by S. Ferguson
That’s a loaded question. I’ve killed more people than most of the guys in the other room have. But does Ron know that? If he does, what happens if I lie? If he doesn’t know, what will he do when he learns the truth?
This is my moment, I know, but I just don’t know how to answer. Ron isn’t an innocent man, undoubtedly a criminal, but he’s a good one. That’s why he’s never been on my radar as a target. He lets people do their own thing if they’re not hurting others. If he thinks I’m going to kill someone else, he might decide I’m a liability. He has a habit of taking out people causing problems in this city. When you’re the local serial killer, I think it’s safe to assume you fall under that category. There’s a long list of scum I’ve encountered on the streets I ended without blinking. There is no way to make this seem like less than it is.
Instead of answering the question I open my mouth and go for distraction. “But I wouldn’t be the only woman working for you, now would I?” I’ve tried this tactic before but I don’t give a fuck. I need something, anything, to get his focus off me for a few more seconds.
Ron’s jaw tightens, was it always that defined? He clenches his fists that are resting on his desk before he gives me a hard look and answers.
“We’ve had this conversation already. Bree is not a part of this. She is not a part of my … organization. I can see you’re wasting my time.” His eyes narrow at me before he opens his mouth again. “Jake!” he shouts toward the door, making me jump in my seat.
I don’t know how anyone could have possibly heard him between the closed door and the noise in the bar, but the door opens nonetheless. It’s the same guy that started to stand when Ron dragged me through the bar. He’s tall, well over six feet but slender, more lean muscle rather than bulky like Ron. His arms are covered in ink and he’s wearing suit pants and a baby blue button-up shirt. The sleeves rolled up like Ron’s, showing tattoos and forearms covered in twice as many scars as Ron’s. Some of them have even ruined his tattoos but it looks like he hasn’t tried to have the scarred skin inked again. He wants you to know he’s scarred, that he defeated whoever gave them to him. I’m not easily scared but the wild look in this guy’s eyes isn’t sitting well.
“She giving you shit, Boss?” he asks, not bothering to look at me.
“She’s useless. Get rid of her,” Ron says calmly like he’s sending a plate of food he didn’t like back to the kitchen.
“Got it.” This Jake guy is already moving toward me.
I jump out of my chair, almost knocking it over, despite how heavy it is. I fight the urge to press my back to the wall, instead straightening my shoulders locking Jake with a hard stare.
They both give a slight pause, looking at me, not expecting my reaction. I clear my throat. Hesitant to speak, I swallow the lump in my throat and decide to be honest. I don’t know what my answer will bring, but if I’m going to die, I’m not going to die a liar.
“I would kill him all over again if I got the chance, and anyone like him.” I cross my arms over my chest still trying to go for defiance. Based on the smirk that plays on Ron’s lips, he’s not buying it. Neither am I.
“That’s not what I asked,” Ron says, motioning Jake to continue cornering me.
“I think we both know my fucking situation.” I’m not playing his game, but there is a pleading tone to my voice. He needs to give me a clue about what he knows before I keep talking. I’m not dying here just because he wants to toy with me. I don’t know what to say. This is a damned if I do, damned if I don’t situation.
“You’re going to be a fuckin’ pain in my ass aren’t you,” Ron sighs, more in annoyance than actual frustration. He waves Jake away, who nods and backs out of the room.
“What the fuck was that? Was he really going to kill me?” I blurt out, refusing to sit back down.
“You’re a fucking serial killer. Don’t act like that’s shocking to you. Our worlds are the same, the only difference is I don’t try to pretend I’m some kind of noble vigilante.” Ron decides to lay it all out there. It seems brash for him, I kind of like it.
“I’m a lot of things,” I grumble. I hate being referred to by that title. Yes, I’ve killed a lot of people, but I’m not evil. I have a code of morals I follow. There aren’t many of them, but they’re still there. I wouldn’t have claimed to be noble but somehow, sitting here, I’m realizing maybe I’m still nothing more than a scared street kid who ended up in a room with the real bad guy.
2
Ron
Fuck, she’s gorgeous. Just standing there all wild-eyed, her chest heaving with deep breaths. Jake would never kill a woman, well not a woman he didn’t have a damn good reason to, at least. The boy is fucking crazy, and I’m not above using that to my advantage. Crazy can have a purpose when the situation calls for it. I wanted to test Kella too. Most killers are sociopaths, I needed to know she still had some humanity. I’m not unleashing a mindless killing machine on this town. If she’s got a will to live, she can be trained, molded. She can be useful. I want to hate myself for being so mechanical, but I can’t afford to see her, this situation, any other way. Not for the first time tonight, I wish she could have been hideous or a lost cause. She’s going to make my life hell; I just know it.
“You ready to cut the shit now?” I ask, leaning back in my desk chair. I’m grateful the desk is a barrier between us. I don’t want her to see exactly how much I enjoyed her little show. Hearing her plead … I remember how feisty she was earlier, how good she felt against me during our fight. I liked her then, but this new, vulnerable Kella? Fuck, it gets to me and not in the heart. There’s a war raging inside my head, part of me wanting to string this out, another thinking I should just walk away.
“Are you going to fucking kill me?” she asks, eyes still a touch wild, flicking between the now closed door and my face.
“Do I need to kill you?” Her eyes widen even more and I hide my smirk. God, she’s easy to fuck with. How did she survive being this high-strung? Clearly, I’ve been overestimating the kind of fight her victims had, doesn’t seem like she should have stood a chance with someone truly fighting for their life.
“What kind of shit question is that?” she hisses.
I laugh, unable to hold it back anymore. It’s been forever since I’ve just laughed. She’ll at least be entertaining if she ends up working for me. Correction, when she works for me. She doesn’t have a choice, she just doesn’t know that yet.
“I need a bodyguard,” I blurt out. I had no intention of telling her everything, just share a few details, who knew a little laughter would make me turn into an open book.
“You need a bodyguard?” She looks at me like I’m an idiot.
Maybe I am.
“So, none of those fuckers in there can guard you?” She jerks her head toward the door, looking genuinely annoyed now.
“Of course. They’ll guard me. But, everyone is expecting them to guard me.” I lace my fingers behind my head leaning back, “Our world is pretty sexist; I doubt I need to explain that to you.”
She nods in confirmation. “The entire world is pretty fucking sexist.”
I raise an eyebrow before I continue speaking. “The people I want protection from, they’re not going to think you’re on the clock. They’re going to assume you’re here to keep my dick wet, nothing more, nothing less. You can be my wildcard.” I scan my eyes up and down her body. “And what a wildcard you will be.”
“So I have to pretend to be your side piece?” she grumbles, finally sitting back down.
“Not a side piece darlin’, just a piece.” I don’t know why I felt the need to clarify that.
“That’s what I’ve heard,” she says under her breath. Oh, this is interesting.
I smirk but ignore that statement. I see I’m not the only one doing some testing tonight. “I’m going to hear from Tony any day now. We’re going to have another talk, and it’s going to be happening as soon as possible. That time comes, you stick to me like melte
d gum on a shoe. Then we’ll see where else you can do some work.” I start logging into my computer, done with the conversation. I’m used to my guys knowing this means I’m done talking. I forget for a moment she isn’t one of them.
“Who the fuck is Tony?” she says, pulling out her phone, looking like she’s texting someone.
I lunge across the desk and grab her phone. I see she’s been recording this conversation, at least trying to. After deleting the voice file, I turn the phone off and quickly put it in the drawer at the bottom of my desk, locking it.
“You won’t need that.” I give her a stern look. She’s got the body of a beautiful woman, but she reminds me of a petulant teenager. Hell, is she still a teenager? I was expecting someone older, but she can’t be more than twenty based on her looks. Maybe this is my penance for not being around Bree, the daughter I’ve finally been reunited with, when she was this age. Somehow, I can’t imagine Bree acting this way. She’s an old soul and has gone through too much in her young life to waste her energy on mouthing off and pouting.
“Tony runs a crew in New York. There’s been … some issues there. He thinks he can come in on my territory.” I don’t tell her that he promoted Bree’s asshole ex, Alex, to his second and the last meeting turned into a shootout. Or that he turned one of my own guys against me. To say there is some bad blood is a drastic understatement. The traitor, Quinn, was killed, peace was temporarily restored, but something that fragile isn’t going to last. This meeting is my last hope at avoiding war. When Lorenzo came after us, killing one of us while trying to set Tony and his crew up, harsh words were exchanged. Apparently, Tony is desperate for a reason to be offended and is taking it as a personal insult that we assumed it was him acting against us. I told him to pop a Xanax and get over it, but that didn’t help things at all. We’re right on the cusp of a decision that will make or break us. A decision that will cost lives.
“He’s why everyone thought it was someone from New York that tried to kill your guys?” she says. Then I realize she’s been playing dumb. Of course, she knew who the fuck Tony was. She knew Lorenzo was setting Tony and us up. I’m both impressed and pissed.
“Get the fuck out of here before I lose my patience.” This time, I do login and make an art form of ignoring her until she finally gives an annoyed sigh, walking out of the office. I grab my phone and shoot Jake a quick text to make sure she doesn’t leave. There are only two ways out of the bar and I know she isn’t getting past my guys guarding the front. Declan would probably keep her from the back exit if I asked. Hell, with all the training Bree has done with Ze lately, she might even be able to hold her own against someone like Kella.
My phone buzzes and I grab it, expecting it to be Jake telling me Kella is giving him shit already. Instead, I see another text from Lexi, this bitch doesn’t know when to stop. She came into the bar, on Kella’s orders, giving us a clue that it might not be Tony trying to off Jake and Greg, but I think that’s the extent of their relationship. In the meantime, Lexi’s been blowing up my phone. I fucked up and kissed her. I was excited we had a real lead on who killed Ryan, a friend of the crew. Now she thinks I’m interested in her. There is just no way that will ever happen. Guys like me don’t get girlfriends or wives, or happy endings. Caring about someone, especially a woman, is nothing but a liability. Any woman I cared about would be nothing but a target. I tried that once anyway. Bree’s mother, Elizabeth, fucked me over more ways than I can count. Not including how she abused Bree. I thought I was protecting Bree by staying away, but all I did was hand her over to a monster. I’ll pay for that for the rest of my life. Not for the first time, I think about paying Elizabeth. She needs to know she isn’t going to fucking get away with the way she hurt our daughter. No one fucks with my blood and gets away scot-free. I’ll enjoy delivering that message, nice and slow. I feel a sadistic grin form on my face. It’s inevitable, despite Bree’s protests to let sleeping dogs lie. My phone buzzes again, pulling me out of my thoughts and I almost growl in annoyance as Lexi’s name flashes across the screen again.
Lose my number.
I send the text and toss my phone on the desk. I’m so fucking tired. I’m tired to my very bones. Everyone wants something these days. Lexi thinks I’m going to be her knight in shining armor or some shit. The guys are watching me, expecting me to keep it together and lead them through this. I feel like a fuckin’ referee trying to make sure they’re not giving Greg and Jake any shit. Since they came out as a couple, the majority of the reactions have been mixed. No one is saying anything out loud, but there is a tension in the air that wasn’t there before. In our world, being gay is seen as weakness, which to be honest is amusing. Greg and Jake are my best enforcers and Jake is probably the scariest guy I’ve ever met. No matter what the situation calls for, he’ll go there.
I’m trying to rebuild a relationship with Bree after so many years apart, trying to shake my guilt for abandoning her in what was her own personal hell. I’m still watching Declan, making sure he’s treating Bree right; he hasn’t been anything but a fuckin’ model boyfriend so far. Doesn’t mean I won’t cut him into so many pieces no one can ever find him if that changes. Now I’ve got Kella to deal with. She’s a risk, but hopefully, one that pays off in the end. Tony and his guys are so fucking chauvinistic; they won’t see her coming. Assuming she’s willing to put herself at risk for me. I’m used to ordering people around, but I know better than most, some things just can’t be ordered, they have to be earned. Wanting someone to risk their life for you is the single greatest thing you can ask of someone.
Fuck. With the weight of the world on my shoulders, I rub my hands down my face. Looking around my office, I can’t help but remember when I bought this place. I had a crew of about three and it took every fuckin’ cent I had to get the mortgage and even then it was through a shady as fuck loan shark. I knew then I would be here one day, at the top, but never in my wildest dreams did I think we would accomplish so much more than just that. What I didn’t know was that everyone was right: the top is lonely.
3
Kella
After I walk out of Ron’s office, I meander over to the bar. Bree is working, her dark-haired Viking of a boyfriend, Declan, hovering nearby. He caught my interest, even as I was being dragged by earlier, but one look at his body language and you know he is a taken man. God that man is sex on a stick with his long hair and gigantic size. I hop up on one of the bar stools with a wistful sigh and Bree quickly makes her way to me.
“What’s your poison?” she says in a goofy voice and giggles. Declan laughs too like she’s the funniest person alive. I don’t know if I should say “aw” or vomit. Jealousy is a bitch. Especially when you’re jealous of an illusion. And that is what love is, an illusion. Something that lulls you into a false sense of security before dropping the bottom out on you.
“I don’t even give a shit, just give me something.” I should be nicer, but I just can’t find it in myself to care right now. I feel so out of my element. I’ve lived my life avoiding people, making myself forgettable, invisible. I’ve always thought I was some sort of a badass but now I feel like a scared little girl in a strange place. I’m used to being the hunter, here I feel like the prey.
“Are you old enough to drink?” Bree asks, her smile fades, a serious look replacing it.
“Of course I’m fucking not,” I answer curtly. What kind of shit is this?
“Bree, let her have a drink. If you’re old enough to kill someone, you’re old enough to have a drink,” Declan says coming to stand beside her. Well, that answers the question of whether everyone here knows who I am or not. He slings his giant arm over her shoulders, almost making her small frame completely disappear into his side. “And you, young lady,” he pauses to point at me, “need to watch your language, a pretty woman shouldn’t have a dirty mouth.”
“Why don’t you let me worry about my own fucking mouth.” I throw my hands up in the air. “I can say whatever I damn well want whenever
I fucking want.” I fold my arms over my chest, casting a challenging glare.
“You are also a girl and should try to behave like one,” Declan retorts, pulling Bree closer to him, kissing the top of her head,
“Both of you cut it out!” Bree smacks Declan’s chest teasingly. “I’ll give her a drink, I just wanted to see if she would be honest about her age,” she says, starting to fill up a glass with a clear liquor.
“You’re really giving her straight vodka, babe?” Declan raises an eyebrow at Bree.
“It’s vodka o’clock,” Bree says, sliding an overflowing shot glass toward me.
I reach to grab it, but she taps the bar stopping me. She grabs another shot glass, filling it up just as much, and raises it to me.
“What should we toast to?” She doesn’t seem to be asking anyone specific.
“My sex life!” Someone shouts from behind me.
“Shut the fuck up, Jake!” Declan shouts back. “My brother is a tool,” he adds quietly, speaking directly to me.
Interesting.
“What about girl power or some vagina voodoo shit?” Declan says, earning a soft slug to his stomach from Bree.
“To killing people?” I say, giving them a wide grin.
I learned a long time ago to embrace the labels people assign you. If you wrap it around yourself like a security blanket, it can’t be used against you. I also want everyone in this room to know what they’re dealing with. They already think they’ve figured me out. I might be scared out of my mind but I’m never going to show it openly. At least this is what I tell myself even if I’m not so sure. Fuck it.