by Rachel Cade
A year out of commission didn’t change the fact that holding a gun gave him the sense of calm some people got by meditating.
“Okay. If you’re interested in getting back in the game, I got something.”
“Weekend job for a dealer in the Bahamas. Needs a bodyguard.”
“And what’s he dealin’?” Jack asked as he reloaded a new clip into the handgun.
“Heroin and coke, as far as I can tell. But he just wants extra protection. It won’t be like Mexico.”
Jack’s mouth tightened. “I know it won’t.”
“Are you interested or not?”
“What’s the guy’s name?”
“He’s originally out of New York. He’s out in D.C. now, your neck of the woods, Marcus Kelly. He keeps a low profile; you guys should be good.”
Chapter Eight:
Don’t Say Anything
“Morning, sweetheart.” Phillip leaned against the table where Ciara was getting her hair done.
She looked up from her phone. “Morning.”
“Are you still giving me the cold shoulder over that address mix up?”
“Yes.”
“How can I apologize?” he sighed adding, “Again?”
“Phil, save your smiles for the twenty-year-olds you sleep with. Apologize with something that will excite me.” Ciara paid no attention to her hair stylist’s reaction.
Phillip chuckled, but it was flat and humorless. He wasn’t amused and neither was she. It was a chilly morning, she was out in open air and soon, she’d be huddled next to two other girls in bikinis for her friend’s swimwear line.
It had been a couple of days since her date with Marcus and the incident with her father that happened after. She still didn’t know how to wrap her head around it and had avidly avoided both men, throwing herself into work during the day and nightclubs at night.
The shoot was at a hotel’s luxury spa, they had a two-hour use of the indoor pool before the spa’s business day started.
“Madame Ciara, can you please lean forward a bit?”
Ciara followed the instructions, holding her smile as she stood between the two girls while Phillip snapped away. She wasn’t a huge fan of the red wig she wore because she felt like it wasn’t her color, but the stylist insisted it looked great with the tropical bikini she was wearing.
One of the girls’ feet became tangled in hers and she stumbled, catching herself before she almost fell face first into the pool.
Phillip stopped shooting. “Are you alright?” he called as two of his assistants rushed forward.
Ciara held up her hands before they reached her. “Yes. I’m fine. Disaster averted. Let’s finish up.”
Is ten a.m. too early for a glass of champagne? she wondered as the crew was packing up. She’d cleaned her makeup off and had donned a pair of jeans, one of two pair she owned, and her Dior charity t-shirt.
Not if it was a mimosa, she surmised happily, and began planning out her brunch in her head. Maybe Kim was free.
She reached in her small bag to find her phone when she caught someone staring at her. It was one of the other girls from the shoot. Ciara honestly couldn’t remember her name. It was odd, but she let it go, checking the messages on her phone.
*
“Honey, it’s so nice to hear from you. Thanks for calling,” her mother Dawn spoke on the call as Ciara searched for her car in the large parking lot.
“Mom, I’m sorry.” Ciara sighed. “How are you?”
“Outside of you not returning my texts, I’m fine.”
“When did you text me?” she exclaimed.
Dawn sighed. “Are you in town? We need to have lunch.”
She’d just text Kim to see if she was available.
Ciara grimaced. “Yes. I’m downtown.”
“Perfect. I made reservations at Theodore’s in an hour.”
“So who were you going to meet if I wasn’t available?” she asked as she located her cherry red Porsche.
“Why do you have to question everything? You get that from your father.”
Ciara sighed loudly as she unlocked the car and tossed her bags into the passenger seat.
“Love you too, honey.” Dawn made a loud kissing noise. “See you soon.”
“Bye, Mom,” By the time she hung up the phone, her eyes narrowed when she saw the same girl from the shoot coming toward her through the parking lot.
“Ciara Kimball,” she said, sauntering up to her, wearing a lopsided smile.
The girl was in her early twenties, maybe mid. She had a killer hourglass shape and a face for high fashion, but her petite height assured she’d never see it. At the moment, though, her eyes were covered with huge square shades.
“Yes,” Ciara answered, lowering her brows.
“I want you to know I’ve been with Marcus for a year. A year, okay?” She clarified, snatching her glasses off. “You need to back off.”
Ciara stared at the girl.
“I get sick of you thots always coming for men that are already taken.”
Ciara shut her car door, then turned back to the girl. “And who are you?”
“I jus-” The girl squeezed her jaw together. “So you wanna act like a stupid bitch now?”
“Shit,” Ciara’s eyes widened. “Did you stumble me on purpose at the shoot? Wow.” She started laughing.
“This is not fuckin’ funny.”
“It’s hilarious,” Ciara giggled. “Get away from my car.”
“Or what?” The girl stepped closer.
Ciara’s eyes narrowed. “You step again and I’m going to do something to you plastic surgery won’t fix.”
“Lady Cici!” It was Phillip, raising his hand with a small package as he walked toward them.
On seeing him, the girl quickly turned and walked away.
Ciara was pretty sure she muttered, “Bitch.”
Louisiana wetlands.
Jack had been all over the world twice and the sound was still unmistakable.
He used to sit on the side of the rivers when he was a kid and watch alligators pop up on the surface of the water. It was a fun pastime for him back then, but he wouldn’t bother with that shit now. He had a different kind of predator to keep his eyes on.
It was day and the sky was overcast, but the crickets were loud as if it was nighttime and the air was so humid he felt like he could grab it and wring out water with his hands.
He was about half a mile onto the property that had a huge “no trespassing” sign on a makeshift gate. Jack popped a piece of gum in his mouth as he crouched by a tree surveying the land in front of him. Nice and quiet.
He heard the gentle pattering before the growling started.
Dobermans.
He fucking hated the no tail-bastards.
Outrunning them wasn’t an option, so when he saw them gunning toward him from the west, he quickly grabbed his tranquilizer gun and shot at the one on the right, who immediately went down before he shifted his sight to the other one. This dog was quicker and began running toward him in a flurry of speed. It used the terrain to launch itself up on a tree stump, jumping toward him with an echoing snarl.
Jack shot twice back-to-back. The first one missed, but the second one went in his belly.
The dog collapsed about three feet from Jack’s position.
“You FBI?” A male voice called.
“No.”
“You’re trespassing. Give me one reason I shouldn’t shoot your ass down right now.”
Jack huffed. It seemed like it was about to rain. “I don’t know Dad, can’t think of a one.”
Ciara knew if she met her mother for lunch wearing jeans, she’d never hear the end of it. So she made a quick stop at Nordstrom and picked up a cute Moschino cocktail dress that worked with her high ponytail. They should have been having high tea like they did when she was a preteen; those were fun.
“Mother.” She kissed Dawn on both cheeks after she was escorted to the table.
“How
are you darling? I love that dress. It’s so cute.”
“I’m well. I apologize for not returning your texts.”
The waiter arrived and she made sure to order something non-alcoholic along with her caprese salad.
“We never get together anymore,” Dawn complained with a pout, then looked down at her daughter over her glasses.
Ciara called over another waiter and added a steak to her order.
“We can set it up. Let’s do lunch on Thursdays. Will you be free?’
Dawn smiled. “Well, that’s what I wanted to discuss with you today.”
“Okay.” Ciara crossed her legs beneath the table.
“I’ve decided to run for office.”
Ciara leaned forward. “Hmm?”
“Office, honey. I’m going to run for State Representative.”
“Really? Wow, Mom.” Ciara sat back in her chair, unable to keep the surprise out of her voice and expression.
“Any other thoughts?” Dawn asked with a nervous kind of laugh. It was strange to see her mother looking nervous.
“It sounds cool. But you know how crazy politics can be. Are you ready to take all that on?”
“I am. I’m already assembling my team. I want it, baby. So bad. Your father had his time in the sun, now it’s mine.”
Ciara shrugged. “That settles it then.”
They toasted their glasses with their pretty slices of lemon and lime.
“But, honey, there’s one thing I wanted to talk to you about.”
“Yes?”
“While I’m gearing up to campaign, I want you to be careful how you handle yourself.”
“What do you mean?”
“I know you love your modeling thing. And your pictures are very pretty, but I just want you to make sure you keep it toned down. Watch your after-hours activities, who you’re seen with, that sort of thing.”
The waiter brought them some appetizers, finger foods that her mother began to indulge in. “Oh, sweetie, have a couple. They’re delicious.”
John Turner lowered the AK 47 he had honed on his son’s head as he emerged from a set of moss-covered trees in camouflage.
At 6’2 his dad had always been imposing. But his face and hard jawline would have given him the same air if he was a foot shorter. His sandy hair was pulled back in a ponytail. There was some gray mixed in now; a hard tan burned his skin.
“You still wear that all day?” Jack asked, holding his hands up.
“You shot my dogs.”
“They’ll wake up in a few hours. Good as new. We need to talk.”
Jack dismissed the looks of the young guys ranging from teens and early twenties. All wore camo or black, and some were holding weapons as he approached the front yard with his dad. The property was just as run down as he remembered, if not more so.
He made note of his father’s limp despite the almost perfect job he did covering it.
The screen door creaked when John opened it and swung back on its own, smacking against the wood.
“You wanna talk, then talk,” he said gruffly, making his way to the kitchen to undoubtedly grab a beer.
To Jack’s surprise, he brought two and set them hard on a round wooden table by the window.
“I got a visit about a month ago in Maryland. Nice little wake-up call in the middle of the night.”
“I’m sure they were sorry for that.” John sat with a grunt, focused on opening his beer, but a faint smile touched his mouth.
He’d gained some weight; no doubt it wasn’t his first beer that day or his last. But no matter how much he drank, it never affected his aim.
“You know anything about it?”
His old man’s sandy brows raised. “What? Why would I?”
“You’re the only one that knows about it. It was your sister’s place. No one else would have known I was there.” Jack was starting to get irritated.
“So you ain’t done nothin’ that would send some guys after you in the last ten years? It had to be me, right?”
“I was off the grid. And doin’ quite fine.”
“Off the grid huh? Why?” John spat, taking a long sip.
Jack sat in the chair across from his dad and leveled his gaze at him. “I didn’t come here for that kind of talk. I want to know if you got drunk and spilled to some of your dipshit pals that I had a stash in Maryland to send them comin’ to look for it.”
“You really think I’d do something like that?”
“I know you have a knack for getting angry young men to worship you,” Jack pointed out. “And hang on your every word.”
John laughed in that obnoxious, bitter way he had. He did it whenever Jack missed a target or didn’t land a punch.
“I also know when it comes to a buck, anybody’s for sale to you.”
“Anybody, huh? Including my own son? My only child? Kiss my ass.”
Jack sat back in the chair, staring hard at him. “That your final answer?”
“No, you little shit. My final fucking answer is no! I didn’t do it and I wouldn’t.”
Jack sucked his teeth.
“That’s the only way you’ll show up down here? You really think I’d send folks after you?”
A brown golden retriever made his way out of the kitchen. His walk was slow, like an old Southern dog’s should be.
Jack’s brows furrowed. “Shep?”
The dog’s head lifted at the sound of his name. Jack thought he was a German Shepard when his dad first brought him home and didn’t correct him for a year. The name stuck though.
“How in the fuck are you still kickin’?” The dog made his way over and Jack rubbed his muzzle and chin.
“Old dogs die hard round these parts,” his dad chimed in.
“And what about the new tricks?” Jack asked. “Why’d you think I was FBI?”
“I didn’t think. I asked. Come onto a man’s property and don’t identify yourself, figured you was Feds.”
“Next time, I’ll wear a shirt with my name on it. And you still didn’t answer my question.”
“It seems like neither one of us wanna give up any info. I asked you why you was off the grid. You skipped right over that one.”
They spoke over the random gunfire outside. “They probably think you’re runnin’ a militia down here if they’ve paid you a visit.” Jack didn’t bother to say anything else.
“Anytime anyone lives outside the box, it’s only a matter of time before they start pokin’ around. They say that want people to be free but-”
“They don’t really mean it.” Jack finished the sentence he’d heard a thousand times before.
He pulled away from Shep, but the dog stayed by him, resting down by his feet.
“You look like you’ve been takin’ care of yourself.” John glanced over his son as he spoke. “How’s Vera’s place? Or did you blow it up?”
Jack’s mouth flattened. “It’s still standing. I took one guy out, but there were others. Armed military guys who knew my name.”
“So why didn’t you take all of them out?”
“I was outmanned and outgunned.”
“No such thing. I taught you better than that.”
Jack swallowed, setting his jaw. He was tempted to take the beer, but continued to let it sweat on the table. Letting his annoyance be known, he crossed his heavy arms over his chest. If he wanted, he could have taken them all out for his own morbid amusement. That may have been the case if they’d shown up a day earlier.
“You were supposed to protect your property. Why didn’t you?”
“They had smoke bombs that were going to give away my position. It was only a matter of time before the law showed up.”
His dad made a face before nodding. “Fair enough. Did you keel over and die because you explained something to your old man?”
“Almost.” The chair creaked under his weight. “A lot of your recruits out there look under age.”
“So? You were.” John grunted. “And look how you tu
rned out.”
Jack huffed.
“Strong,” his father continued, his voice almost a growl. “You can get out of any situation. You’re prepared. You’ve got instinct. Those dogs almost tore off two guys legs in the past year. But they didn’t get to you, did they? I taught you that.”
“Maybe it would have been nice to learn a little baseball instead of ambush drills at 4 a.m.”
“Are you about to start cryin’ or somethin’ boy? You want an apology from me?”
“I don’t want a god damn thing from you except the truth.” Jack couldn’t bring himself to say he wanted a father. He could barely bring himself to think it.
Jack promptly shut his mouth. Rage was building but he didn’t know what to do with it.
“What have you been up to the last ten years?” John tilted his head. “Bein’ Mr. Rogers?”
“Was I supposed to start a tech company? I barely finished high school thanks to you.”
“You’ve been working as a mercenary. And building a nice reputation for yourself. I might have taught it to you, how to kill, but you got good at it because you like it.”
Jack’s breathing slowed as he glanced toward the window.
John’s laugh bubbled in the following silence. “Look at you come on. You’re bred for violence. It’s in your blood. Those young men are just trying to protect themselves. The world’s mad out there.”
A string of assault rifle firing went on for a full minute.
“It’s mad here too.”
John tipped the head of his beer toward him before before turning it up to his mouth.
Sitting across from John he could only wonder if this was who he was destined to become.
*
Marcus nicked himself shaving. Hissing, he reached for a warm towel to wipe the remnants of shaving cream off.
“You should grow out a beard,” Shayla said as she came up behind him. “I want to see you with one.”
“Like one of those Taliban beards?” he asked with a chuckle.
Shayla leaned into him with her open robe, showing she wasn’t completely dry from her shower, “Stop calling them that. You’re so goofy.”
“It’s the truth. Damn, girl. You want me to get some fresh Timbs and a Gucci sweater to wear with it? So I can blend in on the corner with the rest of those bums? Come on.” He started applying aftershave.