by Pamela Clare
A rusted wrought iron chair sat five feet away and Jess didn’t think. Grabbing the chair, she hefted it over her shoulder, baseball bat style, and took a few sideways steps to get the most bang for her buck. Then she slammed the chair into the window. Glass sprayed into the room and the man turned, his pants partially over his hips, her mother still in front of him.
Jess roared, or made some type of inhuman sound. At least she thought it was her. She wasn’t sure. Her pulse raced frantically as she threw herself at the guy at the same time her mother lunged for his back. He was bigger than her so she pushed extra hard. Her momentum knocked him toward her mother. She expected him to attack after she bounced off his chest. Instead he gasped, wide-eyed, before his gaze turned glassy. He didn’t even try to attack her. Just stood there, swaying…until he fell forward.
What the hell…
Terry looked down at her hands. Bloody hands. Jess looked at the man’s body. The giant knife wedged into his lower back. She saw two inches of steel and the hilt.
Jess watched her mom, realized what had happened.
“I—I didn’t mean to do that,” Terry stammered, surprise clear in her eyes. “I just wanted the knife. I didn’t intend…”
Jess stepped over the man, pulled her mom into a rough hug. “It’s okay, it’s okay.” God, what did she do now? Run? Or keep going? Try to get everyone out? No, she needed to get her mom out of here. Her dad would expect that of her. “Go through the window, Mom,” Jess implored, urging her toward the shattered window. “Get out of here.”
Her mother picked that moment to snap back into her real personality. “No. I can’t.” She reached for the prone man on the floor. Blood spilled from the wound on his back. Terry searched through his pockets for something. “I’m not leaving without your father and your brothers.” The doorknob jiggled and a second later, a gunshot blasted the knob off. Terry stood and they turned in unison as two men busted down the door. They had huge shoulders and bigger guns.
Chapter Nineteen
Paul had heard the commotion, grabbed his gun and ran for the lower level. He elbowed his way into the room between the two hulks Frank had hired, and stopped short. The sight of Frank lying face down on the floor momentarily paralyzed him. The curtains billowed from the ocean breeze and a giant hole in the window marked where a lawn chair had broken through. Glass littered the floor. Two of the new hires had guns trained on Terry St. John and another younger woman. They stood next to each other in the corner of the room, wide-eyed and waiting.
Paul didn’t take the time to make sense of anything. “Frank,” he said softly. He moved toward his friend, a man he’d known for thirty years, and knelt next to him, setting his gun on the floor. “Frankie…” Paul took his shoulders and turned him on his side, careful of the knife still lodged in his back.
Frank stared at him with panicked eyes. “Paulie…can’t feel my legs,” he rasped.
Oh, shit. Paul kept his panic under wraps and ignored the staggering amount of blood on the floor. He’d always joked that Frank’s knife was more like a machete and knowing that most of the eight inch blade was buried deep didn’t give him much hope. “It’s okay, Frankie. We’ll get you help. It’s gonna be okay.”
“Don’t be an idiot, Paulie. We can’t.” Frank shook his head. “Too many questions.”
“Fuck the questions.” Yeah, they both knew an ambulance was out of the question, but getting help wasn’t. “We’ll take you to a hospital right now, Frankie.” Paul looked over his shoulder. “Get a God-damn car ready to roll now,” he told the men behind him. “And get them the fuck outta here,” he added of the two women. He’d deal with them later.
Both men left the room. One with his gun on the women and the other down the hallway toward the garage.
The pool of blood steadily grew under Paul’s knees. He gave Frank a grim smile. “Frankie…what am I going to do with you?” he joked. “Here I thought you were only going to fuck the one girl and you end up with two.”
Frank’s lips lifted in an attempt at a grin. “I wish,” he said before losing the smile. “They fucked me good.” He shook his head. “It’s bad, Paulie. I can tell it’s bad.”
“We’ll get you the best doc—”
“No.” Frank shook his head. “Not doing the hospital thing. I won’t be a helpless bastard getting a sponge bath from some two hundred pound nurse with a mustache.”
The image made Paul smile despite the seriousness of the situation. It was just like Frank to think the worst. “C’mon Frank, you might get a hot blonde you can finger while she’s rubbing you down. Nothing bad about that.”
“Car’s ready.” The second guy appeared in the doorway with a blanket in his hand. His gun holstered at his shoulder. “I’ll help you move him. We can get him on the blanket and carry him out like a stretcher.”
At least this guy had a brain in his head. “Good. Careful of his back,” Paul said, shifting to arrange the blanket so they could shift Frank onto it.
But Frank moved too fast. Paul should’ve seen it coming. He should’ve known better. In the split second it took to see Frank reaching for his gun, he knew he was too late. Maybe Frank’s legs didn’t work, but his arms and hands worked fine.
Paul took a breath to scream, “No!” as Frank aimed the gun, but the shot went off like a canon and took most of Frank’s head with it. Blood and brain matter splattered everywhere.
Falling back, Paul landed on his ass and stared in shock at what was left of his friend. They’d been through everything together. Elementary school, junior high, high school. Frank had protected him for thirty years. He’d done all the dirty work and kept Paul clean. He’d always been an ear to listen and a rock to depend on. He’d mentored the new hires and kept them in line. He was an important part of the machine and just like that he offed himself.
Frank had watched his father crumble bit by bit in a nursing home for fifteen years and had always said he wouldn’t die a slow death. Compounding his father’s situation had been Paul’s sister’s fight with cancer. Sarah had whittled away to nothing after seven years. Frank wouldn’t live in a hospital or nursing home. He’d promised to take matters into his own hands before ever living out that fate.
He’d kept that promise.
But Jesus…it shouldn’t have happened this way. Frank was too young. At forty, he was just hitting his prime. Sure, he didn’t take great care of himself, but he enjoyed life.
Reality set in and Paul’s chest constricted. He glanced at the man staring dumbfounded at Frank’s body. Dark hair, dark skin… He didn’t even know the guy’s name. The smell of death permeated the air.
Slowly and surely, anger built from his center and Paul wanted revenge for his friend. A lot of revenge. A family’s worth of revenge. He picked himself up from the floor. “Bring those bitches to my office in ten minutes.” He’d have to make arrangements for Frank. He’d give him a burial fit for a king. Until then, he’d have to do something with Frank’s body. “Call a local mortuary. Buy a coffin. A nice one.” He looked around the room, at the blood and gore. “Clean this up.”
Paul climbed the stairs to the main level. He’d planned to change, but decided that having bits of Frank splattered on his clothes might actually make a more gruesome sight. He splashed some water on his face and washed his bloodied hands.
A few minutes later, two of his men hauled in Terry St. John and the younger woman. Paul walked around the front of the desk and faced both women as his men stepped back. Terry had blood on her hands, on her clothes. She’d killed Frank with a knife to his back. It didn’t get much lower than that. The lady next to her was too close in looks to be any other than her daughter.
Simmering anger boiled hotter.
“You killed my best friend,” Paul bit out the words to Terry. Unlike Frank, Paul had never hit a woman. But there was a first time for everything. Lightning fast, he backhanded her to the floor. When Jess screamed and lunged for her mother, Paul slapped her next. Breathing h
ard, he looked down at both women. “That was for Frank.” He yanked Jess to her feet and held her by the collar. “I don’t know how you found us, and honestly, I don’t give a fuck. But if you bring the cops down on me, I’ll kill every member of your family before I go down. You understand me?”
She shook her head. “No cops. I swear. I found your sister’s obituary and thought I’d check. I didn’t think you’d be here. I swear.” Her eyes glittered with fear. A red mark already blazed on her jaw. Good. He wanted her to hurt. He wanted both of these bitches to hurt. “It was my fault that he died,” Jess went on to say. “I pushed him—”
“Jess, no!” Her mother said, rising from the floor. “Frank killed himself.” She eyed Paul fearlessly, a pretty stupid thing to do considering the circumstances. “The knife did damage but by the looks of your suit, he took his own life. Can’t blame me for that.”
Paul released Jess and took a step toward Terry. He’d have hit her again if the door hadn’t swung open.
“Someone at the front door,” Hollister said. “He says he knows you have the St. Johns. I coulda shot him, but in case he told someone else as a back up, I figured you want to talk to him. He says he wants to make a deal.”
Paul eyed Jess, his anger spilling over once again. He didn’t know which St. John female to kill first. But he had an order of business. “Take them back downstairs, keep the new guy in the living room. I’ll be down in five minutes after I change. Too bad his timing sucks. He’s going to die like the rest of them.” He could kill all eight people and be out of this place in no time flat.
It only took Paul four minutes to put on a new suit. It was one thing to show the St. John women what they’d caused, but it was another to meet a man, wearing someone else’s blood and brains. Even if he planned on killing the guy in a matter of minutes.
Entering the living room, Paul sized up the man across from him. Big, serious and not very happy. Paul could relate. He was two out of three of those things. “You are?” he asked.
“Tanner Bryant. And you’re Paul Facinetti.”
Paul wasn’t in the mood to be nice. “Mr. Bryant, you’ve got one minute, so make it good.”
“Jess St. John owes me money and I want it before you kill her.”
Not something Paul expected to hear. But this seemed like a conversation he wanted to have while Jess St. John occupied the same room. He wanted to see her face. “Follow me,” Paul said, leading the way downstairs to the lower level of the stacked house. They walked down a short hallway. One of his men stood at the end, his large gun prominent in his shoulder holster, and opened the door as they neared. Two men shoved Paul’s newest guest inside and followed him in.
Paul looked at the scene through Tanner Bryant’s eyes. The whole St. John family sat along two walls with their hands behind their backs. Two of the brothers looked pretty messed up. So did the mom. Jess had a bruise forming on her jaw and Paul felt the tingle in his hand where he’d hit her. No sense in waiting any longer. Paul forged ahead and looked at Jess.
“You owe this guy money?”
“Yeah, she does,” Bryant piped in before she said anything. “Like I told you upstairs…” he pointed to Jess, but kept his eyes on Paul. “She owes me for a job. It’s real simple. I need work and from what I’ve seen of your operation, you need some muscle.”
“Funny. I don’t remember a help wanted sign on my front window,” Paul said.
Bryant was all business. “You didn’t need one. Maybe I’m a mind reader.” He gestured outside. “You didn’t have anybody watching the outside of this place. A sure sign that you’re short-handed. Maybe you can’t trust hiring new guys. I don’t know. What I do know is you want money from Maurice Juneau and I know how to help you get it. Without her.” Bryant pointed to Jess.
“What are you doing?” Jess screamed, her face turning red.
“You seem to know a lot about me, Mr. Bryant.”
“I know what Jess told me. You invested in Juneau’s movie scam and he stole from you. You’re from Nevada and you’re only here to collect. Basically, I know everything Jess knows.”
Son of a fucking bitch. He hated people nosing into his business. “Go on,” he pulled a small Berretta from his pocket and gestured with it. Every damn person in this room should be worrying about dying in the next two minutes.
Bryant glanced at Jess again. “Did she tell you Juneau’s dead?”
“You son of a bitch, bastard,” Jess hissed.
More anger bubbled from Paul’s gut. “Juneau’s dead?”
“Very. She shot him in the head.” At those words, every member of her family looked at her.
“Tanner!” The shock in her voice was as real as the surprise on her face. “Shut up!” Jess’s words were clear, concise and full of unadulterated malice.
Paul changed the direction of his gun. Instead of pointing at Bryant, he aimed at Jess. “So I have no reason to keep any of the St. Johns alive.”
“Wait!” Jess shouted. “I have his computer. I’m the only one that can get it and I won’t do it if you touch any of them.” She tipped her chin gesturing to her whole family. “You can get all Maurice’s information if you find someone to hack into his computer. It’s not impossible. People do it all the time.”
Paul gritted his teeth. Now he had to bring someone else into the operation. Someone who’d end up costing him a fortune. But it’d be worth it if he got his money back. “Where’s the fucking computer?” He spit out each word succinctly. This job had turned into a major goatfuck.
“I told you. I’m the only one who can get it. But you have to let them go, first.”
“This is bullshit,” Bryant said. “I can get the computer too.”
Jess’s eyes hardened. “Tanner.” The word itself was a warning, her narrowed gaze filled with venom. “He’s lying,” she said. “He can’t get it.”
“Sweetheart,” Bryant said, his voice soft. “Just because you had my cock in your mouth doesn’t mean you own me.”
Okay then. More information than Paul needed to hear. But it was a good shot as far as low blows went. Jess turned a color so red Paul couldn’t even describe it. Bryant had hit hard and in front of her whole family no less. That comment was going to cost him. Every one of her family members shot him a glare that could’ve put him six feet under. Paul guessed if he released even one family member, it’d be Bryant they’d go after and not him.
Paul laughed humorlessly and turned to Bryant. “Where’s the computer?”
“Not so fast.” Bryant turned his back on the family and faced him. “In return for the computer, I want the two grand she promised me and a job.”
Not likely that would happen. “What was the two grand for?” Paul asked.
“Helping her snag Juneau and getting her family back.”
Paul grinned. “Looks like you fucked up on both accounts.”
“I wasn’t the one who shot Juneau or the one who told her to bust into the house. That was her fault. She still owes me for helping her with Juneau.”
“You’ve got a case there.” Paul stretched his neck, contemplated the deal. This guy had an agenda and Paul respected that. Plus, he’d been right about the need for more muscle. Reliable muscle. Especially now with Frank gone. Not that this guy could take over for Frank. He’d have to prove himself before he got hired to do anything. “So you want me to give you a job?” He waved the gun around. “Why should I do that? You don’t seem to be very loyal.” He pointedly looked at Jess who was about ready to blow her top. Her reaction more than anything convinced Paul that Bryant was a free agent and might actually be able to help him.
“I’m loyal if you pay,” Bryant said. “You want the truth? I got out of prison a month ago. Want to know who put me there?” He locked gazes with Jay St. John and smiled grimly. “This bastard. He made sure I went away for a long time and there’s nothing I’d like better than to even the score.”
This just got more and more interesting. At least the kid had se
rious motive.
“No one will hire me,” Bryant continued, still watching St. John. He finally turned his back on the man. “Your kind of operation is exactly the kind of place for a guy like me. I’ll make this a no-brainer for you,” he continued. “You bring me on and I’ll make all the St. Johns disappear.”
Chapter Twenty
Jay didn’t doubt a word Bryant uttered. The way Bryant stared him down a second time made his blood run cold. The man had serious motive and not much chance of getting caught if he stayed with Facinetti.
There was so much information to process, Jay hardly knew where to start. His mind reeled from the minute Facinetti walked in with Tanner Bryant until both men left the room. Jess had not only walked into a time bomb by working for Maurice Juneau, but apparently she’d compounded it by teaming up with a convicted felon.
Jesus… Tanner Bryant. Although he’d recognized the man’s face, it wasn’t until Facinetti had said the name that everything registered. The man had changed. He’d grown in prison, up and out. He was a good four inches taller and that many wider. It was easy to see how he’d spent his time behind bars. Though he had to be about Jess’s age, he looked older.
A swift wave of contrition hit Jay. He’d inadvertently helped put Bryant behind bars. When he rethought the trial and the other attorney’s lack of defense, he suspected Juneau had paid the lawyer representing Bryant to railroad his client. There were attorneys in the world who didn’t care about the outcome of a trial as long as the paychecks cleared. Jay shoved the guilt and memories to the back of his brain. He had too much to think about now to dwell on the past.