by Amarie Avant
“Hey, you,” Reese’s voice is playful.
“Hi, babe. Just got off work.”
“Sheesh, I was asleep when you went to work, had fun designing a wedding cake and then I took an afternoon nap. Now,” she yawns, “I’m probably going to fall asleep as I watch TV with Jamie. Unless you wanna come over. I’ll sneak you in.”
I chuckle. “You having a sleepover?”
“Sort of. But I’m in the tub right now,” her delicious tone is rather persuasive. But seeing me now is a good enough reason for her not to carry on with a cop.
“Okay, Reese. Do me a favor.”
“Anything,” her tone is light with laughter.
“Stay in the house with your doors locked. Riker is still out there. I just spoke with dispatch about having a cruiser keep an eye on your street. I’m gonna hit the sack. But I can only rest with the assurance that the most gorgeous woman on earth is safe too.”
“Aw, Evan, I…”
I turn down the street leading toward my apartment building. My jaw gets heavy. Is Reese about to say the words I’ve been dreaming of? That she loves me just as much as I love her. She lingers.
“You okay?” I ask, pressing the button to the building parking garage.
“Yeah, Evan.”
“Talk to me,” I implore, while the cage gate opens up, and my sports car zooms down the passageway. My first thought is to drive straight to her house but she's got company over.
“You know how we talked about my dad last night... There's more.”
Yeah, I knew there was a lot more to the story. But this isn’t an investigation, this is the woman I hope won’t try out for the fifty-yard dash. So I’ve decided to allow it all in her timing. “More like how?”
She begins to speak but the phone is muffled. Usually the reception is adequate in the underground parking, so I think nothing of it, and search for a parking spot. “Reese. Babe, I can’t hear you.”
“M… da…”
“What was Milo’s full name?” Instinct forces me to ask that question. “I love you, beautiful, you can tell me anything...”
“Mi… lo G–”
The call goes dead.
Instincts take into effect. The back tires scream against the cement walls as I turn the car around. Before I can call Reese back, my phone rings. It’s not Reese. It’s a Los Angeles area code. Maybe she's calling on Jamie’s phone.
I answer.
“You know, Evan. You were right. That cunt of yours does have a potty mouth.”
Riker! His detached voice blares through the speaker phone. “There's a cell phone blocker inside your ol’ lady’s place. It just got turned on. The Reese's Pieces is calling you back, at least that's how it looks through my lil’ iPad.”
He's watching her. The rear bumper slams into the ground as the car zooms up the ramp of the passageway at an accelerated speed. I toggle the shift, when turning onto the ground level, and collide with a Volkswagen driving down Main Street.
“Man, how I wanted some action last night. You had me going with fiddlesticks and poppycock,” he taunts just so I know that he heard our entire conversation too. “Man, poppycock. I’d like to ram my cock so far down her throat–”
“Touch one hair on Reese’s head, I’ll carve your fucking heart out!” I shout. Tunnel vision takes over. My foot smashes the gas while speeding through a just-turned red light.
“All I’m saying is you two could’ve done less talking and more boning last night. Now, I must be off. I'm going to see your ol’ lady as we speak. You do know that, Evan. Don't you? You've been on my ass for a while now. Hounding me like the annoying asshole that you are. Time to turn these shitty tables.”
23
Reese
Ten minutes earlier
Sephora brown sugar scrub has been exfoliated into my entire body, and the jets in my bathtub are working overtime. Hearing footsteps, I take the cucumbers from over my eyes.
“Oh, hell no, are you in here pleasing yourself, you little freak,” Jamie says, my extra pair of keys jingling in his hand as he places it on a padded hip.
“No,” I shoot up into a seated position. Dang, was that too much force? I totally just sounded like a liar, but I honestly just miss Evan. He held me close all night, we did nothing, and yet I still feel this unimaginable feeling. Light, airy, and sheesh, my cheeks have hurt for smiling all day.
“Reese, I just put the finishing touches on all of Kitty’s scrumptious cupcakes. And you’re in here pampering yourself. Well, I'm turning on Tom Hardy! If you think you're getting any play tonight with all these scented candles, then you've got another thing coming. We both don't have the right material to satisfy each other. Got that?”
He doesn't wait for a reply, just struts out of my bathroom.
“Whatever, sucker.” I smile.
We're a pathetic sight. He's wearing Wonder Woman fuzzy pajamas. My Avengers black and hot-pink Black Widow footie pajamas are draped over the settee in my bedroom. The truth is, we both went hard for Kitty’s wedding. I slaved for hours just to make the perfect cake. But the manual labor didn’t hold a candle to the outcome. I’m friggen proud of myself, and can’t wait to see her approval.
Instead of sinking back down under the suds, I shout, “Whatcha bring us to eat with the movie?”
“Fruit and veggie tray,” he hollers from the kitchen.
“You trying to kill me? My body thrives off sweets. Whyyy?” I grumble, reaching over the side of my oval-shaped bathtub to answer my cell phone.
“No carbs,” I can hear Jamie arguing from the kitchen.
“Hey, you,” I almost laugh while greeting Evan. I brag about having slept for most of the day. Yet, it’s almost like an out-of-body experience as my mood changes. There’s this guilt weighing at my chest about not divulging my father’s entire story. Might as well tell the truth before it comes and bites me in the ass. I fess up to the fact that there’s more to know about Milo.
“Reese. What was Milo’s last name?” Evan’s tone is caring and I close my eyes imagining his arms around me as he adds, “I love you, beautiful, you can tell me anything...”
I lick my lips then whisper, “Milo Gianni Benincassa… Evan? Evan…”
My heart lurches into my throat.
Al Capon, El Chapo, Gotti, those names are widely known, and Milo Gianni Benincassa is too!
“Jamie,” I call out.
In a flash, Jamie is standing at the door. His hand is at his chest, eyes roaming over me as if he scents blood, tears, danger. “Girl, the way you called my name, I thought you were dying or something! Don’t do that ever again.”
“I told Evan about Milo.” My hands shake, so I drop the phone back onto the shaggy rug for fear of it falling in the water, and not knowing if I truly got hung up on. I’m too much of a punk to dial his number back. But, why isn’t he calling me back?
“What did he say,” Jamie leans against the wall. I’ve never had the strength to rehash the entire story to Jamie, but my friend Googled Milo. Thousands of articles have slammed Detective Milo Benincassa and the Los Angeles Police Department. “Reese, what did he say?” Jamie’s head tilts slightly.
“Nothing,” My eyes rim with tears, shoulder’s hunched.
“Oh no, Reese’s Pieces.” His shoulders rise as he takes a deep breath.
“Evan hung up. Evan hung up.”
Jamie pauses, taps his foot and then shrugs, “So he could’ve been driving through a tunnel.”
“In Los Angeles?”
“Could’ve been cell phone service,” he mumbles another theory. Then Jaime looks me in the eye, satisfied with his statement and elaborates, “That’s exactly what it was, I’m sure. Hanging up is a bitch move. I refuse to believe Evan would even be so cruel. So, his cell phone reception dropped. Look, no boys allowed tonight, okay, Reese? We’ll call him when we wake up, and if Evan is acting brand- new—not to say he was— I’ll beat his ass for you.”
“Yeah,” I barely get the word out.
Jamie steps out of the room. I’m free to call, beg, and plead with Evan to still want me. But I’m too chickenshit to try and dial Evan back to confirm he had a weak signal. Before tears can stream down my face, I take a deep breath and submerge into the warm water. The bubbles tickle and soothe my soul. As I lie beneath the surface, I force myself not to cry even though I’m enveloped in liquid.
THUMP
The sound of a gun going off makes me jump into a seated position. There's water in my ears. I rub the wetness from my face as what sounds like a very bad scuffle comes from the living room.
“Jamie, turn it down!” I glance at the clock. Dang, I’ve been lying beneath the surface with only my nose barley above for almost thirty minutes. This used to be a seldom pastime of mine when dad and mom argued. They’d cuss to high heaven, and then they’d make up just as passionately. The water helped cut out the shouting and the moaning. It beat putting a pillow over my head, and getting too hot or having a hard time breathing.
As I start to sit up, I add, “And wait for me, I want to see Tom too!”
I wash off the remnants of sugar and arise from the water which is now lukewarm. Upon turning off the jets, the fighting isn't as loud as before. Geesh, he had to have had the television up to the max.
I step into my bedroom, thick towel around me. Another crash makes my shoulders jump.
“Damn you, Jamie! Don’t masturbate to Tom Hardy on my couch again! That's why you don't have a date on a Friday night.” Yeah, this quip can turn around and bite me in the ass, seeing as we're rolling Dutch tonight. But my friend doesn't respond. I slap lotion on my body, trying not to caress too much as I lather, since my mind is muddled with thoughts of Evan.
My face is stuck in a perpetual frown. I’d glanced at my phone after getting out of the tub. He still hadn’t called back. As I zip up the front of my action-figure pajama pants, I tell myself this is a girls’ night in. Me and Jamie. No men allowed. Just a veggie and fruit tray! I’ll deal with Evan tomorrow.
Before stepping out of the bedroom, I snatch up my phone.
“Jamie, so help me God, I’m going to call him!” I start out of the bedroom. “That asshole said he loves me, repeatedly! Just the mention of my father’s name will not make him run...”
I stop ranting. I stop stalking into the living room as I stand at the tip of the short hallway. The cell phone slides from my fingertips, and lands soundlessly on the plush carpet. There's broken glass all over the kitchen floor to the left of me. Before my eyes, Jamie is turning from a rich shade of brown to a dull shade of gray. There’s a Jackal emblem on the back of the vest of the man who’s choking Jamie out against my coffee table that is also broken. My best friend is powerlessly lying on fragments of shattered glass.
There are more motorcycle guys in the room. And the one whose dark eyes I once pegged as sexy and devilish locks onto my gaze. He's the biggest, buffest one.
“Hello, Reese. Looking adorable, doll. Adorable enough to eat.” Riker licks his lips.
Bile torpedoes up from the pit of my stomach and burns along my esophagus. A quick gulp forces it back down.
“Don’t you worry that pretty lil’ head of yours, Reese. Little do you know, that a few minutes ago, you just saved your life.” He points toward my cell phone. “I'm gonna need you to pick up that there phone and dial our mutual friend.”
“Friend? I… saved my life…” I barely breathe the words. Then I suppose my father’s genetic makeup rears itself and kicks me in the ass. Or something like that, because I can't fathom how I am pummeling the guy choking out one of my best friends.
“Stop it!” I scream.
My fists move rapidly against his back, his neck. When my knuckles connect with the back of his skull, I inwardly wince.
Riker is up in a second, his bicep grips around my waist and he pulls me away. I lash out, nails biting into his arms. And I end up kicking one of his goons in the nuts.
The guy, with ‘Cash’ as his nameplate on his vest keels over. “You stupid cunt, I oughta...”
“Alright, alright. Breath. It's all good,” Riker orders. “Like I said, we have a mutual friend; I wouldn't dare lay a hand on Evan’s old lady, so you're safe.”
My chest is heaving.
“I'm Riker by the way.” He holds out his hand.
I hock a loogie. Goop drips from his thick, beefy fingers. For the moment, Riker doesn’t move. His hard, chiseled face is a mixture of shock, anger, hate. The astonishment shines through that he has probably never been so disrespected in his life.
“See, you aren't listening to my words.” Riker says, wiping his hand on his jeans. The devil is in his eyes. This asshole could have backhanded me through the friggen drywall and across the street. Yet here I stand.
He makes a weird sound, one that a rider would give his horse. The man kneeling over Jamie, lets up from choking him and stands.
“You got me repeating myself, sweetheart. I mean you no harm. But that disgrace to society is fucking dead, Reese.” He points at Jamie, eyes full of warning. “All I need you to do is talk to Evan once he gets here. Tell ‘em how we all wanna play nice. Instead of my previous intentions of fucking your dead body sideways, I’ve decided to use my brains instead. Right now, I need me an inside man.”
“Inside man?” I mumble. My skin crawls at just the thought of his slimy hands all over me. I can’t blink, if I do, my mom’s boyfriend, the one Jamie snapped and murdered is touching me. A stolen caress here and a quiet whisper there.
He nods, the faintest bit of a devilish smile resurrects those thick lips. My eyes burn from not blinking.
Someone in the background speaks, holding up my cell phone. “Riker, seems like Evan got our calling card. I think he's on the way. Called lil’ missus a bunch of times just now.”
“Well, that raggedy piece of junk,” Riker shakes an electronic device. “This cell phone blocker works when it wants to work.”
He throws it against the wall behind me. I do not flinch.
“You're tough, Reese's Pieces.”
SLAP. The reaction is instant on my part. My entire palm prickles with fire as I place my hand back at my side. There’s a handprint on the side of Riker’s face. He laughs boisterously, yet there’s no tit-for-tat, and I’d pegged him as just petty enough to do so.
“Like I said, Reese, you're a tough little cunt. Got that fire in your eye like daddy.”
My entire body freezes.
“Oh boy, she didn't know,” he whoops and hollers to the benefit of his crew as they all laugh. The bully taunts me, “When you first said it into the phone to Evan, I could’ve sworn I was going a lil’ crazy in the fucking head. Blamed it visiting my meth labs every once in a while. Then Cash heard you saying it to this fucking disgrace over here,” Riker gives Jamie a disgusted look, “while I made certain promises to your stepbrother. Certain promises that I won’t be able to keep under the circumstances. So don't worry, doll. You can be a tough little bitch if you want to. I ain't gonna hurt you. I'm a man of my word.”
“Fuck you! A man? A man doesn't lay a hand on–”
His hand clamps around my throat. My fingers claw at Riker’s but he doesn't squeeze.
“Now, I can’t have a lady telling me what a man does,” his tone is smoother than the finest silk. “Like I just said, Reese, I ain't gonna hurt you. I haven’t even begun to do you any harm. You're the old lady of my new friend. Our mutual friend.”
“What do you want from Evan?” Terror prickles at my spine. Why does bringing my stepbrother into the equation strike me with an unimaginable dread?
Riker’s eyes are bright with interest. “I want him to obtain all of the glory your father once did. Milo was the inside-boy. Evan can follow in his footsteps.”
Can’t be more than ten minutes, but it seems like ages have passed away by the time Evan arrives. Jamie and I are seated on the couch between two rednecks. My friend’s throat is swollen, and the makings of a black eye have begun to swallow hi
s usual cat-like glare.
We're a pathetic, sad sight, donning Avengers pajamas–How ironic.
There’s a knock at the door. It’s just opened a crack, chain still connected to the frame.
“Pass over your guns and weapons,” Cash orders from right behind the door.
A grumble comes from the other side, and then a Glock is passed.
“Give me the gun strapped at your ankle, Evan, I ain’t no dummy,” Cash chuckles.
A snub-nosed revolver is passed next.
The door closes. The chain clinks as it drops from its snug fit and Cash allows Evan to enter. “Hands up, see, I could be an officer too,” Cash is all smiles as he pats Evan down. “You ain't called the cops?”
“No,” he growls.
Fuck.
“Very noble of you, friend. Very noble,” Riker tells him.
“Friend?” Evan barks. He’s trying to meet my gaze, but my gander casts to the ground in shame since Riker knows just who my father was.
“Oh,” Riker glances at the two of us in amusement. “The missus hasn't told you?”
Evan glances at me once more. The warmth of his gaze almost bathes me in his confidence, but my gander is glued to the floor.
Cash takes the phone from Evan’s back pocket. “Nice digs. What is this, feels good?”
“South American Vicuña,” Evan mutters.
“Vi what?” The guy asks.
Evan glances at me and then he repeats himself. I take the chance to look at him. Our eyes lock. I try to gage what he wants from me, but Riker cuts in.
“Fuck the suit,” Riker snaps. “Evan, back to our new found friendship. Your bitch is as sweet as she was before I arrived, and she hasn’t been touched. But I take it you didn't understand.” His hands move in an exaggerated manner as he says, “I wouldn’t dream of placing a hand on the daughter of Milo Gianni motherfucking Benincassa...”
24
Evan