Covet (Beautiful Sinner Series Book 2)

by Elena M. Reyes

  I don’t join them.

  Instead, I walk over to her casket and place the peony atop, hand lingering. My eyes close and my chest feels tight. My entire body shakes with a painful rage I have to swallow.

  This is goodbye for now.

  “I love you, Mum,” I whisper, lightly tapping the coffin. “And I promise this will not go without punishment. I’ll bathe the street with their blood in your name.”

  I’ve been biding my time. Waiting.

  Settling my affairs for when the time comes, and I decide on a change of scenery.

  I’m also letting those playing this game move the chess pieces into the position I want.

  They think I’m clueless. That I’ve given up as not a single attempt to find the hitman has been made.

  That is, until now.

  Something the piece of shit inside of an abandoned warehouse in West Hendon Broadway, once used by union workers as their headquarters, doesn’t know. The lights are on and I can hear the heavy thrum of a guitar throughout, but no security outside.

  My eyes shift once more to my informant. “Are you sure?”

  “Yeah.” He’s tweaking a bit; jerky little movements show how badly he’s feigning for a hit, and yet his only request is that I pay his mum’s hospital bills. “Bert was given the guns three days ago as payment for getting Mauricio out of the country. They led him out through the Chunnel to Paris where he later took a flight back to Guatemala.”

  “Guatemala?” I say, looking over at Callum who’s raising a brow. That’s Central America, not the Caribbean, but close. Close enough that he could jump back and forth with ease while withholding just where he lives.

  Smart little cunt.

  He’s also a dead arsehole.

  “That’s what Bert told someone on the phone a few days ago.” Tilting his head to the side, he nods to himself. All the while, his fingernails are tearing into his forearms and leaving deep welts in their wake. “I was emptying the trash in Bert’s office when it happened, and no one looks at the tweaker as a threat, so he carried on as if I wasn’t there. The plan was to take out your father or uncle, an older male, but they were just as happy with it being your mum. They wanted to hurt you, hurt your business, while a larger play is being made. You’re a pawn in a bigger game, Mr. Jameson, and it all leads back to Boston.”

  “Why are you putting yourself in harm’s way?” Callum asks, but I know the answer. I know because this man could’ve asked me for money and drugs and a plethora of shit, but he didn’t He wants his mum taken care of.

  He loves his mum.

  He understands they are not to be touched, and doing so is crossing a line there’s no coming back from.

  “Because I may be an arsehole, but what they did was wrong. Mums are sacred.”

  “Thank you,” I say and reach out to stop him from tearing off more skin. “Now go back to the car and wait there. I’ll take care of the rest.”

  He nods and walks off back in the direction he led us without another word, and I turn around. Look back at the building. Watching for movement.

  “You trust him?” Callum steps up beside me, checking the magazine in his Glock.

  “I do.” His loyalty just bought him a second chance at life. One, I’ll make sure he succeeds at.

  “Then so do I.”

  Pulling out my own weapon, I raise a hand and then point in two separate directions. My men, six in total, know what to do and disburse without a verbal command. Two of them will take their position at the back of this building, and the other four will guard the sides. Two men at each possible exit while Callum and I walk in.

  Literally step right inside the building while the wankers inside are too high to notice.

  There are tables littered with old needles and cheap liquor. Bodies; a group of five men and two women are naked—taking turns fucking in each available hole—while flying high as a kite. Moreover, in the middle of that group of grunting animals is the man I came to pay a visit to.

  Bert Holmes is a nobody trying to play the role of a top dog. A petty dealer at best.

  I’ve let his business slide with the agreement that I take fifteen percent clean off the top and he stays in his lane. This deviation—betrayal—will cost him his life.

  “Everyone with a pussy between their legs has one minute to get the fuck out.” At the sound of my voice all within freeze, shocked expressions traversing their features before the scrambling begins.

  One man to his left reaches for his trouser pocket, but before he can pull anything out, I shoot him in the head. A clean entry and exit wound near the center of his skull leaves blood and fragments of what looks to be his brain on the woman closest to his dead body. Her screams follow; she’s struck with fear and doesn’t move while the other woman runs out naked without looking back.

  “Miss, you have thirty seconds before I do the same to you.” I smile down at her, pointing my gun at the man behind her when he makes a sudden move. My finger on the trigger twitches, his fingers skim over the butt of his gun on the floor, and I shoot. Once. Twice. Three bullets into his chest and he bleeds out at her feet. “Ten seconds.”

  “Please, I’m just here to entertain—”

  “Get the fuck out,” I snarl, walking forward, taking her by the arm and then pulling her to her feet in one swift move. That’s when rationality hits and fight becomes the predominant behavior. She’s thrashing in my hold as I all but drag her toward the door. Yelling at me. Begging. I ignore it all.

  “Make a single move, arsehole, and I’ll shoot,” Callum hisses, stepping forward only to plant his foot on another guard’s head. From the corner of my eye, I see his head snap back but don’t pause my steps.

  “I won’t tell anyone.” The woman is in tears and still not recognizing my chivalry. Not realizing she’s a few feet outside the door. “Don’t kill me.”

  Looking down at her tear-stained face, I lower my voice so only she hears. “Leave and don’t look back. Don’t so much as think of this night again. Agreed?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good.” Taking off my button-down, I give it to her and stay in an undervest. “Now, go.”

  “Thank you.” When she takes off a second later, I head back inside and lock the door behind me, taking in the sudden change in the large and dirty room’s dynamic.

  My men are now inside and standing around the still-alive men on their knees with Bert at the end. All heads are bowed, and some are shaking. Their fear is palpable. The bloodied bodies of their friends with vacant eyes lay before them as a reminder of what is to come.

  “Good evening, gentlemen,” I say, coming to a stop before the first one, another nobody that falls to the ground as I empty the rest of my magazine into his body. “Let’s try this again...shall we?” Coming to a stop beside the next man, I pull out a second magazine from my back pocket, I change it out and then cock it, all the while pointing the barrel at his head. As I do this, the putrid scent of urine hits my nostrils and I tsk in disgust. “Good evening, gentlemen.”

  “Evening,” the three of them mumble, voices shaking.

  “Good job.” It’s patronizing, more so when I pat the pissing lad’s head. “You can follow orders.”

  “Casper, what is—”

  Callum backhands Bert with the handle of his gun, shutting him up and breaking his large nose and two front teeth in the process. “Speak when spoken to.”

  “Today is not the day to test me, Holmes.” My eyes shift to Jeffrey for a split second. “Find them and bring them here.”

  “Right away, sir.” He takes three of my men with him and they walk toward the back, directly toward the unlit section where I know his office is. Their footsteps are loud, more so as they move items out of their way—boxes, a few tarps, and then there’s the subtle sound of a click.

  One by one, lights come on. Each dingy fixture illuminates my belongings.

  My guns. My property.

  Jeffrey removes another tarp and finds a rolling containe
r with wrapped bricks inside. He picks one up, weighing the contents in his hand, and then walks back over, leaving the other three to catalog what is there.

  I’ve brought a large semi with me and they already have instructions to load and leave, which they do silently as one of my employees exits the building. The sound of a large engine follows, the headlights shining our way as he parks it and then they begin the retrieval process.

  “Watch them,” I command, and those three fuckwits do at once, shaking from their kneeling positions. For almost half an hour all that is heard is the sound of items being moved—wooden crates scraping against the floor and out the back loading area. One by one they disappear while Jeffrey stands beside me with a gift for my troubles. “Rubbish or worth it?”

  He tears a corner of the wrapping off and tastes it. “It’s very cheap quality.”

  I nod. Expecting as much. “Callum, please help Mr. Holmes to a chair.”

  “Oi, you heard him.” Callum presses the trigger, shooting the pompous arse in the thigh. “Get up.”

  “This is all a misunderstanding. We can come to—” Bert shuts the fuck up, gritting his teeth after I shoot his other leg. He forces himself to a standing position, wincing as pain radiates throughout his body and blood runs down both limbs. Taking a step forward and then another, he doesn’t stop until he’s standing right in front of the chair my cousin pulled out for him.

  “Do you need an invitation?” Callum waves a hand in the air, the same one with the loaded gun and finger on the trigger.

  “I’m sorry.” No, he’s not. He’s just fucked and knows it.

  “Silence.” The two still on the floor whimper at my barely contained snarl and I shift my attention toward the employee standing behind them. “They so much as move a muscle or cough, shoot them. A bullet for each minute twitch and sound.”

  “Yes, boss.”

  “Now, let’s have a little chat, old friend.” Jeffrey and Callum have moved a table in front of Bert and have added a chair for me, which I take, turning it around and straddling it backward. “How have you been?”

  “Casper...this can be fixed.” He’s sweating profusely, body trembling from either the blood loss or nakedness, as I stare him down. His hands are up in a gesture of surrender, not that it means shit to me, but the longer I glare, the more nervous he becomes. “I didn’t have anything to do with your mum...I swear.”

  “You swear?” Placing the gun down on the table, I pull one of my karambits out from my right pocket and flip open the blade. Its blade glimmers in the low lighting. “Is that right?”

  “Yes, I—”

  “I want your hands flat on the table.”

  “Okay.” Bert does as I ask, palms face down, but he eyes the knife with distrust. And he should. “Casper, I can help you find the man responsible. I-I didn’t...fuck!” His scream rings loud inside the warehouse, the echo bouncing off the walls as I embed the blade straight through the center of his hand and down between his middle finger and pointer, tearing the flesh in two.

  “Your words mean fuck all to me.” Bringing the bloody knife up, I wipe it on my vest before tearing the cocaine brick right down the center. A little bit of the white powder falls to the table and some on my trousers as I push it across to him. “However, you will be helping me. Talk.”

  “Are you going to kill me?”

  “Are you going to talk?”

  “Casper, I’ve been loyal to you and the Jameson family.” Before I can reach across and snap his fat neck, Callum slams his face down into the powder. He holds him there, forcing Bert to pull the substance deep into his lungs as he fights to catch his breath. “Please!” He coughs, hands pushing against the cheap wooden table, the mangled fingers failing to grasp the edge.

  After a minute, Callum pulls him back. “Ready to talk?”

  “All I know is what I was paid for.” He coughs, gagging while his pupils dilate. His speech is also becoming fast, chest heaving rapidly as the high begins to ascend. “Mauricio lives in Guatemala, but that information stayed between Nico Savino and me, as a precaution.”

  “Who’s Nico Savino?”

  “He wants Boston and now the daughter.” Bert wipes his brow, only managing to smear blood across his face. “You’re just the catalyst for that to happen.”

  “How am I involved in this?”

  “You rejected his sister a year ago in Chicago during a visit. Does the name Antonella ring a bell?”

  “No. It doesn’t.”

  “She bloody remembers you, mate, and so does he. They wanted an in here—an alliance—to destroy Cancio.” Bert suddenly shoots up from his chair, the pain from his wounds now nonexistent. “Is it hot in here? I’m sweating bullets.”

  “Why didn’t you come to me when they approached you?”

  “They offered me your position; I’d be an idiot not to accept.”

  “So you let an innocent woman die…my mother…and all because of your greed.” Not a question, and he knows this. Sees the murderous rage that I am fighting to keep under control until I get what I need. He’s a nobody in a long chain of bodies that will bleed for her death.

  “I’m truly sorry for that.” Bloodshot eyes meet mine, and in them, I see euphoria mixed with a hint of death lingering in the background. “Your mum wasn’t something I was made aware of until after, Casper. She wasn’t supposed to die.”

  “You’re just as guilty.”

  He ignores the last part, fanning his face suddenly. “Christ, my heart feels like it’s going to beat right out of my fucking chest. Can you turn on the fan?” Then, like the piece-of-shit lowlife he is, he walks over and does another small line and then smiles at me as if we’re best mates.

  Stupid bastard.

  With him so close, I can’t stop myself. Don’t want to. Without blinking, I stand and reach out quickly with my blade open, slicing across his face. From orb to chin, I open a deep gash.

  However, he doesn’t so much as notice the deep cut or the profuse amount of blood falling now down his face. It’s a testament to what a person can do or withstand while under the influence of a narcotic.

  “Sit,” I grit out, waving at Jeffrey to help the idiot. Which he does, pushing him down hard enough that one of the chair’s legs break from under his weight, and it’s a domino effect if I ever saw one.

  His body falls forward, tipping the table as they both crash to the floor; the blow hits the dirty concrete below a second before his face follows. His inhale is deep and so is his groan. They both pull more into his system and he begins to seize, body shaking as breathing begins to get difficult.

  I don’t help him. Instead, I kneel beside him to pick up my fallen gun—a barrel that I use to place at the back of his head while placing my lips near his ear. “Never betray your master.”

  There are choking sounds coming from him, thrashing and jerky movements. Using the back of his head, I push the tip of my Glock deep into his skull as I stand.

  Then, after a few minutes, all movements stop. His breathing is slow, almost nonexistent, and we all stand there watching as he gets closer and closer to an overdose with each deep inhale.

  There’s no regret in me when it comes, either.

  Fuck him. Fuck them all.

  I have the information I need and a girl to look out for. That I need to get in contact with.

  And while I haven’t been in Chicago in the physical sense, I still have eyes on her. Eyes that give me a report of her day every single bloody night that I’m away. She’s protected. Will always be as long as I have breath in my body, and if this Nico wants her, he’ll have to kill me himself.

  Gem is mine.

  14

  “MOMMY, WHAT’S WRONG?” I ask, pausing at her doorway on my way to my own room. She’s sitting in her little nook, what looks to be a letter in hand, and crying. It’s not the kind of sobbing that attracts attention. No. This is silent and choking; her eyes are closed while tears fall, ruining her always-impeccable makeup.

 
I’ve seen her upset before, but never like this. This feels different.

  Like whatever is in her hands will cut deep. Has cut deep.

  “Baby girl, I need you to give me a few minutes,” she manages between uneven breaths, not looking at me. But I don’t listen. Instead, I drop my bookbag on the ground and enter, not stopping until I’m right in front of her. She’s shaking and my ten-year-old heart hurts, a feeling coming over me that I’ve never experienced before.

  It’s worry and fear and I know it has to do with Dad. He’s the only one that makes her cry. “Is Dad okay?” I ask first, needing to know more than anything because while he’s not the best father, I do love him. Wish he was here and not in Boston. “Just tell me. I’m a big girl and c-can handle it.”

  Whatever she hears in my voice makes her tearful eyes snap to mine, her expression morphing into one of tenderness. “He’s alive and without a single scratch.” There’s a hint of bitterness in her tone, but I don’t say anything and nod. “But we do need to talk, Roe. How about you go and change and meet me downstairs in twenty or—”

  “Now, please.”

  “Aurora, I said—”

  “Mom, you’re starting to freak me out. Please.”

  “Okay. Okay.” Standing from her seat, she gives me a sad smile, wiping under eyes with the pads of her fingers. “Give me two minutes. Drop off your bookbag and come back.”

  I nod, turning to walk out of the room, but before taking a single step, I turn around and hug her. Wrap my arms tightly around her midsection. “I love you, Mom. You know that, right?”

  “Of course, baby. And I love you.”

  “Always and forever?”

  “To the moon and back.” Mom kisses my forehead then and pulls my arms from around her, squeezing my hands before letting them go. That haunting expression on her face is almost gone, but not quite. It’s like a Band-Aid on a wound; covers the cut but doesn’t make it go away. It’s there hurting beneath the surface. “Now, go. I’ll be here waiting.”

  “Be right back.” I leave her there and almost make it to the door when she speaks again, making me pause.