“Do you like it?” a feminine voice asks. “It called to me when I entered this suite. I bought it and I’ll be taking it home with me to Miami. It was painted by a local artist here in Logan’s Beach. A very talented young woman the artist is, don’t you agree?”
A very beautiful woman with a clear complexion and perfectly tanned skin steps beside me. She, herself, is a work of art. Perfectly pressed white suit, French manicure, and waves of shiny black hair.
“Yes, it’s beautiful,” I agree, turning back to the painting. The more I look at it, the more detail I discover. “Although, I admit, I don’t know much about art. I’m more of a facts and science kind of person, but my sister, Mindy, she’s the artist in my family. All I know about art I learned from her. She would love it though. That I know for sure.”
“Ah, I see,” she tilts her head toward the painting. “Do you know who she is? This woman in the painting?”
“An angel of some sort?” I ask, referring to her wings.
“Do you know any of the stories of Nemesis, the Greek goddess of revenge?” She folds her hands together behind her back.
“I don’t believe I do. The stories I read as a kid were mostly real stories. Case studies. Scientific papers.”
“Ah, well, there are many stories about Nemesis. She liked to point out the arrogance of men. One such story is when she took a young man, Narcissus, to a fountain and showed him his reflection. He fell in love with his own image and couldn’t leave the fountain. Eventually, he died there, alone.” She looks at me.
“Sounds like my father,” I mutter.
She laughs. “Mine, too.”
I look at the mask covering Nemesis’s eyes. “Why does she wear a blindfold?”
“Because, revenge is selfish and blind. She knows this as the truth even though it’s the reason behind her very existence, but also, because men often see what they want to see, even if that means being blind to the truth. Revenge itself is selfish. Revenge for the sake of others? That’s—”
“Love,” I finish for her.
“Very good.” She nods. “I knew that I would like you, Michaela Lovejoy.”
The praise from this complete stranger makes me smile.
She flashes me a bright white smile encased in perfect red lips.
I’m the last person alive that anyone could ever consider a sexist. I’m a feminist, for fuck’s sake, but I admit that I’m guilty of making my own assumptions about the person whose been supplying The Reich’s drugs. I pictured a man a lot like Darius, but this woman is nothing like Darius. Her long eyelashes flutter as she walks over to an iPad on the table, swiping and tapping on it several times before looking back up. Her face is slightly rounded, giving the impression of youth while the intelligence and wisdom in her eyes and her perfect posture tells me she’s probably more around her late thirties.
“Come here. I’ve been waiting for you,” she says with a Spanish accent. “There is much more you want to discuss with me than art, no?” She pushes the iPad away just as a little boy runs into the room and throws himself against her.
“Mami, Didi hit me again!” he cries into her shoulder, wrapping his arms around her neck like a little, chubby-armed python.
She unlatches him and clasps his hands in hers. “You tell your sister that I said not to hit you, and I’ll have words with her when I’m done with the lady, okay, Papi?”
The little boy looks over his shoulder at me and gives me a dismissive, bored look before turning back to his mother. “What does the gringa want?”
“That’s what I need to find out, and the sooner you leave us to conduct our business, the sooner I can join you and tell your sister not to hit you anymore.” She releases him, extracting him from her body, and taps a manicured finger to the tip of his nose. “Okay?”
The little boy can’t be more than four or five, but when he jumps from her lap to leave, he pauses long enough to say, “I thought you weren’t doing business with dirty, lying gringos anymore?”
“Go!” she says, shooing him with her hand.
I cover my mouth with my hand to hide my laughter.
She laughs and claps her hands together. “Kids,” she says to me before refocusing on her son. “Yes, but I never said anything about gringas.”
He shrugs and runs to a set of double doors. For a second, it looks as if he’s about to collide with them, but at the last minute, they open as if by magic, and he scurries through without missing a beat. “Mami said to stop hitting me, Didi, and to stop being a puta.”
The doors shut, and she turns back to me. “As I said, kids. Do you have any?”
I shake my head. “No, I don’t. Honestly, I’ve had a lot going on in my life. I’ve never really thought about it.”
She sits on one of the plush white chairs, crossing her legs at the ankles. She taps her nails on the table. “You know that I research everyone I grant a meeting with. And your background is quite impressive. A doctor, right? So, tell me. Why is a smart girl like you wrapped up in the bullshit underbelly of Logan’s Beach?”
I could ask her the same but I’m in her house so I refrain.
I hold her gaze. “My father. He was one of the founding members of The Reich.” I keep myself from grimacing at my own words.
“Ah.” She wags her finger. “I remember him. Smart man, but still…a man.” She gestures to a comfortable chair caddy corner to another. There’s a small table between the chairs with a glass decanter and two crystal tumblers. “Am I not what you were expecting?” She picks up the decanter and pours two drinks before she sits.
I perch myself at the edge of the chair. “More like an unexpected surprise, but a good one.”
She unbuttons the jacket of her suit and hands me a glass of the amber liquid. She leans back and crosses her legs once more, smiling at me over the crystal glass. “It’s okay. I get it all of the time. Everyone expects someone in my position to be an old white man with a cock, and they are all just as surprised as you are to find a Latina, a woman, at the helm of such an empire.”
“I didn’t mean to be surprised. I’m actually kind of mad at myself for it,” I admit.
She waves me off. “I would do the same. I got to this position through hard work and by killing my bastard of an ex-husband.” She leans forward and hooks her finger for me to do the same. I do, and she looks around before whispering, “Do you know what I do when men think they can take advantage of me just because I am a woman?”
“What?” I whisper back, genuinely interested.
She leans back and chuckles, swirling the liquid around in her glass. “I show them who has the bigger dick. And just so you know, it’s always me.”
I think I like this woman. “I’ll keep that in mind in the future.” I like her, but I’m also kind of afraid of her. Maybe, that’s why I like her. It seems to be a running theme with me. I’m also kind of scared of Pike half of the time.
“I am Carmen Rivadulla.” She extends her hand.
“Pleasure to meet you,” I accept her handshake, which is firm and steady. She never takes her eyes off mine as I answer. It’s a power move. I can respect that. “Thank you for seeing me.”
“So,” she says, clapping her hands and setting down her glass. “What brings a beautiful young woman like you to see me? You don’t look like the standard issue member of the Fourth Reich.” She looks me over and pauses. “My guess is that is because you’re not.”
“You’re right. I’m not. I’m here because I need your help.”
“Is it boy troubles? Because I’ll tell you now that I’m out of the killing because he broke your heart business. That was a one and done, and although my husband deserved it, it doesn’t mean I’m going to make a habit out of it.” She thinks for a second. “Unless the son of a bitch hit you or your child. For that, I can grant an exception.”
I almost spit out my drink. I wait for a second to force it back down my throat so I won’t spit it all over her suit that probably costs more than everyth
ing I own. Actually, it could be a suit from a thrift store and would still cost more than everything I own. I shake my head and set down my glass next to hers, being mindful to use the shell coaster. “No, no broken hearts here. Well, yes, I have a broken heart, but it’s not relevant as to why I’m here. I’m here on business. I have a proposal for you.”
She nods her head slowly looking slightly impressed. “I understand, but broken hearts are always relevant. They are the motivation behind everything we do. We cry, we eat, we breathe, we fuck, we kill. All in the name of love. So, tell me, is love the motivation behind what brought you to me today?”
If she were anyone else, I would deny or deflect, but the way she’s looking at me as though she can not only see my thoughts, but has experienced everything I have been going through, is not something I want to fuck with. Not with someone as dangerous as her and not when the stakes are so damn high.
“My family died,” I admit. “They were murdered.” I grimace because even though this has been my truth and my life for years it still feels like a knife to my gut when I hear the words spoken aloud. “The man who killed them is currently one of your buyers, and I’d like to propose an alternative to selling to him.”
“An alternative?” she asks, raising her eyebrows.
I take a deep breath. “I want you to cut him out.”
She leans forward with her elbow on her knee. “Ah, now we get to the interesting part.” She waves her hand. “Go on. Tell me more.”
I lay it out for her clearly and precisely. “Darius Alban is the buyer. I propose you cut him off, and in exchange, I will bring you a new buyer, not for heroin but for MDMA. Double the quantity, almost triple the profits.”
“Ah, Darius.” She looks up at me, and for a second, I think I’ve lost her. “He used to be quite a man, but he’s since become…how you say, a misguided prick.” She picks up her glass and taps a perfectly manicured red fingernail against the rim. She twists her lips and looks to the glass before finally speaking. “I do not like that racist motherfucker as much as the next human being, but he is a large buyer and to drop him and run that risk, I would need at least four times the profit, triple the quantity.”
“Done,” I say, leaning back in my chair.
“Ahhhhh,” she says, wagging a finger at me. “You did not lead with your best offer. I knew you were a smart one. I accept. Just know that if you do not pull through on your end of the bargain, that it will not end well for you.”
“I’m aware,” I tell her. I don’t add that there’s a possibility that it won’t end well for me anyway. “And so is Pike.”
“I realize now why he wanted to send you. He knew we would get along. Good,” she says, slapping her hands on her knees.
“Wait, he wanted to send me? I thought he said you wouldn’t see him because he isn’t a member of the Reich. Because you two have no business together.”
“All of that is true, except I’m always accepting new proposals. I, too, was surprised when he said he was sending his woman instead, but I understood when he told me that this is personal for you and that you needed to handle this on your own. I like that in a woman. Take charge of your own destiny. Handle your own shit. You are much like me in that way.” She takes a sip of her drink. “Now that the business is all done, tell me, before the wild wolves posing as my children barge in again, what, exactly, did Darius do to you for you to want to ruin him? Tell me the entire story. This, I will not negotiate.”
“It’s not—”
She holds up a hand. “Do not say that it is not relevant, because it is,” she says. “Also, I like to know the reasons for why I’m crushing a man. It…” She wrinkles her nose. “How do you say…increases the pleasure.”
I pick up my glass, take a swig, and because I have nothing to lose, I talk. But I don’t just talk. I tell her everything.
Every. Fucking. Thing.
My family. Pike. Darius. Percy. My sister.
All of it.
“That sounds like Darius,” she says, tapping her finger against her glass. “Although, when I first met him, he went by another name. He was another man completely. He didn’t have this hate rotting in his gut. He was a businessman, like any other. He used The Reich as an excuse to form an army. A shadow over the real business at hand.”
My heart thrums hard and fast within my chest. “What other name did he go by?” This is the other reason I came here today. Get info that could destroy Darius. I flex my fingers which are shaking in anticipation.
Carmen smiles and leans back in her chair. “That information will cost you an additional ten percent on the first shipment.”
I smile back and mirror her position. “Done.”
“Ha! Again, you impress me,” she says. “Let me tell you all about this person you know as Darius…”
By the time I leave the hotel, I’m carrying with me a proverbial tank-full of informational fuel. Enough to set fire to Darius and burn down The Reich.
I find a payphone outside of the hotel and dial zero. “I’d like to place a collect call to Pike’s Pawn in Logan’s Beach.”
The phone rings, and after a moment, there’s an answer. “Pike’s Pawn, this is Thorne. Yes, I’ll accept the call.” There’s a pause as the line connects. “Mickey, is that you?”
“It’s me. Is Pike there?” I turn to face the street with my back against the phone.
“Mickey! Hey, I was just thinking about you. Mindy is here with me, too.” She pauses and laughs. “She says hi. But no, Pike’s not here. He just stepped out. What’s up?’
“Can you give him a message for me?” I ask, looking around to make sure that no one is watching me or listening.
“Yeah, of course. Go ahead.”
I take a deep breath. “Tell him that I have what we need. The plan is a go.”
14
Pike
Football players get themselves psyched up before a game by yelling in one another’s faces or by imagining their competition drowning their dog. I psyche myself up with pain. My own pain. And for me, there’s no better pain than a new tattoo. I remove the plastic wrap from my forearm and gaze down at the fresh ink of Mickey’s name scrawled in elaborate script from the inside of my elbow to my wrist. A reminder of who I’m fighting for and what’s at stake tonight.
The real thrill comes from not just being able to see this through, but knowing that after tonight, Mickey is coming home.
Checking the clock, I realize I only have a few hours. I check the security cameras before heading back up to my apartment to shower and make a few calls to make sure the final arrangements are in place. The bell rings above the door.
Turning around, I spot Jo Jo without her usual hat. Her long blonde hair is dirty and tangled. Her clothes are torn. She’s only wearing one shoe. There’s a fresh bruise forming on her cheek and another along her jaw.
“What the fuck happened?” I ask, rushing over to her.
“Yeah, I’m fine.” She shrugs, trying to act tough, but her lip is quivering. Blood is caked at the corner of her mouth. “Betty’s boyfriend roughed me up. Said I wasn’t pulling my weight around the house.” She looks up to me with sad, hope-filled eyes. “Pike, do you think I can stay here for a little while? Just until he cools down.”
“No. You’re not staying for a little while. You’re staying. Period. You ain’t going back there. Not to Betty’s and not back into the fucking system. Not now. Not ever,” I assure her as rage boils in my veins. “Thorne!” I bark.
Jo Jo jumps back, then smiles her apology at me when I’m the one who should be apologizing to her for scaring her.
Thorne runs in from the back room. “What’s up, boss?” She spots Jo Jo and sets down her clipboard on the new glass case that’s just arrived to replace the one I shattered.
“Bring Jo Jo upstairs. Give her some food, and set her up with the PlayStation,” I order.
We exchange knowing glances. “Of course,” she says with a smile hiding her obvious concern. “
Where are you going?”
My jaw tightens. “To take care of some shit I should’ve taken care of a long fucking time ago.”
“Just make sure you’re back in time.” She looks up at the clock above the counter.
I have three hours before Darius’s birthday celebration is underway. Plenty of time to remind these fuckers that they messed with the wrong fucking kid.
Thorne ushers Jo Jo from the room. Before they hit the stairs, Jo Jo looks back at me with a sad smile. “Thanks, Pike.”
“You’ll never have to go back there,” I repeat, needing her to know that my promise is a real one and not one spoken out of rage.
I race to Jo Jo’s foster parents’ house and pull my truck into the center of the lawn. I enter without knocking and drag Betty’s boyfriend out into the yard by his hair while Betty screams from the porch. “You do not fucking hit kids,” I roar as I land my fist into his face. “You will never fucking touch her again!” I rain down punch after punch, going blind from rage, taking out everything from my childhood out on this terrible excuse for a fucking man.
When I finally come to, I find a pair of cuffs that aren’t mine around my wrists, in a place that I’ve been before and recognize immediately.
The back of a squad car.
* * *
“You’re free to go. Your sister sprung you.” The officer says, opening the cell door.
My sister?
At first, I think that the officer is confused or that whoever is here lied to them and said they were my sister to gain access to me, but then, she appears at the end of the hallway, and the truth I wasn’t able to see before this very moment becomes all too clear. It comes in the form of five foot, seven inches of piercings and bright orange hair.
Pawn: The Pawn Duet, Book Two Page 14