They had experience when I was only running off the fumes of impulse.
Still…
I nodded for Dominque to go to my car.
Mr. White caught on. “What are you doing, kid?”
“The girl goes with me. I’ll take her to Papa.”
His shoulders stiffened and Mr. Black took a step closer to me. “That’s not your play. We have instructions. You did your part now you get in your car, drive to your gang infested hotel and wait for more. Meanwhile she goes with us and we will finish this up.”
I took a step back, gathering room. Dominique hadn’t stopped walking until she reached my passenger door and ducked inside.
Smart Girl…
“I need her to arrive not dead,” I explained.
“I need you to understand you’re talking to very dangerous professionals, son,” said Mr. Black.
“So dangerous that I almost choked you out?”
And here was another notch to my stupidity. My little show in strength back in the hotel room was due only to luck. I was lucky that they didn’t have the intentions of killing anyone, and wasn’t expecting a naked man behind the door ready to pounce.
Mr. Black took another step forward but Mr. White put an arm up, stopping him.
He didn’t want a mess.
“Think about this, kid. You don’t have a gun and you can’t take both of us.” He held up the garabage bag to show his point.
I shrugged my shoulders and retrieved my gun from under my jacket. “That’s okay, I brought my own.” I kept the gun to my side, but they both knew that it wouldn’t take much to raise it and start shooting. “We’re taking the same ride back, boys. What difference does it make who rides with who? We both get to ride shot gun, at least.”
If they had plans on killing Dominique, I would never be sure, but I was sure that they didn’t like the fact that I hadn’t given them the option.
***
Dominique…
The woman from the balcony, the very one who had touched me, almost kissed me, was sitting next to me. I felt the heat of her body, the lingering smell of roses in the midnight breeze. I could still taste the scent of her as clearly as if I was still standing on the balcony watching the world pass me by. And as the reminiscent scent of her brushed passed my nose and burned my tongue, the real smell in the car filtered through: fear, death, murder, blood, gunpower.
I used the back of my hand to rub against my eyes, trying to wipe away Jack’s angry, helpless eyes looking up at me, his clouded gaze pleading, begging me not to kill him, and then the defeat in his stare as he realized that his begging had fallen on deaf ears.
And then the tables had turned. It was my turn to watch a man as he comtemplated if killing me would suit his need. I hadn’t looked at him with the look of hope in my eyes, or the look of plead hidden beneath my gaze of fear and shock. I had been arrogant, witty, and cocky in my brief exchange as the prey, and he the hunter.
I laughed to myself as the thought coursed through my head that no matter the act, the resolution was my death – minus the dnouement. And I had been lucky. Dominique took the shot and killed the man who was about to kill me.
And now I wore his blood on my clothes, and what was left of his brain was in my hair.
I pulled into a deserted gas station. I circled the building twice watching for cameras and found none then parked in the back. I wasn’t sure what to expect tonight, but I was glad that I had packed a Body Kit, which contained a bottle of acohol, black garbage bags, a bottle of water and clean clothes. I usually carried the bag whenever I had to work a body, whenever it was time to cut up secrets.
I glanced out into the darken night, watching for any movement or headlights, or some kind of groundskeeper, or midnight guard strutting around looking for action. I waited a few more moments, trying to listen to those new killer instincts of mine, trying to understand them as they spoke a language of caution, coldness and caculation.
And then I figured I was being petulant and stepped out of the car. I yanked my jacket and shirt off and stuffed it into my garabage bag. I undid my belt and stripped my pants off and tossed them into a second bag, along with my socks and shoes. I was well aware of the pair of eyes watching me as I hooked my thumbs beneath the elastic band to my underwear and pulled them down. Dominique silently gasped from the front seat, and I smiled, liking the note of appreciation.
I doused acohol on my hands, chest, back and legs. I grabbed a bottle of water and rinsed the blood and fragments of brain out my hair. I redressed in a clean shirt and a pair of jeans. Dominique was wearing a tight white sweater so I searched the bag and grabbed a blue sweater jacket, wanting to match her clothing, wanting to look like we were together. I combed my hair back and threw a baseball cap on before getting back into the car.
The cleaning and redressing had taken no more than ten minutes, and we were still in the clear. I found another gas station, this one not deserted, but had a few cars parked at pumps and a few people miling around outside, but they barely lifted their heads to me, and paid no attention, or particular interest, as I dumped one of my plastic bags in a dumpster. I found another gas station a few miles down to get rid of the second bag.
Dominque exhaled, running a hand through her long curly hair. “You ever killed before tonight, Tristan?”
I leaned my head back against the head rest, my eyes closing, and a rush of air moved past my lips. The soft raspiness of her voice, the hint of enticement, the subtle hint of sexiness and womanliness, hung around me like a warm hug.
She had been quiet since we left the beach house, and I just now noticed how my body had been yearning to hear her speak.
I finally remembered to answer her question. “No, I have not.”
“Ever have a gun pulled on you?”
“More times than I can count.”
I could feel her curious gaze bore on the side of my face. It wasn’t an uncomfortable feeling. I liked having her looking at me. I liked knowing I had her attention. What I didn’t like was how much I liked these things.
“Why were you at the hotel?” I asked.
“Same reasons you were.”
She was silent for a few lingering seconds. For a moment I thought she wasn’t going to add anything else, but she cleared her throat and continued.
“My father doesn’t like another family in his area. A family being in his area conducting business, tying loose ends, he doesn’t want to be too far away.”
“In other words, you were making sure I didn’t screw up.”
“We were making sure that the crew sent to Miami didn’t botch anything and cause attention to the Lougotti family.”
The answer was understandable. I could see my father making the same decision if another family needed to handle business in our territory. If the job went horribly wrong, it would most likely cause heat on the family in that zone. No one wanted that. No one wanted to get dirty, especially when it wasn’t your dirt.
“Why were you at a safe house?” I asked her.
“My father got wind that my mother was here. He didn’t want her trying to see me.”
“How long has it been since you heard from your mother?”
“I last saw her when I was ten.”
“You miss her?”
She shrugged casually. “When she left, it was the same as her dying. So how can you miss someone when you see them as dead?”
“You can miss the dead, too.”
She turned to me and smiled. “Not the dead that’s really living, laughing, fucking, and too busy to call you.”
The conversation ended there. I turned into the Resort’s parking lot. A valet, a pimply faced kid most likely doing this job to get through school, approached with his hand out. I handed him a ten after he taken my keys – before I left the bodies in the beach house’s basement, I searched the five men’s pockets and had gotten lucky as one of the men had two hundred dollars bills on him.
Dominique and I stood at the threshold to the resort. I
leaned down, brushed my lips against her ear.
“Pretend I’m yours,” I whispered, ignoring the urge to drag my tongue over her earlobe.
Her warm hand slipped into mine. She pressed her soft body against my arm, using her other hand to touch and grab onto my bicep. I pressed my lips against her temple, and lingered, smelling the fragrance off her hair. My lips thinned as a smile crept up. Dominique had tightened her hold on my arm, her body leaning more and more against me.
I loved affecting her. It was only fair; she affected me.
An elderly couple passed us and smiled pleasantly, whispering about how nice the young couple looked.
“How long have you two been married?” The old woman asked as we followed behind them into the elevator.
I leaned up against the wall. Dominique stepped into me and rested her head on my chest.
“We’re not, just met a couple of weeks ago,” Dominique answered as she looked up and met my eyes.
“You look so much in love,” said the old woman.
Dominique smiled against my chest. “My mother’s here, at the hotel, and I’m taking him up to meet her.”
“Have you had your first kiss yet?”
My fingers cupped Dominique’s chin. Her gray eyes trailed up to meet my stare. “She’s making me wait and it’s killing me,” I answered the older woman.
“I imagine it will be wonderful,” the old woman noted. Her voice was almost pained, like the thought of us – as loving as we appeared – hadn’t shown it just yet, at least in a kiss.
Dominique grabbed the front of my sweater jacket, her knuckles whitening as she clenched her hands into tight fists. Her bottom lip was back in her mouth as she appeared hurt at my words.
“You aren’t the only one who’s suffering because I’m making you wait,” she said, “I told you that it has to mean something to you. Until you can tell me how much it will mean then I’ll kiss you.”
And may I taken me to a dream where I wasn’t screwing my dead brother’s wife, and may there be somewhere in a life where I wasn’t so awestruck at the prospect of kissing my dead brother’s wife’s’ daughter.
I used my thumb to rub over the smooth skin of her chin. She released her bottom lip then, and it touched the tip of my finger. I felt the moist warmth and shuddered. I sagged my head to the side, my eyes closed as my heart seemed suddenly too fast.
Not kissing her seemed like hell’s worst punishment.
Dominique asked, “Will it mean something, Tristan?”
Using real names was bad but I hardly cared. I eyed her soft, full lips then I truly looked into her eyes before lowering my head to rest my forehead against hers.
“What will it mean,” she asked again.
“My first breath and my last,” I answered.
Dominique’s hands moved into my hair, pushing away the baseball cap. Her breasts pushed roughly against my chest as she inched away any distance we may have had. Her mouth opened against mine, not yet touching, not yet ending me. I felt her warm breath against my mouth, the slight moisture of her tongue as it rubbed over her bottom lip.
And then, by the grace and mercy and the favor of God, she kissed me.
The kiss was slow and tender. I felt her hands moving around my neck, pulling me forward. I did my best to withstrain as much as I could. Although you may not assume at first glance, I did have some respect. I wanted to respect this couple that was watching us. But soon their presence had dissipated in my mind as I felt her tongue move into my mouth. Dominique’s tongue tasted sweet and I devoured it more and more. She whimpered as I took her bottom lip into my mouth and slowly sucked on it.
Before I knew it the elevator dinged.
It was our floor.
The couple had left and we hadn’t noticed. Relunctantly, I let Dominique go and we exited into the hallway. My face felt hot and I my tongue sizzled inside my mouth. The closer we walked to Lulina’s door, the more I felt like a weight was bearing down on my shoulders. Kissing the daughter of the woman you had been sleeping with for years was sucidial.
Lulina answered on the second knock. She was back to the woman I had always known in her make up and tight clothing. She threw her arms over Dominique and squeezed. Dominique’s hug wasn’t as tight, I noticed.
“Thank you, Tristan,” Lulina smiled at me and leaned over, giving me a peck on the cheek.
It was a funny peck; a sister-in-law kind of peck. I found it funny that not even twelve hours ago her mouth had been pecking on something else other than my cheek. Dominique walked into the room and did not turn around to give me one last glance. With that, I was in a mix of sadness and relief. If she had of looked at me, and if I had of seen the want in her eyes I had seen in the elevator, I might have torn the door down to get to her.
Fire is better left alone.
Yet my clothes were still smoking from how close I was dancing around the flames. I mumbled something to Lulina that I didn’t remember and left. I felt exhausted and alive in the same instant.
I didn’t make it any further than the bar once I made it back to the lobby. I pushed a fifty dollar bill towards the bartender while I lit a cigarette from the pack I bought at the twenty-four hour gift store I had passed to get to the drinks.
I didn’t have time for foreplay with mix drinks and skipped straight to the hard stuff. I was lapping at my fourth drink like a dog, who’d hadn’t had water in days, when Mr. Black appeared at my side. He ordered one beer, took a sip, and then placed a five on the counter and a ringing pre paid phone before leaving.
I grunted into the phone and waited for someone to respond.
It was my father. “Theres two plane tickets, for you and Zander, at the airport for a flight back home in two hours. Johnny’s funeral is tomorrow, Tristan. You need to pay your respects.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Money left on the bedside table… a thank you note too…
Johnny’s death hadn’t been that quiet.
The police had found his body in an abandoned apartment duplex with a gag in his mouth and a bullet tearing the back of his skull open. He hadn’t been beaten, which would have been mandatory for any other who had done what he had done. Somehow he had managed to suck away almost five million dollars from the family’s accounts. It had taken years of patience to pull out that kind of money without anyone noticing.
And that’s where I wondered the absurdity of Johnny’s demise. Johnny was greedy, yes, but he was patient. My brother was smart – well enough to secure a B.A. in accounting and business management – and I, relunctantly, had to give him enough credit, that if he wanted to steal from the family, he would be smart enough not to get caught at it. How my father had stumbled upon the missing funds and finding it in Johnny’s account was something he wasn’t willing to discuss – and I wasn’t willing to ask.
My father looked like he had aged considerably since the last I had seen him. My father was a very strong man, but I figured nothing could prepare anyone for the death of a child, and the death’s responsibility resting very much on your shoulders.
My fathar’s head was down with his hands deep in his pockets. One of his men held an umbrella over his head as the sky opened up and rained over his eldest son’s funeral. I did not wish to have an umbrella held over my head. With the rain, the tears that weren’t on my face couldn’t be seen. I glanced at the dark skies, wishing I didn’t have to sober for this.
When life seemed so low like this, acohol only seemed to soften, and cushioned the decent to the pits of the bottom.
“Oh, God no! Johnny!” Lulina shrieked.
She stumbled from her chair into the mud, using her hands and knees to get to Johnny’s pitch black casket. My father’s men moved for her, trying to help her up but she tore herself away from their hands. I, myself, was too scared to lend a hand, too scared to touch her.
I feared that if my fingers secured even the smallest touch, whatever was whirling around inside of her would latch onto me. Or this could be a per
formance and I would feel nothing as I helped her up, and if it was all for show then I didn’t want to get mud on my suit.
Dominique had been sitting beside her mother. As the preacher mumbled his words, expressing Johnny’s lovely life and his unfortunate end, she had been rubbing her mother’s back, and the gesture seemed forced and very uncomfortable for both parties.
I closed my eyes and exhaled as I listened to the birds as they fled from the rain rather than the words of God. Men in this family tended to be very religious.
I chose not to be.
I believe in God very much and feared him, but my chosen profession was not of God’s intentions for His’ creations.
Praying to Him and thanking Him while you stole from others, robbed and killed, seemed like a slap to His face with a spiked glove.
I watched the back of Dominique’s head. Her hair was pinned up with a butterfly clip. I thought of the butterflies I felt in my stomach when I kissed her. And, as if feeling my stare, she glanced back and met my eyes. The butterflies were back as I stared at her, looked at her well formed pink lips up to her eyes. By far she was more than just beautiful. She was the type of woman who experienced either a luxurious life or a hard one by her face alone. Beauty like hers was a curse to most, maybe even more of a price than a prize.
Dominque looked away, back to the spectacle of her mother dragging her nice fingernails over her husband’s casket, her masscara marring her face, and I went back to looking at the sky, and wishing I was someplace else other than here watching my brother get buried and not crying about it.
***
After the funeral, I fled towards a titty bar with sorry female half covered ass strutting around and shitty lighting and watered down drinks. I didn’t even remember the drive itself to the bar, but remembered laughing to myself as my driver sped away because he didn’t like his very nice car being in a very bad side of town. Zander had elected to stay at my Father’s compound because the drinks were free there, but I had rathered pay for my drinks to get the peace of mind.
Rogue (In the life of the Rogue Book 1) Page 10