by Madison Faye
“I didn’t know…”
“I didn’t tell you yet.” He winks at me. “When I got out, I was all set to go anywhere but here and start my own practice. But then my dad passed a little more suddenly than I ever would have expected. My mom was deep into Alzheimer's by then too, and I was about to come home anyways to help settle her somewhere that could take care of her, but then Gino dropped the bomb on me. Apparently, my dad ‘owed the family’ and guess who got to inherit that bullshit?”
I squeeze his hand and nuzzle into him. “I’m so sorry, Gray.” I sigh heavily. “Seems like ‘owing a debt’ is a recurring theme with the Morettis.”
“You have no id—” he stops himself and grimaces. “Well, I guess you do.”
He kisses me slowly, and I get lost in him all over again.
“I really do have to go,” he whispers. “But stay put, relax, and tonight we’ll get some of that Daddy-O’s pizza.”
“And get me some clothes?”
“Do we have to?”
I grin. “Nope.”
I miss him when he’s gone. Badly, and in every way I suppose you can miss a person. I’ve never really missed anyone before. This is new. All of this is new.
I lounge in bed for a while before I finally get up. I grab a t-shirt of his and a pair of boxers — both of which I’m swimming in, but then, I don’t really care. They smell like him, and really, that’s all I care about at the moment.
I explore his place, looking where I haven’t yet, my jaw dropping more and more at the size and glamor of the place. He’s right — he might work for some really terrible people, but it seems to pay insanely well.
In his study, there are pictures on the wall. Some are of him and an older man who must be his dad. Others are him and two other guys, in Marine fatigues in the desert. Next to the pictures is a law degree from Stanford.
I’m snooping, but I can't help it. I want to know everything about him, and not in some creepy psycho way, but just because I’m falling for him so hard, I just want to know what layer comes next. I open drawers, glancing over files and small trinkets here and there — a collection of fishing lures in drawer in the hallway closet, poker chips from casinos that don’t exist anymore in one of the kitchen drawers.
I finally find myself in a spare room that might be a guest room if there was a bed in here. There’s a chest of drawers, and as I’m poking through old sweaters of his, my fingers suddenly brush something glass.
A picture frame.
I pause, pulling it free from beneath the sweaters and blankets, and when I see it, suddenly everything slows down.
Oh my God.
The picture is of a woman…and a small child with dark hair and dark eyes.
The room spins around me. My chest feels tight, and I’m dropping the picture back into the drawer and staggering out of the room in a daze. My head spins, and it feels like there’s a weight pressing down on me that I can’t shrug off.
He has a family. Or had, or….fuck, I don’t even know. All I know is, I can’t breathe and I need air.
I slip off the clothes of his that only moments before made me melt, and instead yank on a pair of jeans and a shirt that we bought yesterday. There’s a set of keys on a hook in the kitchen with a “PH1” tag on them — Penthouse 1, Gray’s unit number — which must be spares. I snag them in a blur as I stagger out of his place and hammer the button for the elevator.
I have no right to be snooping like I was, but the picture I’ve found is burning a hole in my heart. I want to ask why he has it, or who they are, or why the little boy in the picture looks just like him. I want to know why it’s hidden in a drawer, and I want to ask myself why finding it feels like someone’s stabbing me in the chest.
My nerves are jangling being outside of his place like this, and my eyes flicker up and down the hallway as I push the button for the elevator. Running off like this, without Gray around, is stupid, what with the whole thing with Joey. And I know how crazy and paranoid it is for me to be looking for him, like he might jump out of a shadow, but I can’t help it. I can’t help that I’m freaking out, because the fact that I’m completely falling for Gray is making me freak out.
Who’s the kid in the picture, Gray?
Or, fuck, who’s the woman? Someone he had a kid with? I’m both furious with him for not telling me, but also furious at myself for thinking that he should have. It’s none of my damn business, and I’m sure it was buried in a drawer for reason. But that doesn’t mean it doesn’t still burn.
Badly.
The elevator descends, and when it stops at the ground floor, the chime dings. The doors open. I’m still completely drowning in my thoughts as I step out, but when I hear the sound of the gun hammer being clicked back, the whole world cracks around me. My head snaps up, and the scream chokes in my throat as I look down the barrel of the gun right to Joey Luco’s sneering, furious face.
Oh, God…
“Come here,” he hisses, lunging into the elevator, grabbing me by the wrist and yanking me close as he jams the door close button.
“You little fucking ungrateful bitch,” he spits out. He glances down at the spare keys in my hand with the “PH1” tag on them, and suddenly, I can see a light going on in his eyes.
“You're staying here? Jesus H Christ, bitch, whose place is that?”
“No one’s! Joey, please—”
“Don’t you fucking Joey please me, you little slut,” he roars, slamming me up against the wall of the elevator and shoving the gun in my face. I cry out, shuddering as the cold metal presses into my neck. He turns and jams the “penthouse” level button, and the elevator stars to rise.
“You know your new guy likes to hit people when their guard ain’t up. Like a little bitch.”
He leans in close, and his grin turns downright wicked.
“But you know what? I can do that too.”
The punch comes hard, right in the stomach. I gasp hoarsely, the wind knocked out of me and my whole body doubling over in pain. The doors open, and Joey yanks the keys out of my hand as he drags me by the wrist from the elevator. He eyes Gray’s door and jams the keys into the lock.
“Why don’t we wait here for your little sucker-punch bitch of a man, huh? How about we wait here, and when he shows up, I put a bullet in him. Not to kill him, but so that he bleeds out while he watches me take my fucking time with you.”
When he goes to open the door, I try and lunge away from him, but his hand yanks me back hard. I scream, but he covers my mouth as he drags me into Gray’s place and slams the door shut.
Oh fuck. Oh fuck. Oh fuck.
He punches me again, knocking me to the ground as I cry out weakly. Gray’s landline phone starts to ring, and I know it’s probably a sales call or someone looking for him. But as the pain aches through me, I fantasize that it’s him, calling to check in on me.
Joey’s fist hits me again, and I grunt as I hit the floor again.
Gray’s not watching this time. He’s not on the camera, a floor away and and ready to come save me. This is just me and Joey.
…And I’m not sure I’m walking away this time.
Chapter 15
Gray
Fuck.
I’m missing her. A lot.
I sit in my car for a solid five minutes, just thinking about her. Zoe. My Zoe. The girl who came out of nowhere and landed in my lap. The girl with the broken past and the shadows behind her eyes that I’ve never seen in anyone’s besides my own. My pretty little bad girl. My dirty little secret.
Mine.
There’s never been a girl who made me feel this way. Never. I’ve been close, I suppose. There was Michelle, but that just left a bitter taste in my mouth. Michelle was years ago, and it turns out, Michelle wasn’t looking for love, she was looking for a roof and stability. Michelle was looking for a father figure for her son, Jason. And the fact that he looked damn near just like me was a bonus for her I guess. Jason was a sweet kid, for sure, and Michelle was a sweet
enough woman, but that wasn’t love. That was me grabbing at normalcy after Afghanistan, and her seeing that and jumping on the opportunity.
I was mad about it all before, for a little while. When she was pushing marriage, and pushing for me to adopt Jason — all that shit when it turns out she was still fucking Jason’s deadbeat dad. I was pissed, sure, but I didn’t hold onto it. Michelle wasn’t what I was looking for, and in spite of all the bullshit, I hope the she’s found whatever stability she was looking for. For Jason, at least.
But again, that was years ago.
Eventually, I sigh, get out of my car, and head inside. I work from home a lot, but I do keep an office upstairs from Gino Moretti’s restaurant, The Venetian. I know, how fucking mob cliche, right? I slip in the back door by the kitchen, and say hi to Lincoln, the chef, who makes a fucking mean cacio e pepe. I shoot the shit with him for a second before I head up the stairs to my office. I just need to file some shit for Gino, and then I can get back to—
I swing the door to my office open, and they spring apart.
Oh what the fuck.
The strikingly beautiful, red-haired woman is Quinn Moretti, or you could also call her Mrs. Moretti, as in Gino Moretti’s wife. No one knows how he swung that. I mean, he’s rich, but she’s not the gold digger type. She’s also insanely out of his league, and if we’re being honest, Gino has the personality, charm, and sense of humor of a piece of roadkill.
Gorgeous, much much younger, smart, and sharp. It makes no sense that she’s with a sixty-year-old degenerate like Gino. But then, it’s not my boss and the head of the Moretti crime family that she’s springing away from, panting with flushed cheeks and swollen lips.
…Its Roman, my buddy.
Gino’s security detail.
Her bodyguard.
We all freeze — Quinn looking away, Roman looking right at me, and me looking right back at the two of them.
“Roman was just helping me find my earring,” Quinn says quickly, chancing a look at me.
“Yeah, he’s…” I clear my throat. “Yeah he’s good at that I guess.”
Roman looks away.
“Especially when those earrings are in my office.”
My buddy whips his head back and glares at me. I just smile thinly.
“You guys find what you were looking for?”
“Yep,” Roman says quickly. Much too quickly.
“Fantastic.”
I want to laugh, but this is also no laughing matter. I didn’t see them, but c’mon, I know what I would have seen if the door had opened a second sooner. One of my best friends, with his hands all over and his lips kissing our mob boss’s wife.
Yeah, that's bad. That is real bad. That’s “you become part of the foundation of a new casino and no one ever fucking hears from you again” bad.
“Well, I should go.” Quinn smiles quickly at me. “Nice to see you, Grayson.”
“Ma’am.”
I nod brusquely as she steps past me, red faced and avoiding my grin as she steps from my office. Roman makes a move to follow, but him I stop with a finger to his chest.
“Sit your ass down,” I hiss.
“Fuck off, I have to—”
“Now.”
I shove him back into my desk chair and he glares at me.
“Don't give me that look.”
“Fuck off, Gray.”
“Are you fucking insane?!” I hiss at him.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“The fuck I don’t. Quinn fucking Moretti?” I slowly shake my head at him. “There are four fucking million girls out there on the Strip with all sorts of issues who’d be willing spread their legs for a guy like you.”
Roman says nothing, his glare hardening.
“You got a thing for redheads? Fuck it, that takes the pool down to like, what, one and a half million? Jesus fuck, Roman!”
“Leave it,” he growls with a warning tone.
“I can’t.”
“You should.”
“I don’t want to see you die, man,” I say quietly, glaring right back at him.
“I know what I’m doing.”
I laugh. “No, you don’t. Or if you do, you don’t know the consequences of what you’re—”
“Trust me,” he hisses. “I fucking do.” He shakes his head at me. “And where the fuck have you been the last few weeks man? I could’ve used some of this fucking lawyer wisdom then, you know.”
“Don’t blame me for you being a fucking moron.”
He chuckles. “You’ve been a ghost, Gray.”
“Busy.”
“Bullshit, what’s her name?”
“Don’t turn this around.”
Roman groans. “This isn’t another Michelle is—”
“No,” I snap viciously. He shuts up and I sigh, shaking my head.
“Drink?”
Roman nods. “Yeah, actually.”
I pour us some scotches from the mini bar in the corner of my office and slide a glass this way across my desk.
“So, this Dylan thing. With the fuckin’ porn movie.”
I groan, shaking my head. “Yeah, I know.”
“Can we stop it?”
“Not sure. Nico seems dead set on making it happen. The guy puts the scum back in scumbag.”
“Quinn went and met with the girl — Rose. Dylan’s co-star I guess.” His face darkens. “She’s young, man.”
“I heard,” I growl.
“And not a porn actress or anything. They’ve got her on the hook for some shit, and they’re forcing her as much as they are Dylan. Quinn says it’s going to be her first time.” Roman looks at the floor with rage on his face. “The whole fucking porn is about her ‘losing it’ on camera.” He suddenly swears viciously, and it looks like he might put his fist — scotch glass and all — through my wall, before I reach out and put a hand on his arm.
“Easy, Roman.”
He takes a breath, but I know why this is hitting him deep. Roman’s sister, Delilah, got into some bad people young too. Probably around Rose’s age. Heroin, crack — you name it. And then she went the way a lot of girls with issues and addictions go in this town — porn. Not a real studio either, some shady fucking “just some guys with a camera” shit.
She OD-ed the night after the shoot.
“I’m good,” he finally says, looking up and smiling thinly.
I slowly shake my head. “How the fuck did we get here?”
Roman shrugs. “I drove.”
I snort a laugh. He knows what I mean.
“Life is fucking weird, man,” he growls, sipping his drink. “Who could’ve guessed we’d ever end up back in this damn town?”
We’re silent for a moment, when I clear my throat.
“Her name is Zoe,” I say quietly. “And she’s a cam girl. Or, was.”
Roman raises a brow. “A cam girl? Like, one of those online strippers?”
My brow furrows, but I nod. “Yeah, kinda.”
He shrugs. “Well, shit. Mr. Stanford Law with the internet stripper and Mr. School of Hard Knocks with the boss’s wife.”
I laugh. “So you admit it? About Quinn?”
He grins. “I admit nothing, counselor.”
“Be careful, man.”
He nods, still grinning, when his smile fades into a frown.
“Where’d you meet this girl, and don’t say online. Where’d you really meet her?”
I shrug. “No where.”
“Grayson.”
“What?”
Roman’s look hardens. “She doesn’t live in your building, does she?”
My eyes narrow. “What are you talking about?” I hiss.
My buddy’s eyes go wide, and he blows a stream of air through his lips as he sinks back in my office chair.
“Fuck, dude.”
I scowl. “What?”
“Is she one of Joey’s girls?”
I freeze. “You know about—”
“I don’t kn
ow-know, but, c’mon man, I hear things. I know the sick fucker has girls doing shit for him all over this city — turning tricks, stripping, massage parlors. He’s a real bastard. Is she — is Zoe…”
“She’s just a cam girl,” I growl. “It’s a way to make money.”
He gives me hard look. “For Joey Luco.”
I look away.
Roman suddenly whistles lowly. “Holy shit, it was you, wasn’t it?”
“Huh?”
“Joey’s head.” Roman gives me a hard look. “I heard it earlier from some of his guys. He’s saying he fell, but one of them blabbed. Some guy in a ski-mask cold cocked him from behind.”
I take a large sip of my scotch, and Roman slowly shakes his head.
“Gray, you are in way over your fuckin’ head here.”
“Leave it,” I growl.
“The fuck I will. Gray, he’s after her.”
A chill ripples through my veins. “What?”
Roman shakes his head. “Look, I’m just putting the pieces together. One of Joey’s girls—”
“She’s not his girl,” I spit heatedly.
“Fine, you know what I fucking mean. One of them, who he’s housing in your building, ditches out on him. You suddenly meet some sweet, sexy girl who happens to strip on webcam for money. And the next thing you know, some mysterious hero in a mask is pistol-whipping Joey in the back of the head.” He shakes his head. “Fuck, it is her, man. And you have to know, Joey is after her, and when he finds her…”
His face goes grim, and my heart stops for a beat.
and the next thing ? I mean…
“I have to go.”
He stands. “You want a hand?”
I shake my head. “No. Just do me a favor and watch out for yourself, alright?”
“Gray.”
I stop at the door and glance back at my friend.
“Be careful, man.”
Chapter 16
Gray
My heart thunders as I basically break land speed records racing back home. Zoe doesn’t have a cell phone, or if she does, it’s still in her apartment. So I’ve called my own land line about a million damn times, but it just keeps ringing and ringing and ringing.