by Ivy Stone
I walk past Roamyn in the kitchen and pull open the front door to his apartment.
“Hey. Where are you going? Why are you back in wet clothes?” He frowns at me, confused. I stop and look at him. His features fall. Guilt riddles his face.
“Was this your plan the whole time? I thought you cared about getting to know me. I thought you wanted to know me. But all you wanted was what my record doesn’t tell you. Well, here’s a secret for you, Roamyn. I can’t tell you anything that will help you bring down the Marino family because I’m nobody. I don’t know any more details about their business than you probably do because all I do is work a shiny silver pole six nights a week. Hell, half the time I’m so out of it I don’t know what I’m doing let alone what laws they’re breaking,” I all but shout, my arms rising with my voice. Letting out a long sigh, my shoulders fall. My hands slap my sides. “I’m just a girl nobody really wanted.”
Roamyn’s lips flatten into a hard line and his eyes round with pity. My heart splinters with a truth I’ve never voiced but always felt. I was too young to remember my dad before he died. My mother was too self-absorbed to love me. My sister got stuck with me whether she liked it or not, and the only reason the Marino family took me in was because of her. No one’s ever wanted me for me.
“Whatever your plan is, whatever it is your boss wants… it won’t work. All it will do is get us all killed. So do yourself a favor and stay far away from me. For both of our sakes. Or you won’t like how it ends.”
Roamyn walks toward me, hands up in surrender. “Ali. Stop for a second and listen to me. What you think you heard—”
“No,” I cut him off. “Just don’t. Don’t make this harder than it already is.”
“Alison, wait!”
I pause, sucking in a deep breath of courage to ignore the deep voice centered in my dreams for the past four years. Every time I wanted to die, his voice would heal me. The hope of finding him again would give me hope. But not now. His desire to protect me would be his downfall. Just as my selfish want to have him in my life, have him rescue me would be mine.
I shut the door behind me and my feet whisk me away before my mind can gather any logical thoughts or common sense. I run with my heart beating right out of my chest and uncertainty seizing me with every step. Running from Roamyn is the smartest move. So why does it feel like a grave mistake?
Pain slams into my knuckles as I hit the bag.
She left.
Smack.
She left without letting me explain.
Smack. Smack.
I was trying to help her, not hurt her.
Smack. Smack. Smack.
Sweat drips down my temple and my heart races from adrenaline. I pull my fist back, ready to pound the boxing bag again when blood spilling out of my knuckles catches in the corner of my eye. I force myself to stop. Resting my hands on my hips and taking a moment to catch my breath, the yellow and pinks of the sunrise seeping through the window of my apartment reminds me I need to be leaving soon for work. Mason’s call late last night—a mere few hours ago—was to tell me there’d been another murder. Another stripper from Sweet Tarts. Another killing with Marino weapons, and this time, the shooting was close to the club. Two days ago the squad came up with a new plan. One that would lead to the downfall of the Marino crime family should it work. One to bring them to justice after four generations of lawlessness in New York City. But my palms were ready to spill blood, not seek the justice a lonely prison cell can bring. In a city where everyone can be bought, what use is a prison full of corrupt law enforcement? The thought was infuriating, but it wasn’t what made my insides twist to the point of agony. Or why rage had taken hold of me and forced me to lie to my boss, my best friend, and come up with any excuse I could in that moment why the plan was a bad idea. In a last attempt to sway Mason away from the idea of convincing Ali to help us—or using her whether she liked it or not—I’d said things that felt as wrong leaving my mouth as they did even thinking them. And the worst part? She’d heard it all.
I wanted to call her. Sometimes I got as far as dialing her number and hanging up the moment the dial tone reminded me of the danger I was putting her in.
I had no idea if her phone was monitored or what those assholes would do if they saw my number light up her screen. It didn’t matter that a little life drifted from me every time I worried about her. I couldn’t make contact. Sometimes I wonder how much of that thought’s true and how much of it was my own conscience trying to clear all thoughts of wanting Ali in ways society wouldn’t deem acceptable. In ways, I wasn’t sure she could handle. My patience didn’t last long. My need to protect her broke through all common sense and I started checking on her from afar. Every now and again I’d drive by her house. Her work. See her smiling with Adriana while they were out for lunch or shopping. I’d make sure she was okay. Even though a stranger could take one look at her and know that was a lie.
She’s like the moon, a part of her is always hidden. Her smile never reaches her eyes. Her skinny frame is slipping away to nothing but skin and bones. Her round blue hues are losing their fire and the clothes swimming on her make her look every bit a low paid, drugged up, prostitute. It’s a fucking painful truth.
The urge to talk to her, take her away from them, swirls inside me like a tornado every time I see her. Except, I can’t walk toward her, and I can’t walk away. She’s stubborn, hot-headed, and infuriating because in her mind this is her doing the right thing. This is her keeping me safe. Keeping herself as safe as she can be. It’s fucked up but not entirely untrue.
After Mason realized the plan to use Ali had too many weak spots, we moved onto another avenue for our Marino take down. Three years later—we still haven’t succeeded. Which is exactly why Ali was right three years ago when she walked out of my apartment. We would have all ended up dead. Police. Mafia. Strippers. Arms dealers. Innocent citizens. Lives lost because we underestimated our enemy.
It wouldn’t happen again. Next time we’ll be ready. We’ll bring the mafia to their knees. Watch their alliances crumble. And when that day comes, I will save Ali. I will get her out of that godforsaken hellhole. I’ll do whatever it takes.
I’ll save her even if it means I lose her forever.
The vibrating sound of my cell pulls at my subconscious. I toss over, shoving my face deeper into my pillow. The phone stops but before I can sink back into oblivion, it vibrates again. I groan and reach to the side table for it without opening my eyes.
“Tate,” I mumble into the phone, eyes still shut.
Mason’s voice sounds in my ear. “It’s me. We got a murder. I need you here. I’ll text you the address.”
I let out a sigh and scrub my free hand through my hair. “All right. I’m getting up. I’ll be there soon.”
Mason clicks off without saying goodbye and I rest my cell back down on the side table. I roll over to the other side of my bed and rest a hand on Sarah’s exposed hip.
“Sarah, wake up. You gotta go. I need to head out.”
She murmurs in her sleep before sitting up. The sheets fall down her front, baring her naked body. My eyes cast downward, appreciating the beauty of a woman after the same kind of relationship with the opposite sex as myself.
A non-existent one.
No strings attached casual sex with only one goal in mind. Pleasure.
She rubs her eyes before sliding out of bed and slipping her clothes back on. She grabs her phone and keys and comes around giving me a quick kiss on the lips while I’m buttoning up my shirt.
“Be safe at work.”
Her long blonde hair flips over her shoulder as she smiles back at me on her way out. I grin back at her, grateful for her concern. That’s the thing about my hot next-door neighbor slash fuck friend—she’s a good woman with a kind heart that deserves a hell of a lot more than I’ll ever give her. But that’s okay, because her heart belonged elsewhere and mine has no interest in her that way.
“Excuse me, sir, you ca
n’t come back here.”
I flash my badge at the uniformed officer and he apologizes as I walk through the doors of an abandoned nightclub. Dust invades my senses and I cough all the way to Mason, who’s standing tall, lines creasing in his forehead as he frowns down at the dead bloodied body tied to a wooden chair. Elias and Cassidy stare beside him, checking out the body. I lean forward, tilting my head, squinting at the barely recognizable face thick with dried blood. “Is that—”
“Andre Delaney,” Cassidy cuts me off. We all stare in surprise at the largest contraband trafficker in the city, tortured to death in the chair in front of us with half his head blown away.
“The one and only,” Mason adds, rubbing a hand over the five o’clock shadow on his face.
“Well, I didn’t see that coming,” Elias says, eyebrows raised, eyes wide.
He turns to Mase. “Is it possible Marino had his own trafficker murdered?”
Cassidy butts in before Mason can respond. She shakes her head. “No. That would be ridiculous and not a smart move. If he had him killed he’d have no way of getting shipments in and out because Marino doesn’t trust anyone. Delaney’s a crucial part of his business.”
“Cassidy’s right. Wouldn’t have been him. But I have a feeling I know who it was or someone who will know something,” Mason says, pulling out his phone. He stalks off, phone in hand and calls out, “Head back to the precinct once you’re done. I’ll be back there soon.”
“You want anyone to come with you?” Cassidy asks Mason, concern paving her tone.
“Nah. All good. Won’t take long.”
Elias and I both look at Cassidy and she shrugs, her eyes bulging behind her glasses. “What?”
Eli shakes his head and walks off. I bite my lip, holding back the smirk trying hard to break through. When Cassidy first joined the squad, I thought she was just sucking up to the boss for brownie points, but after a few sneaky glances, flushed cheeks when he’d strip his shirt off in front of her in our locker room, I realized she has it bad for him. But that remains a secret from Mason because somehow he’s the only one who doesn’t see it.
I nod toward the door. “Come on, Detective Kane. We got shit to do and murders to solve.”
Files slam down on my desk. I look up and find Cassidy, her long blonde hair a frazzled mess in a low ponytail, trailing down over her shoulder.
“I can’t find anything in here that’s going to help us with the case. You wanna check them out?”
I glance at the thick files a mile high on my desk then back at Cassidy. “Not really. No.”
Mason’s office door flies open, distracting us. He marches out over to the large screen mounted on the side wall.
“Andre Delaney.” He points to Delaney’s crime scene photos displayed on the screen. He turns back around to us—mine, Cassidy’s and Elias’s attention all on him.
“We know he has connections everywhere. Not just the Marino’s. But other local gangs and the Misery’s Angels Motorcycle Club. We don’t know yet who killed him or why. But now he’s gone we have an opportunity. One we’ve never had before.”
I sit back in my seat and my hand comes to rest under my chin. My curiosity piquing as to where Mason’s heading with this.
“I went and saw Cannon before,” he says, referring to the Misery’s Angels Club President. “He knew nothing about Delaney’s death or anyone having bad blood with him right now. But they’re willing to give us any information they hear.”
The Misery’s Angels and Mason had a deal. An agreement of sorts. It’s not illegal and we aren’t in their pockets. But they say the enemy of my enemy is my friend. Well, that makes the Misery’s Angels allies we don’t really want to lose.
Mason continues, “We have a solid in now Delaney’s dead.” A smile plays at his lips and he turns to me. “Because Giuseppe Marino now needs a new trafficker. Someone who can move his shit. Someone who has knowledge of his business and one he won’t sniff out as a cop.”
Excitement and nerves steamroll through me when what Mason’s suggesting hits me. The thirst for revenge enrages my adrenaline.
His chin lifts toward me. “You wanna take those bastards down?”
The devil in me roars and I nod. “You know it.”
I’m going undercover.
Three months of hell with the sickest motherfuckers around and I was ready to punch skulls and fill them up with bullet holes. I grit my teeth while scrubbing over the short beard I’ve grown the past few months while undercover. The whole time listening to Lucio Marino drag on about some bullshit that doesn’t have a fucking thing to do with this meeting between me, him, his father and Cannon, the president of the Misery’s Angels Motorcycle Club.
My palms begin to sweat as I glance around the inside of Sweet Tarts during the day. It’s quiet, dull, not as filthy but the air still reeks of pussy and stale beer. I wipe my hands on my pants and keep them by my side in an effort not to jump over the table and rip Lucio’s tongue out of his goddamn throat. I mask my frustration by pretending to listen while my heart beats to an unsteady rhythm. This is the first meeting we’ve had in Sweet Tarts and although it seemed Ali no longer worked here, it doesn’t stop my stomach from churning or the feeling of time slowing down because this meeting feels like the longest in the fuckin’ history of gun trades. I just had to pray our intel was solid because the day I went undercover as a new trafficker in town it made checking up on Ali every now and again, impossible. It was a risk I couldn’t take.
Thoughts of Ali take a backseat when Cannon jumps in and his arguing with Lucio grows loud. I stand from my seat, ready to cut this meeting short and get the hell out of here.
“All due respect gentlemen, but I got places to be and your territory issues don’t involve me. You want me to get those guns to you Thursday, let me know. You don’t want them, I’ll find someone else who does. I’ve got shit to do,” I say with a calmness in my tone, all sweat and nerves hidden.
The three men silence at once. A vein in Lucio’s forehead ticks as he drills holes into me. Sometimes it’s as if recognition flashes in his eyes and I worry he remembers my face—from the first night I met Ali and he had her followed, to the nights I spent here gathering more information on him and his family.
Giuseppe looks like he’s ready to kill me for interrupting and Cannon stares at me like he always does, with curious eyes. There’s something about that guy I just can’t place.
I stand tall, showing no fear but eyeing off every man in the room to prepare for Giuseppe’s next move.
His eyes widen and his lips turn upward into the slimy, phony smile he wears so well. “Ah… Mr. King, I apologize for my son. He never knows when to shut up. The guns are yours. But first, have a drink with me. I insist.” He turns to Lucio after addressing me with my undercover name. “Lucio, have your girl come take our drink order.”
I pretend to check the time on my watch when Lucio yells out something in Italian. “I really have to go.”
“Sit,” he demands with fake niceties that scream if you don’t fucking sit I’m gonna blow your head right off your shoulders.
I sit back down in the booth and Giuseppe starts spouting about alliances, trust, and loyalty in this business. My mouth tightens and I’m too busy trying not to visibly cringe at the bullshit he’s spouting that I barely register the half-naked waitress nearing our table.
She lifts her head. “What can I…” she pauses as her eyes land on mine, and I swear if it were possible I’d say both our hearts stopped in that second.
“What can I get for you?”
Shock. Fear. Dread. Reprisal.
This is it.
This moment would define our futures, what comes next. Two paths. Two options. But only one ending to ensure Ali’s safety.
My hands begin to shake. But nobody notices. Giuseppe, Lucio, and Cannon are too busy talking like the world isn’t about to come crashing down around us when Lucio realizes who the man across the table from him really is.
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Roamyn. Here. In Sweet Tarts.
Shock holds me captive. His eyes lock me in place. A lump lodges in my throat, the pain cutting off my voice. I can’t speak. I can’t move, my limbs are heavy and stiff. Roamyn turns his head from one side to the other. Slow. Steady. With eyes as hard as steel. No emotion. Just a demand, yet barely a movement. Don’t say anything. Don’t act weird. Don’t give them any inclination.
Giuseppe’s bellowing laugh knocks shock through me and I jump in fright. The men notice me. Lucio narrows his gaze on me. I open my mouth to speak but nothing comes out over the beat of my racing pulse.
“Alison, my dear. Be a good girl and get us drinks will you?”
I release the breath I was holding and air floods my lungs. Giuseppe’s ignorance and lack of care for anyone but himself has never been such a blessing.
I hesitate in my nod, terror controlling every movement. Plastering on a smile that’s more of a grimace, I pray nobody notices a tremor rack through me.
But praying had never gotten me anywhere before. Why did I expect it to now?
I shove open the door to the bathroom and spin around to lock it. Leaning my head back against it, I close my eyes trying to regain control over my hammering heart. My lungs continue to work in overdrive as thoughts accelerate in my mind. Did Lucio just notice my slip up at the table? I thread my hands through my hair and pace back and forth. Why is he here? Why now after all this time? Fixing myself up, I breathe in courage I don’t have because I have to fake it. At least until I can get out of here. My life may depend on it.
After calming myself, I move back out and start wiping down the edge of the bar. I call out to Lucio sitting at the other end by himself now his meeting is over and the other men have gone. “My shift’s over. Lindy will be out in a minute so I’m going home.”