Sinner's Revenge

by Kim Jones

  “So the leak on the inside? Is that bullshit too?” he asks, seething.

  “Not entirely. Dorian does think it’s safer for me to have you around. In the event someone gets the idea to take me out. He’s always been a little paranoid. You can never be too sure how people will react when someone new steps up.”

  “And Rookie being your second? What the fuck is that?” he barks, and I know he’s trying to scare me, but I’m too relieved that he’s here to be frightened.

  “It went with the plan.” I shrug. “If you really would’ve killed Clark, then that’s exactly what would’ve happened. I needed you prepared just in case.” Either he isn’t pleased with my answer, or he’s going over it in his head. But then I remember I have a question of my own. “How did you even find me?”

  Digging in his back pocket, he grabs his phone. Holding it up, I see the picture of me and Fin in the bar displayed on the screen. I can’t help it, I smile. “I knew you’d find that.”

  A little tension leaves his face, and eventually, he lets out a sigh. Looking to the ceiling, he mumbles a string of obscenities under his breath. I don’t know if I do it in my shitty attempt to apologize or just because I need to feel his arms around me, but I bury my face in his chest and slide my hands around his waist.

  Without hesitation, he engulfs me in a hug. “Please don’t ever scare me like that again,” he says, his voice deep. There is something comforting about having my ear against his chest as he speaks. The vibration soothing me and making me feel safe. “I’m only asking you to trust me, Diem. I know what you’re fighting for. I’m fighting for it too. But I can’t be here for you if you keep me in the dark.”

  I close my eyes, delighting in the only feeling of protection I’ve ever experienced. He makes me feel secure. Like I can conquer the world as long as I have him to lean on. I don’t answer, because I refuse to make promises I can’t keep—especially to him. Pulling away from his chest, I hit the button on the elevator and we’re descending once again.

  Rookie and Clark are waiting in the car at the front entrance. I slide in the backseat with Shady, keeping close to him because I can’t bear the feeling of distance between us. I’d waited too long to be near him and I wasn’t ready to let go just yet.

  “Clark,” Shady says, taking charge while I stay lost in my own thoughts. “I need a sweep of room 1859. Rookie, get Cleft on standby. We got some stuff coming his way.” I meet Clark’s eyes in the mirror, giving him a nod and confirming Shady’s orders.

  “You okay, ma’am?” Clark asks, refusing to move the car until I answer him.

  “I’m fine,” I say, but it doesn’t appease him. “My head’s still a little fuzzy from the hit. Shady’s taking lead on this one until I can think straight. Do as he asks, please.”

  He nods. “Yes, ma’am. Should I call Dorian?”

  I level him with a look, although I know he didn’t mean any disrespect. But I hold tight to my authority, even though every minute that passes it feels more and more like a façade. “I might have taken a hit, but I’m still in fucking charge. Now, unless you want to call Dorian to ask for a promotion, I suggest you do the job that was given to you.”

  A sparkle of respect dances in his eyes as the corner of his mouth turns up slightly. “Yes, ma’am.”

  As we drive away, I pull the jump drive from my back pocket. “This is a list of every Death Mob member old and new along with all their information. Family, background history, addresses, phone numbers—everything you need. I’ve been working for two years to get this. Don’t fuck it up.” I hold it out to Shady, who offers me a smirk.

  He’s so much better at all of this than me. The more power I have, the more I want to give it away. Maybe I’m not cut out for this life. But Shady? He was made for it. Taking the drive from my fingers, there is a sadness in his eyes. He can see right through me. I’ve always been good at concealing my thoughts, but I’ve never been able to hide them from him.

  He knows I don’t want this. And he hates it for me. He doesn’t have to tell me, but the promise is there. I can feel it. He’ll do everything in his power to protect me. Whether it’s from my father. From my family. Or even from myself.

  29

  SHADY

  WE MAKE IT back to the hotel and I get busy sending the files straight to Cleft from my laptop. I’m not sure what Diem’s plan is for it just yet, but I won’t move forward on anything until I have a say-so from her. Two years of enduring who knows what is a long time for me to just take this from her without giving her the satisfying glory. Whether she wants it or not, I don’t know. But it will be her who makes that decision.

  She shows up to my room freshly showered, beaten, and looking completely exhausted. My blood boils at the sight of the bruise on her cheek. Fin deserved a hell of a lot worse than what he got. “I need sleep and it comes better with you.” I couldn’t agree more, and open the door further, inviting her in.

  “I’m gonna shower,” I tell her, while she helps herself to one of the bottles of whiskey at the minibar. She grabs a cigarette from my pack on the dresser, lighting it before giving me a nod.

  I take my time, giving her some space. I know she feels more comfortable having me here, but she still needs to reflect on everything that happened tonight. I don’t know what she endured in the moments before I got there, but the evidence on her face paints a picture that leaves me with a pretty good idea.

  She doesn’t seem to be struggling with that as much as she is something else. I just haven’t figured out what it is. Maybe the responsibility is finally taking its toll on her. Maybe she is still feeling the impact of relief that her plan had been productive, even though it wasn’t smooth. Or maybe it was the sight of me stepping up and taking charge that has her feeling inadequate or doubtful. Whatever it is, she has to figure it out on her own. I can’t help her with that. All I can do is be here for her. Which is exactly what I plan to do from here on out.

  Already tangled in my sheets, she flips the covers back, inviting me in. I crawl in beside her, and she curls her body around mine and I turn out the light, rubbing my hand up and down her back.

  “Do you ever feel bad about some of the stuff you do?” she asks, her fingers rubbing circles across my stomach. “Like the killing,” she adds, her tone softer.

  “I’ve don’t a lot of shit in my life. Eventually, you learn to block it out.” I frown in the darkness, realizing how much of a monster I really am.

  “So it gets easier?”

  How can I lay here and tell her that killing people will soon be second nature? She’s a lot of things, but she’s not a lost cause. She’s not me. “How did you feel when you killed Cyrus?”

  “Euphoric,” she whispers guiltily. “But I don’t always feel that way. Sometimes I feel like I’m doing society a favor. Sometimes I assure myself that it was for the greater good. But, most of the time, I hate myself.”

  My heart clenches at her admission. I can relate to what she’s feeling. “You remember that night at the cabin when I came to bed late and you asked if I was okay?”

  “I remember,” she says, her hand coming to rest on my stomach in the same position she kept it that night.

  “I killed two Death Mob Prospects that night.” My eyes close at the reminder, and that sickness returns to my gut. “They were innocent . . . just in the wrong place at the wrong time. I can’t tell you that it gets easier, because it doesn’t. But I can tell you that the only person who can make you pull that trigger is you. Don’t live your life haunted by ghosts, Diem. If it doesn’t feel right, don’t do it. Don’t try to force yourself to be a monster. It’s not worth it. Take it from someone who knows.”

  I feel her hot tears on my chest. I don’t know if she’s crying for her, for me, or for the lives lost. But the effect of her sadness is still the same—it rips my fucking heart out. “I don’t think you’re a monster,” she whispers,
tightening her hold on me.

  No matter how much evil I share with her, she chooses to only see the good in me. She has more faith in my humanity than I do. Even when I can’t forgive myself, she finds the strength to defeat my demons. There are many different definitions of love—she is mine.

  * * *

  With our mission accomplished, there is nothing left for us to do here, so we head back to Hillsborough. The drive is long and silent. Back at my house, the only good-bye she offers me is a promising look that tells me she will see me again soon.

  Rookie and I fly back to Jackpot, where Carrie meets us at the airport. They’ve been without each other for weeks, so I give Rookie and Carrie some time alone and tell them I’ll catch a cab back to the bar. I feel envy at the way Carrie looks at him with a passion in her eyes that transforms Rookie from a one-percenter to nothing but her man.

  What I would give to have that same kind of relationship with Diem. But that’s not possible for people like us. At least not in this life.

  * * *

  Two days later, I’m on the porch at Dirk’s house when I receive a call from an unknown number. “Yeah?”

  “It’s Dorian,” the gruff voice announces, and my heart kicks into overdrive as my mind immediately starts thinking the worst. The worst being, was something wrong with Diem? “From here on out, I don’t want Diem going anywhere without you.” The command is not negotiable. But I wasn’t planning to argue.

  “Done,” I say, already walking inside to pack my bags.

  “Keep her in your sights at all times. I don’t have to tell you your fate if you defy me.” His thick accent makes me think of a movie I saw once where the don told the man that he would be swimming with the fishes. I start to make a joke about it, but think better of it.

  “I understand. Is there something I should be concerned about?” I shouldn’t have asked. If he’d wanted me to know, he’d have told me.

  “There are always concerns in this business.” He hangs up, not offering me anything else.

  I call Diem, and my heart rate spikes when she doesn’t answer. Dialing again, she answers on the second ring, snapping in my ear. “What?”

  “Why didn’t you answer the first time?” I snap back, throwing shit in my bag with a little more force than necessary.

  “Because I’m busy. What do you want, Shady?” She sounds aggravated. I can hear men around her talking, their accents thick and some even speaking in a different language.

  “Business meeting stressing you out, pretty girl?” I ask, lowering my tone.

  She sighs, a sure sign that she is overworked and exhausted. “You have no idea,” she mumbles into the phone.

  “Well, I got a call from your daddy. He wants me to come babysit.”

  “I know,” she says, unaffected by my snarky comeback. “I had to endure his wrath because I didn’t keep you with me after he told me to. I guess he figured he’d pull rank on me.”

  “He did. You okay with that?” I ask, not that her answer will matter either way. I don’t want to swim with the fishes. And I miss her.

  “Do I have a choice?”

  “Nope.”

  I can feel her smile through the phone. “Well, when will you be here? I miss ordering you around.” I know she misses me too, even though she refuses to admit it.

  “I’m flying out in an hour. I’ll be there by dark.” Hanging up, I throw my bags over my shoulder, locking up Dirk’s house behind me. Maybe one day, I’ll be able to say it’s mine. And I’ll be able to share it with Diem. But as I mount my bike that rational side of my brain reminds me that will never happen.

  * * *

  Clark picks me up from the airport in Concord. If he’s here to get me, then I know that wherever Diem is, she’s safe. He greets me with a nod, and I waste no time picking his brain for information.

  “How is she?”

  He takes a moment to find the right words to say before answering my question. “She’s fine.”

  I smirk. “Are those her words or yours?”

  “Hers,” he answers shortly.

  “Do you believe her?” I ask, lighting a smoke. I offer one to him but he refuses.

  “What I believe is irrelevant.”

  I shake my head, ready to cut through this Mafia loyalty bullshit. “It’s relevant to me. I want the truth, Clark. Your truth. It goes no further than the two of us.”

  Cutting his eyes at me, he gives me a long hard look before glancing at the dash. I follow his gaze to the intercom system that is recording every word we say. With a push of a few buttons, I disable it. “There. Now talk.”

  “She’s buckling under the pressure,” he starts, throwing his sunglasses on the dash and dragging a hand down his face. Damn, he looks like he hasn’t slept in weeks. “Ever since she took over, Dorian’s been testing her. He wants her to appear ruthless so nobody questions her authority. And to do that, she’s been doing nothing but killing since she got into this. Every time she pulls the trigger, I see a little piece of her die.”

  There is no denying the anger in his voice. He’s pissed at how Dorian is handling things, and even more pissed that he can’t do anything about it.

  “You can’t pull the trigger for her?” I ask, knowing that like me, killing comes second nature to a man like him.

  He shakes his head. “He wants her to do it. Like she has something to prove. She doesn’t have shit to prove. She is Diem Demopolous. The Mafiusa. Daughter of Dorian. The underboss. That is proof in itself.” His Greek accent thickens with the rise of his temper. “I do not agree with Dorian, but he is my don and I stand behind him. But Diem.” He lets out a breath. “She is better than this. Better than us.” He looks over at me, letting me know that I’m in that category.

  “How are you tied into Dorian?” I ask, and he’s reluctant to answer.

  “I am his brother.” His voice is low, almost a whisper. He keeps his eyes on the road, ignoring my curious stare.

  “But he said his brothers were murdered.”

  “So he said. Like Dirk, I was protected. But Diem is the future in his eyes. She is the one who will change the face of the Mafia. I am nothing more than a soldier.” His lips curl as he says the words. “But at least I get to watch over the one I still see as a little girl. She needs someone to count on. I know she has me.” He glances over, trying to read me. “Does she have you too?”

  With conviction and promise, I give him my answer. “You’re fucking right she does.”

  On the top floor of the Concord Skyrise Building, Diem is seated at the head of the table surrounded by the Mafia hierarchy. The walls are glass, giving you a full view of the entire lobby and the outside world. After all her hard work, she’d finally made it to the top. But I believe it’s the last place she wants to be.

  I’d slipped my cut on in the elevator. It was my name tag—letting everyone know who I am. Diem wears a name tag too—a white business suit that separates her from the black ties in the room. But it also gives her an angelic appearance.

  I watch her stand, placing her hands on the table and leaning forward. I can see her tone, tanned legs beneath the glass. Fucking skirts . . . they do something to me. She’s portraying her role as Mafiusa, and living up to its name.

  The steel in her spine . . . the grit in her tone . . . the ice in her eyes . . . She’s every bit of the underboss Clark said she was. I look over at him and see pride sparkling in his dark eyes. He’s a big man. Around forty years old. Now that I know the truth, I can see the avuncular role he plays where Diem is concerned.

  “Come on, Clark. Let’s bust up this party.” I move forward with determination. I don’t give a shit how important these men think they are. The woman at the head of the table belongs to me. And I’m the motherfucker who will now and forever be standing to her right.

  I push open the glass doors, drawing the attention o
f everyone in the room. They look down their noses at me. To them, I’m nothing more than biker trash. I’m beneath them. But to her, I’m the only man in the room.

  Walking directly up to her, I ignore everyone as I slide my hand around her waist and pull her in so I can whisper in her ear. “You look fucking delicious in that skirt.” My teeth graze her earlobe before I release her and focus my attention on the men at the table. Their eyes move from me to her and back.

  She has her lip between her teeth, fighting a smile. She can pretend to be unaffected all she wants. But I know she’s turned on, and dammit if I am too.

  Clearing her throat, she addresses the room. “Gentlemen, this is Shady. He’ll be serving as my head of security and our enforcer.”

  “Does Dorian know about this?” one of the older men asks. He looks like a character from The Godfather, and I have to bite my cheek to keep from smiling.

  “Actually, it was Dorian who sent me,” I answer, taking the heat from Diem and putting it on myself.

  The old man stands, buttoning his suit jacket as he does. “It’s hard to believe he would send . . .” His eyes appraise me with disgust. “. . . You . . . for such an important job.”

  “My only job is to protect Diem, which I will do at any cost.” I give him a challenging look, but still try to remain respectful. Even though he doesn’t share the same courtesy. I’m sure at one time, he was a very powerful man, and I never underestimate an OG like him.

  “You know Diem personally?” he quips, giving me a smile that suggests he knows something about our love life.

  I offer him a smile of my own—a cutting one that suggests he mind his own fucking business. “I knew Dirk personally.” The air thickens with tension and the windows frost with the iciness in my tone.

  “I see,” he says, taking his seat. Told that motherfucker.

  Clapping her hands together, Diem absorbs everyone’s attention once again. “Now that we’re through measuring dicks, can we get back to business?”