I shot him a warning look. He shut his mouth. Whatever Eddie owed, probably a fraction of that, was nothing to Dmitri. It wasn’t the money. It was the principle for him, so if Eddie didn’t fork over the money like he’d promised, Dmitri would make him regret it. If Dmitri got hold of Eddie, he wouldn’t be walking out of the club on his own two feet.
“Tomorrow it will be ten grand and his balls on a silver platter,” Dmitri said.
“I’ll take care of it.” I cut the call and spoke to Eddie. “I’m hoping for your sake you won your bets tonight.”
I knew he did, or I wouldn’t have made the call. I saw him put his arm around Keira, a shit-eating grin on his face as he flashed the cash.
After I dealt with Eddie, I delivered the cash to Dm
itri then reported back to my handler, Nick Casarico. He’d worked undercover for ten years before he got out.
“Remember who you are. It’s easy to lose yourself. To get caught up in the criminal lifestyle,” he’d warned me.
Some days I had to find a way to make the ends justify the means. Some days the lines between right and wrong blurred. Eddie was a bottom-feeder on the food chain. But what I’d done tonight had been yet another way to prove my loyalty to Dmitri.
Thirty minutes later, I cruised by her apartment building, scoping out the security guy at the front desk in her lobby.
Bad fucking idea, Deacon. Stay away. Keep driving.
Five minutes later, I was sitting in my parked car a few blocks from her building, trying to talk myself out of doing something stupid. There was too much at stake to blow my cover. Too much at stake to get distracted by Keira Shaughnessy.
I’d done a good job of staying away from her for the past six months although God knows I thought about her. Worried about her. Checked up on her without her knowing about it. I’d read everything I could find about her father’s trial. Poured over photos of her. Chuckled at the one where she held her middle finger in the air, a defiant tilt to her chin.
From the day I met her until the day I left without a word, we’d only known each other three weeks. I thought that walking away would be easy, just like it had been with other women in the past.
I should have known she’d be different.
3
Keira
Feet propped on my balcony railing, I stared out at the rooftops of Williamsburg illuminated by a full pink moon and listened to the lyrics of “Hurricane” pouring from my speakers. Halsey sang about being a wandress. A one-night stand. Going down to Bed-Stuy, a little liquor on her lips. I took a sip of ice-cold vodka that I’d stowed in my freezer for tonight’s occasion and let my thoughts drift to him. I sifted through my memories, trying to figure out why his cameo in my life story had felt more like a leading role.
Kosta. His real name was Deacon Ramsey. The first time I ever laid eyes on him, I was selling jewelry at a pawn shop and he was tailing me.
The next time I saw him, a few days after I’d handed over the flash drive with enough evidence to get my dad arrested, was at Killian’s gym. I’d donned gloves, determined to punch the guilt out of my system. Deacon was working out and volunteered to be my human punching bag.
“I wouldn’t want to hurt your pretty face.”
He gave me a slow, easy grin. “I’ll take my chances.”
I gave him a black eye. It had been an accident, I swear. A wild hook. Someone had called his name and he’d turned his head to look just as my fist flew into his upper left cheekbone. This was after we’d established the rules that only body shots were allowed. I couldn’t be trusted to follow rules or keep my promises.
He hadn’t held it against me. After that, it seemed that everywhere I went, I ran into him. Maybe by design. Whether it was on his part or mine, I wasn’t sure. We flirted, and he’d been charming, and I’d been myself, but he wasn’t fazed. Nothing really fazed him. Not on the outside, anyway.
The last time I saw him was just before Christmas. We kissed. It wasn’t just a kiss. It had felt like so much more or maybe I’d just imagined it. After that night, he ghosted, and I never saw him again. Until tonight.
A knock on the door interrupted my thoughts. My gut feeling told me it was him, although I had no idea why I would think that. A quick look through the peephole confirmed that he was indeed standing on the other side of my apartment door. I debated for a few seconds, gnawing on my bottom lip as I watched him, the view distorted like the mirrors at a fun fair. But even a distorted view of Deacon couldn’t make him look bad. He grinned like he knew I was watching him, so I undid the locks and swung my door open. Deacon stepped inside and closed the door behind him, casting an eye around my apartment, maybe trying to figure out something about the person who lived here.
Much to Ava’s dismay, my apartment was minimalist. She loved secondhand stores, antique shops, and flea markets, and had scowled all the way through our Ikea shopping trip where I’d loaded up on essentials that she called ‘soulless.’ A black couch, glossy white coffee table, and a flat screen TV was the extent of my living room decor. The walls were white, the floors blond wood. I wanted an apartment with no memories. A fresh start for my new life. No knick-knacks or mementos. Except for the painting hanging above the sofa of my brothers when they were kids. Eden had painted it from an old photo Killian found in a shoebox. When I saw it hanging on the wall of the gallery in Bed-Stuy where Eden and Connor had their exhibit last December, I bought it. I’d missed their entire childhood. I’d missed so much. Two decades of not even knowing I had brothers. But now I had this little piece of their past and I cherished it.
“Isn’t it a little late for house calls, Detective?”
There was no point questioning how he knew where I lived. He was a detective. Gathering information was his job. But I wondered if he’d been keeping tabs on me. Part of me liked the idea that he had been. The other part of me hated that I would even care. Without answering my question, he followed me out to the balcony, and I resumed my spot in the chair, feet propped on the railing. All cool nonchalance like his presence didn’t affect me one bit. My racing pulse told a different story.
He leaned against the railing, ankles crossed, arms folded over his chest. I waited for the charming smile that I’d come to associate with him, but it didn’t come. He eyed the glass of clear liquid that could be water but wasn’t before his gaze settled on my face.
“The fuck were you doing, Keira?” There was an edge to his voice I’d never heard before.
Okay, not happy. “Are you still in character, Kosta?” I teased.
He scowled, giving the impression that he was. Like a method actor who lived the role he played so he didn’t break character. He did a good job of it. The first time I saw him, he was wearing a suit and wingtips. I’d immediately identified him as a cop, even without seeing his badge. It was the way he walked, with his arms held slightly out to his sides like he was used to packing heat, and the air of confidence when he strode in like he owned the place. I wasn’t entirely sure who this Kosta character was. But nobody would ever guess he was a cop.
“Were you tailing me? Again?” I asked.
“You were playing chicken with my SUV.”
Oh. Right. That must have been him in the Escalade. I cleared my throat but had no answer, so I kept my mouth shut. Sometimes silence was the best defense.
His eyes lingered on my bare legs, my boot-clad feet only inches from where he was standing then traveled up the length of me until his green eyes met mine. His face belonged in glossy magazines advertising expensive watches or cologne. Tall, well over six feet with cut arms, sun-kissed skin and that perfect V-shaped torso that guys get from working out a lot, he was the total package. The longer hair and scruff on his jaw and the badass vibes he was giving off made him even hotter. So, to have him standing right across from me, in close quarters, was almost too much to handle.
He roughed a hand over his face and groaned, a low guttural sound that sent a jolt to my core and had me clenching my thighs. Man, I was easy. All he had to do was groan and I was wet. “What were you trying to do, Keira?”
“Wasn’t it obvious? I was trying to win. I love street racing and I’m good at it.” I shouldn’t have tacked on that last sentence. That was my pride speaking. Everyone knew it went before the fall. I had only to look at my father to know that was true. He’d gotten too flashy. Too arrogant. He had started to believe he was invincible.
“You’re not as good as you think.”
My mouth dropped open. How could he say that? “I won.” I refrained from telling him that I’d been street racing since January and had won all but two of my races.
“You got lucky. This time. Street racing is dangerous.”
“You sound like a cop.”
“I am a cop.”<
br />
He sounded like he was trying to convince himself, not only me. “Nice touch with the gangbanger car.”
He chuckled under his breath. “Go big or go home.”
“My thoughts exactly. What are you involved in? Drugs? Gangs?”
Deacon shook his head and remained silent. I knew he wouldn’t, or couldn’t, tell me. Story of my life. By now, I should be good at filling in the blanks.
“Stay away from those street races. It could have gotten ugly tonight.”
“I had it all under control. I’m perfectly capable of looking after myself.”
His mouth quirked with amusement. “Have you punched anyone in the face lately?”
“No. I was saving it for you.”
He stuck out his chin. “You think I deserve it?”
“Probably. But I’ll restrain myself. This time.”
“No more street racing. If I find out you’re still—”
“What will you do?” I lifted the glass of vodka to my lips and closed my eyes as the liquid slid down my throat. I reveled in the burn. It tasted like fire and all the tears I’d never shed.
He pried the glass from my hand and sniffed the vodka before he drank. I watched the Adam’s apple in his throat bobbing as he swallowed and wondered how the strangest things could be so sexy. “You’re drinking straight vodka now?”
I shrugged one shoulder. He leaned forward and set the glass down on the small table next to my chair. I’ve never been a big drinker or partier. I only drank Beluga Gold Line once a year to commemorate the anniversary of Sasha’s death.
“My first boyfriend was Russian,” I said as if that explained everything. It explained nothing. I’d used the term boyfriend loosely. Sasha and I had been occasional fuck buddies. And he had been my best friend. My only real friend in Miami. He had understood my life better than anyone. Our fathers were kings of the underground. But, unlike me, Sasha embraced that lifestyle and wanted to follow in his father’s footsteps. On his nineteenth birthday, Sasha was abducted. His captors had demanded money in exchange for his safe return. His father had paid up. Ivan Petrov would have given them every last cent he had. Ripped the beating heart from his own chest to save his beloved son. But it was too late. Sasha was already dead. They dragged his lifeless body out of a swamp in the Everglades and Ivan Petrov had retreated into obscurity.