by LP Lovell
"I'll go," he says.
I shove his chest and he falls back into the mattress. "No, I'll go." I stand to my feet and lean over him, kissing him quickly. "She'll get drunk off your breath alone." I smirk and go to the door, yanking a robe from the back.
Cayla sure knows how to pick her moments.
3
Jude
The waves lap against the rotting wood of the pier. And I wait. I pull a smoke from my pocket, light it, and take a deep drag, letting the smoke roll from my lips as I stare out over the turquoise waters. The sound of the approaching motorboat sputters through the air. I take another puff, watching the old Cuban man dab the sweat from his brow as he steers the boat in. It bumps the side of the pier and he stands, tossing a rope to me. I pinch my cigarette between my teeth as I catch the rope and loop it around one of the wooden posts.
"Hola, mi amigo. Tienes un paquete para tu."
I narrow my gaze on him. "Fucking hablo Inglés."
"Package, I have a package for you," he says. He leans over, his heavy gut sitting on the edge of the boat as he pulls out a leather bank bag and hands it to me. I unzip it, counting through the money before I take another puff off my smoke and toss the cigarette into the water. Nodding at him, I untie the rope and throw it inside the boat before I make my way back down the pier.
I cross the hot sand and make my way up the hill toward my bar. The tunes of Bob Marley carry out through the open doors, and I grab onto the wooden handrail as I step up onto the porch. A nice breeze hits me when I walk inside.
Pepe's short, balding ass is standing behind the bar, wiping the counter down as he sings along to the music. Pulling the bank bag from my waist, I walk straight to the bar and place it on the counter. Pepe looks up and grins as he slides it across the bar. "Bueno tardes, señor,” he says as he leans down to unlock the safe underneath the bar. “Gabriel's outside."
"Thanks, Pepe."
I weave between the few tables inside and push open the doors that lead to the patio. Gabriel's sitting at a table right outside the exit, sipping a beer and staring out over the blue water. He hardly looks like a cartel boss right now. He blends in so well with the tourists, the locals. And isn’t that all part of it? Blending in. I pull out a chair and take a seat at the metal bistro table across from him. "I like what you've done with the place, amigo," he says, smiling.
"It works well enough for drunks," I laugh. "And it's a good enough front to launder money through." He nods and takes another drink of his beer.
We sit in silence for a moment, both taking in the serene surroundings, but my mind keeps veering back to last night. To Jesús’ guy. I didn't want to go into it with Gabe last night. And there’s no way in hell I would have brought it up in front of Tor at dinner… "Gabe," I say, leaning back in my chair and pulling a smoke from my pocket. "Did you find out any more about why the fuck that guy was in my garden?" I light the cigarette and stare at him.
"Well, it doesn't take much for Lopez to try and kill me.” He folds his hands behind his head and shrugs one shoulder. “You know this."
"Yeah, yeah, I get that, but why the fuck was he at my house?" I blow smoke through my lips. "You said he was already there when you got there. What the fuck was he doing there, Gabe?" A moment of panic rips through me. What if the cartel actually wants me after all this time? Jude Pearson is dead for all intents and purposes. I use an alias with any business shit I handle—anyone I talk to aside from Gabe—but I’m not stupid. I know their reach is long.
“Domingo?” I ask.
He tilts his head to the side. “They’d have sent a lot more than one guy if they knew about Domingo.”
I drum my fingers over the table, my nerves firing off like firecrackers. “Then why?”
"Good question, mi amigo. You know how these things work. Killing me serves a temporary purpose. I die and someone else will step into my place, but the money...cut off the money and you do some real damage." He picks up his beer.
"So, they want me dead just because I clean your fucking money?" I drag a hand through my hair. "You've gotta be fucking kidding me."
“Ah,” a slight smirk works over his lips, “no one does what you do."
"There's plenty of fucking cleaners."
He laughs. "Not like you. You are untraceable, like a ghost."
"Well, I'm fucking dead."
"Exactly,” he says with a smile. “You do not exist and therefore, my money does not exist. The Feds must be shitting on themselves trying to find it." He smirks. "Now, I don't have too much trouble with the Feds, but Lopez...he's in Juárez. They are so far up his hole; he feels them every time he takes a shit."
"Look,” I groan, “the sole reason I offered to launder your filthy-ass money was protection since the Feds just hung me out to fucking dry—”
“And look at us now, compadres, amigos.” He chuckles and lifts his beer in the air for a toast.
I glare at him, unamused. “But if this shit is going to fucking get me killed, Gabe..."
"I think he was just looking.” He waves a hand through the air. “Now he's dead, so he's not reporting shit to Lopez. I'll handle it."
"You better fucking kill him," I say.
"I have a guy." Gabriel takes a cigarette from the pack on the table, places it between his lips, and lights it. "He's good. He'll make it messy to send a clear message."
"I can't be dealing with this shit."
"You worry too much, ese." He smiles, blowing out a long stream of smoke.
"You put my fence post through some cartel fuck and I’m not supposed to worry?"
He rolls his fucking eyes at me. "A nobody. It is inconsequential. Lopez is the problem and I will deal with it."
“Inconsequential…” I shake my head. “Jesus, Gabe!”
A woman in a short dress saunters onto the patio with a drink in hand. Her gaze drifts from me to Gabriel and she grins, biting down on her lip. I glance at my watch and push up from the chair, pointing at Gabe. "I swear to god; I like you but you gotta keep your shitty cartel business outta my house."
He waves me off, his eyes now fixed on the woman's ass. "I'll see you this afternoon," he says as I head to the steps on the side of the patio. "Eh, cholita." I hear him whistle at the woman and I just shake my head.
I have a shit feeling about all this, like the little fence post incident has just set off some chain reaction of utter fuck. Maybe I’m just getting old. Too far removed from all the bloodshed and the gore that once dominated my life. I don’t know, but I just can’t shake this ominous cloud hanging over my head.
4
Tor
Today is Cayla’s birthday. I swear Jude is more excited than she is because my two-year-old child is sitting in her high chair eating chocolate cake for breakfast—at Jude’s request.
Jude is shoveling a slice into his mouth as he sits next to her, reading over the morning paper. Cayla already has icing in her hair and a possessed look on her face from all the excitement.
“You can deal with the sugar high from this,” I say to Jude as I wipe frosting from her face.
Marney shuffles into the kitchen wearing sleep pants and a t-shirt that stretches over his ever-expanding gut. He grabs his coffee, glances at Cayla, and flops down at the kitchen table.
"Mommy's mean, isn't she, Cayla?" Jude says, tickling the bottom of her foot. "Doesn't want our little princess eating cake on her birthday.” Cayla squeals, looks at me, and sticks her tongue out. Jude laughs. "See, Tor," he says pointing at Cayla, "she knows you’re in a mood on her special day."
My jaw drops. "You..." I say to her. "Do not side with your daddy. And you..." I point at Jude, "can tell her why she has awful teeth when she's older. Plus, the sedentary lifestyle and cake for breakfast..." I flick my eyes down to his hard stomach. "Careful there, Dad Bod." I smirk.
Jude grins as he shoves another bite of cake in his mouth and lifts his shirt up to reveal his ridiculous abs. "These ain't going nowhere, doll. And as for the teeth," he
takes another large bite, frosting smudging his nose, "that's what dentists are for." He wipes his hand on a napkin and pushes up from his seat, bending down next to Cayla's high chair. "I think mommy needs some cake, don’t you, little doll?" His gaze darts over to me.
She claps and grins, nodding at Jude. "Momma needs cake," she says.
"I'm civilized. I don't eat cake for breakfast, baby," I tell Cayla while eyeing Jude.
"Oh," Jude snorts, "real civilized." He steps toward me, cake in hand as he leans in by my ear. "‘Fuck me like you paid for me, Jude’," he whispers with a laugh. I gasp. "So civilized, doll." He circles around me, tracing his finger over my neck.
"You did not..." I hiss.
"You saying that little phrase has been permanently etched into my mind. Fucking hot as shit." He faces me so Cayla can't see him adjust himself. "Makes my cock hard just thinking about it,” he whispers. “But, about that cake..."
I can feel my face heating as my pulse quickens. It takes me a moment to respond to him. "What about the cake?"
Before I realize what's going on Jude has one of his arms around me, my arms pinned to my side. I can't move. "Jude..." I say with a growl.
Cayla claps, laughing. "Mommy's silly," she says and Jude nods.
"Yep, mommy is really silly." He leans in close to my neck, his warm breath washing over my skin. "Want some cake, doll?" He holds a piece of cake dripping with icing inches from my face.
I lift an eyebrow. "If you assault me with a piece of cake, Jude..."
"Now, why on earth would you think I'd do that?"
"Because you're an arse," I say under my breath, smiling as sweetly as I can.
"Well, that’s not nice." The next thing I know, cake is all over my face. He smears it across my cheek and up into my hair and Cayla goes into a fit of laughter.
I swipe at my fingers over my face and my fingers come away coated in chocolate icing. "Oh, you..." I manage to wipe the icing over Jude's cheek before he ducks away. He runs over to the island, grabbing a handful of cake with his bare hands like a Neanderthal and chucking it at me. I move out of the way and hear Marney groan.
"Shit, boy!"
I glance over and laugh at the huge blob of cake stuck to the side of Marney's thick neck. He sighs, pushing up from the table. Cayla is laughing so hard her little face is red.
"I want down, Dada. Down," she whines, holding her hands up.
Jude walks over and takes her out of her high chair. She immediately scoops a handful of cake from the floor and runs straight at Jude, slamming her hand over the leg of his jeans and smooshing the rich icing into the fabric.
Laughing, I bend over and brace my hands on my knees. Cayla toddles over to me, holding up her cake-covered arms. "Aw, are you defending my honour, baby?" I lift her up and she nods.
"Jesus, I'm outnumbered here," Jude says, wiping the chocolate from his jeans. "Gabe's gonna be here in a few hours. Said he has a surprise for Cayla." Jude smiles as he heads out of the kitchen, flashing that sexy smirk of his. "I'm going to take a shower. You should definitely wash that chocolate off you, doll."
I roll my eyes. "Pervert."
A puffy white cloud rolls across the sun, blocking the unforgiving heat. Jude steps onto the porch and Cayla runs through the garden toward the steps with a daisy in hand. She squeals excitedly as Jude picks her up, holding her in his heavily tattooed arms. I think he's probably her favourite person in the world. She looks over his shoulder, a wide smile on her face as her hazel eyes meet mine.
“You ready for your present, little doll?” Jude asks her.
He steps onto the beach and rounds the side of the house. I follow them. When I come to the front yard I see Gabriel standing with a tiny white pony, it’s mane braided with pink ribbons.
“What the hell is he doing here and why does he have a pony?” I ask dryly.
Gabriel flashes that charming smile of his and I glare. I'm sure he melts the knickers off most women with his model-good-looks and his silver tongue, but I am not most women. "A gift, from me to Cayla," he purrs.
Cayla shrieks and reaches towards the little thing. Smiling, Jude holds her around her waist, popping her on its back. “All little girls want a pony, Tor."
And now we're accepting livestock from Gabriel of all people. Brilliant. I worry that there may a bag of cocaine shoved up the pony’s arse. “Um-hmm, and where is it going to live?” I cross my arms over my chest.
“In the garden. I got it a house.” Jude points across the yard, and sure enough, a little shelter is nestled against the side of the house.
“I’m not picking up its shit," I say.
Marney trudges over to the pony. “Aw, hell. Don’t she look like a little princess on that midget horse?”
“Marney will do it, won't you, Marney?” Jude winks at me.
“Do what?”
“Pick up its shit,” Jude says.
Marney quickly covers Cayla's ears with his wrinkled hands. "Hell nah, I won't."
"Oh, come on, you old fuck." Jude laughs. "Not even for Cayla?"
Marney narrows his eyes and shakes his head, mumbling about shoveling shit. The poor guy is wrapped around Cayla’s little finger worse than Jude is. Marney takes over holding Cayla on the pony and Jude steps beside me, placing his arms around me. He smells so good, that clean scent of linens mixed with his cigarettes.
I roll my eyes. “Most guys buy a stuffed animal, maybe a puppy at a push.”
"And when have I ever fit into the category of 'most guys'?" he rumbles against my neck, trailing his lips along my jaw.
"Nice try," I say, wiggling out of his intoxicating hold. "Don't let her fall off!" I throw over my shoulder as I make my way back to the house.
“Who’s got a pony, huh?” I hear Marney singing. “Little Cayla’s got a pony and Uncle Marney’s gonna shovel it’s shit because he loves you. Yes, he does…”
Dear god, she is going to be so bloody spoilt with these men around.
5
Jude
The crickets chirp in the bushes as the full moon disappears behind the clouds. I sit on the step with my feet in the sand, watching the stream of smoke swirl up from my cigarette. And then, I feel the air change. The crickets silence and my senses heighten because I know I'm not alone. I glance around in the dark just as a silhouette steps out from the side of the house. I slowly reach for the gun tucked in my waist, the metal cool under my palm as I undo the safety. Click.
There's a low chuckle and then the snap of a flint catches before a small flame dances in the darkness. I attempt to make out a face, but the flame cuts out and is quickly replaced by the cherry-red glow of a cigar. "Jude Pearson," he says in a thick Russian accent. The man steps out from the bushes and into the dim glow of the porch light. A thin line of smoke drifts from his lips before a wolfish grin works over his face.
Puffing my cigarette, I stare at him in his tailored suit. Who the fuck wears a suit when it's damn near one-hundred degrees outside? I set my pistol on my lap as I blow a stray stream of smoke from my lips. "And who the fuck are you?" I lift the gun and aim just as four men step out of the shadows with rifles pointed at my fucking head.
The man doesn't blink. "I heard you have no respect. I like that about you." His cigar glows red as he takes another slow puff, his eyes narrowing through the white wisps drifting in front of his face.
"There is no such thing as respect in this world. Kill or be killed." I say, glaring at him down the barrel of my gun.
He tosses his cigar on the ground, smoothing a hand down the front of his fitted jacket. "Fear and respect, so very close together," he says on a smirk. "I, for example, feed on the fear of my enemies. And fear is powerful. Empires are built on it, alliances forged in blood. And of course, there are always those who seek to topple me." He shrugs one shoulder.
"Are you going to tell me who the fuck you are?"
He waves his hand through the air as he takes a small bow. "Ronan Cole."
Fuck. I hold the g
un steady even though my heart's slamming against my chest. I've heard Gabe talk about this crazy fucker. Head of the Russian mafia, a tainted politician—something to that effect. The question is, why the hell is he at my house? "Would you tell your men to get their guns off me?" I say.
He spreads his arms wide and glances over his shoulder at the nearest guy. "They're a little protective. They don't like it when people point guns at me."
"Yeah, well, understandably I don't like it when sneaky fucking Russians show up at my house in the middle of the goddamn night."
He grins and presses his palm to his chest. "You wound me."
I clench my jaw, my teeth grating together as my finger itches over this fucking trigger.
"You can drop your gun.” Laughing, Ronan tosses his head back. “I am not here to kill you. If I wanted you dead, I would not trouble myself to witness it, eh?"
I don't move. Ronan rolls his eyes, curses under his breath, and barks an order in Russian. All four guys lower their weapons and he raises an eyebrow at me, waving his hand through the air with a flourish. I glance at the men surrounding me, all pale and expressionless, and slowly, I place the gun on my lap.
"Now, I need to speak with your friend, Gabriel." He glances over his shoulder and his men wordlessly melt into the shadows.
"I don't know who the fuck you're talking about." I shrug.
He inhales a deep breath, exhaling slowly. "I suggest you do not lie to me, bookie. Or you may end up like Lopez’s sicario, eh?" He lifts one brow.
I swipe my hand over my face and groan. "I'm gonna kill fucking Gabriel..."
"Tsk, tsk." He shakes his head and pulls a small metal tin from his pocket. He opens it and pops another cigar between his lips. "I would like to speak to him first. If he does not prove useful then you may do with him as you please." He dismissively waves his hand through the air. What a week. The fucking cartel, now the motherfucking Russian mob lord. "I only wish to present him with a business opportunity," Ronan says.