“Shoot him.”
My heart stops for a moment. “What?”
“I don’t trust him. He’s either lying to you or he’s lying to me. Either way, he deserves what’s coming to him. Take him out back and get it over with. Meet me back here when you’re done.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
I LIGHT a cigarette to allow myself time to think.
“Nick, you’re gettin’ paranoid,” I say, chuckling to mask my nerves. “He’s young. He’s just sayin’ things to impress. You know how all the new enforcers get, especially if you cut ’em down with insults.”
Young men like to posture. Nick sees it all the time when he hands out guns to the new muscle. They peacock and parade for the first few months before everything starts to get serious. It’s standard procedure—I’m sure that’s what happened with Miles. At least, it better be what happened.
“Do I need to remind you that I was shot by my own guards?” Nick drawls. He rips off his bandages, glaring at his reflection in the wall mirror. His skin is torn open and blood weeps from the injury. “The doctor said I should take it easy. How can I take it easy when every ballsy asshole in town thinks he can kill me? How do I know your new toy isn’t one of them?”
“When have I ever brought you an enforcer who went turncoat?”
“You’ve never brought me one of your whores and pawned him off as an enforcer.”
“No, I usually just fuck a preexisting enforcer,” I quip. “What’s it matter?”
Nick plunges his hand into a bowl of water on a nearby chair and pulls out a wet cloth. He dabs the cloth around his bloody injury, no doubt mulling over the conversation in his head. If he pushes the matter—if he forces me to kill Miles…. The thought puts a lump in my throat. The kid just told me that no one had his back…. He put his trust in me, and if I turn around and shoot him…. God, I can’t imagine looking him in the eye.
“Why is Jeremy is charge of hiring new men?” I ask, hoping to put distance to this topic.
“Jeremy,” Nick growls, his eyes cutting daggers wherever he turns them. “I give him an inch and he takes a mile. I told him to hire a couple of men. A couple. Two, three tops. Now look at him…. He’s hired a whole goddamn army. He’s part of the problem. Everyone he hires is suspect. His priorities are skewed.”
“I think he’s trying to impress you.”
Nick scoffs. He throws the rag back into the bowl, splashing the water onto the floor. He turns and walks over to me, anger and disgust etched into his face. “I think he wants me dead.”
I exhale a line of smoke and offer him a half smile. “He wants to kill the King Cobra. He wants to kill Harlan himself.”
“And? What of it?”
“He’s got a plan to bring down some old speakeasy right on top of him. It’s a pretty good plan too, so long as no one catches wind about the tunnel he hopes to bomb.”
“Where?”
“The Nightquarter Café.”
“Hm. You’re a good man for bringing this to my attention, Pierce. I know I can always count on you.” Nick crosses the gym and grabs a clean towel from the wall. For the first time since we started talking, he looks tired. He takes his time drying off the last of his body. “You’re one of the few people I still trust. Don’t fuck this up. Keep an eye on Jeremy and all his plans.”
I walk over to him and nod. He gives me a curt nod back. Normally I would leave at this point, but his decision about Miles looms overhead like a circle of vultures waiting for carrion. I take a long drag on my cigarette and Nick gives me the once-over.
“I don’t trust him,” Nick states, no doubt talking about Miles.
I wait.
“Tsk. If you think you have him handled, fine. Keep the toy. But he never contacts the police. I don’t want to risk giving him the chance to double-cross us. You keep him under your surveillance until we get rid of Harlan. After that we’ll reopen this discussion. If I still don’t trust him…. He’s gone. Understood?”
“Completely,” I say, relaxing. Close. Too close. I can’t believe I almost had to shoot him—and I would have had to shoot him or I’d have been shot myself.
“Oh, and do all the bullshit my wife is harping about,” Nick groans. He rolls his eyes and mimics a mouth flapping with his hand. “She’s been riding me about Juliet and her basement for days. Every guy I send out there either can’t handle the problem or—get this—that old crone chases them off. And find Rodger. My doofus of a son needs to be brought back before Anita gets the whole damn city involved.”
“I’ll handle it.”
“He joined some religion. They called themselves the ‘Pillars of Valor’ or some other sort of pretentious load. The guys I had watching him said Rodger joined because of some whore. Drag Rodger back here if you have to.”
Again, I nod. With my cigarette held in my mouth, I turn toward the door. Same shit, different day. No doubt I’ll be busy until dark, and then I’ll have to do something else. Death, guns, corpses, finding grown-ass adults and treating them like kids…. And what makes it all worse is that it could all go south if Nick wants it to. I’m at his mercy no matter the time of day—I could have been forced to kill Miles at his whim.
I stop at the door, gripping the handle.
“Nick,” I intone.
The man turns to me, silent.
“What do you think… about me retiring?”
He laughs. “Has my wife gotten to you? You’re too young to retire. You’ve got another thirty years in you, maybe forty if you stop smoking like a chimney.”
“What if it’s because I want to?”
Nick stifles his laugher and his posture gets stiff. “Don’t joke with me, Pierce. Not now. I’d hate to have to put a bullet through your head, but if you keep talkin’ like that….”
I get stiff and my blood ices. He thinks of me like a dog. I knew—I’ve always known—but right now it’s difficult to hear. He’ll throw me away when he’s done with me. Just like he does everyone else. Without a second thought.
“Don’t do this,” Nick snaps. “I treat you good. Better than you deserve. You were nothing but an uneducated street urchin when I found you. Now look at you! Why’re you questioning everything now?”
“I was just curious,” I murmur. With my body numb, I turn and exit the home gym.
Miles straightens himself the instant I emerge. I shut the door and walk past, Miles falling into step behind me. Besides the stomping of our shoes as we travel down the stairs, the house sits silent. Miles doesn’t talk and neither do I. We make our way through the entrance hall and out the front door without so much as two words. Once outside I wheel on him.
“What the fuck was that?” I bark. “Explain. Now.”
“I told the police about the Cobras,” Miles replies without a sigh of hesitation. “When I went to get my brother. Before I joined you. I followed Jayden around for days just so I could give the detectives something. They said they would be lenient with the charges, so that’s what I did.”
I grab Miles by his shirt collar and jerk him closer. “That’s not everything.”
He takes a deep breath and shivers. “N-no. It’s not. I started calling them when you told me to. To get their trust but… I already had their trust. I spoke to Detective Ambers before, and… and she knew I was with the Vice family. She asked me to give information on Nicholas Vice and… and his closest associates but….” He turns away, his eyes shut tight. “They were just using me, Pierce. Like everyone else. They said… they said if I helped bring in Big Man Vice’s hitmen, they would drop all charges on Jayden, but I know they can’t do that. They’re just telling me things so that… so that I’ll do what they want.”
“Men like me?” I ask. They’re going after Nick’s enforcers? Why? Why not the man himself?
“Yeah,” Miles answers, returning his gaze to meet mine. “But I had no intention of turning you in. I just told the detectives I would help so that they’d let me and Jayden go. I figured we would be long go
ne by now.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“You wanted me to get in good with the police, and I thought I could just… tell you after. I’m sorry, Pierce. I thought you might try to kill me if I told you sooner… if I told you that they wanted me to turn men like you in.”
So Miles has some sway with the cops because they think he’s a mole. He could summon them somewhere, but the moment his information is bunk is the moment they drop all association with him. That’s a one-time gamble of a police summons. It doesn’t matter, though. He can never use it.
I shake my head. I’m angry at Miles, but I’m still cold from Nick’s comment. I might be misdirecting my anger, but I don’t give a shit. Miles shouldn’t have kept this from me.
“You’re not going to call the cops ever again, got it?” I say, keeping him close. “If I so much as hear about you calling them, I’ll shoot you myself.”
“I understand.”
I take a drag on my cigarette, exhale, and grit my teeth. I hate being lied to. I hate that the moment I trusted him this came up. It’s not like we have a long history I can rely on. I want to trust the kid, but maybe Nick is right. Maybe I am thinking with my dick.
My blood pressure is high, and I feel like punching some asshole in the face. Miles stares at me with a hint of fear, though I don’t think he’s afraid, per se. He makes no effort to defend himself when I let go of his shirt and shove him back. Under his breath he mutters another apology, and it grates me the wrong way.
“Words are cheap,” I drawl.
“I’ll do whatever you want to make up for this,” he says.
“Then get on your knees.”
The words come out without me even thinking them. I know what I want. I want Miles to know his place—that I’m in charge and, no matter what else, he doesn’t keep secrets from me. He wants to apologize? He’ll do it with his mouth.
Miles glances over his shoulder. “Out here?” he asks, his brow furrowed.
I take a step back and lean against the front of the house, right next to the door. I let out a line of smoke and glare. “It was a simple instruction.”
He grows silent and red. After a moment of internal contemplation, he walks over and gets to his knees in front of me, his gaze straight ahead and his body stiff. The hard concrete of the entrance walkway no doubt is hell on his knees—he shifts about for a moment before reaching up and unbuckling my belt.
I watch him with a keen interest, excited by the way he takes shallow breaths and trembles with each motion. He unzips my pants, opens my boxers and, right before he takes me into his mouth, I reach down and grab him by the chin, forcing him to look up at me.
“You tell me everything,” I say. “No matter what.”
Miles swallows hard and half nods. “I will.”
I release him. “Now get to it.”
He uses his tongue to guide my full-on erection into his mouth. Once he takes me all the way in, he places his hands on the wall, one on either side of my hips, and braces himself into position. He pulls back and moves forward, slowing when he gets it deep and semigagging, though he forces himself through the sensation.
I love seeing him like this—on his knees, submitting to me, right where anyone could just come by and see. I take a drag on my cigarette and eye the property as Miles caresses me with his tongue. There are cameras—some security guard is getting quite a show—but otherwise the area is secluded and empty. Anita or Nick could walk out the front door any minute, on the other hand. Anita would demand I stop, but I’m betting Nick would carry on a conversation like nothing was even happening.
Miles lets out a tiny mew of a moan, and I smile. With each back-and-forth, he seems to be getting more into it. He reaches down and rubs his crotch through his pants, but I exhale smoke as I growl, “Keep your hands on the wall.”
He complies with a whimper. I pet him across his new short hair, enjoying the sweat that lingers on his scalp. Miles tilts his head back and my cock slides even deeper into his throat, the tightness around the tip an intoxicating pleasure.
“You’re gonna take it deep when I come,” I say.
Miles offers a curt nod and continues harder than before. I love that he follows instructions like a well-trained dog. It’s fucking exciting the way he takes me deep and holds me there, urging me to come by forcefully sucking—begging for it.
I rest my head back against the façade of the house and breathe deep. With a flick of my wrist, I discard my used cigarette and allow the growing pressure in my gut to overtake the last of my senses. For a moment I forget where I am until the crescendo hits me hard. I grab Miles’s head and hold him against me as the ecstasy floods my system.
He coughs and chokes, swallowing without spilling anything. Needing air, he pulls off and hangs his head, saliva running down his chin. I glance down, still enjoying the sight of him. Before he stands I pull him close a second time.
“Clean me,” I command.
Miles hesitates before leaning forward and licking my semihard erection. He doesn’t take it in his mouth—he laps at the sides, removing the last of the excess fluids. The odd sensations of his nimble tongue cause me to shudder and flinch. Any and all anger I had disappears with the pleasure.
I pull away. “Enough.”
Buckling my pants back into place, I step away from the wall and motion for him to follow. Miles gets back to his feet, rubbing his knees the entire time, and jumps back into step behind me.
“We’re going to go visit an old mortician,” I say.
“All right.”
THE DRIVE across town is infuriating. At night the traffic is predictable. During rush hour the traffic is enough to get me angry all over again. It doesn’t help that I’m mostly blind on one side either. I know I’m paranoid, but a piece of me fears that, while I’m sitting idle in traffic, some Cobras thug will take the opportunity to shoot at me from a car over. What would I do then? Get out and run? All it would take is one jackass on a motorcycle to run me down.
Eh. My mind goes to dark places when I’m frustrated.
I glance over at Miles. He’s been quick to please since we left the Vice house. Looking him over, I find myself questioning every detail of every story he’s ever told me.
“So you have a tattoo,” I drawl.
Miles turns and nods. “Yeah.”
“A pretty large one too. Those can get expensive. Weren’t you telling me that you never had much money? That you were using it all on your brother?”
He looks away and focuses his attention out the passenger window. “My other brother, Lawrence, fancies himself a tattoo artist. That’s what he calls himself. It’s what he does for a living.”
I say nothing.
Miles continues with, “He used to practice on me and Jayden.” He lets out a halfhearted laugh. “He tattooed the soles of our feet. He’s not the best with an ink gun so… it got bad. Jayden couldn’t walk for a while. I said he could practice a large piece on my side so long as he left Jayden out of it. He let me pick what I wanted, and I guess he didn’t do a bad job, but it was painful. I wouldn’t do it over again.”
Again, I remain silent. His tone and posture are convincing. I believe him. His brother didn’t seem like the caring or empathic type.
“You still think I’m hiding something?” Miles asks.
“I don’t know. I’m just asking all the questions I should’ve asked.”
Miles is quiet for a moment before asking, “Have you ever thought about getting a tattoo?”
“I’ve never been interested.”
“You could get one to cover your scars.”
“I don’t mind my scars.”
“What about your bean can scar?”
I open my mouth to retort but close it once I realize I have nothing. That’s a good idea. I hate the scar on my arm… and I can think of a few images I wouldn’t mind seeing inked into my skin. Damn kid already knows me too well.
The frivolous musings take my mind off th
e traffic. We turn off the main road, and I’m not as irritated. Having a “partner” takes away from the sting of solitude. I’m glad Miles is with me despite our earlier falling-out. Miles must agree, or he’s trying to distract me from my anger, as he points to anything and everything interesting on the side of the road. Noimore has a lot of trash, but it also has homeless men pissing in the alleys, a ball of dead rats, and a full-sized refrigerator banged up in a gutter. I find myself distracted until we reach our destination.
The residential areas in Noimore are hit-and-miss. Some are high-class and worthy of any aristocrat while others stand half a step above a hovel. Juliet, Big Man Vice’s last mortician, lives in an older neighborhood of brick and black wood. Her front yard has overgrown bushes and vines, giving the place a bit of privacy, but I imagine in a few years the place will be completely hidden.
I step out of the car and Miles follows suit.
“What’re we doing here?” Miles asks.
“Checking out a basement.”
We walk up to the front door, and I heave a sigh. Anita and her fucking assignments…. I shouldn’t be dealing with this. I knock on the door and muffled irritations are my only answer. I knock again. More noises. I knock harder.
Finally the door opens. I step back and stare at a sixtysomething woman in a wheelchair glaring up at me with the intensity of someone out for murder.
“Who’re you?” she grunts.
I give the woman a thorough once-over. Her short curly hair, frizzing out enough to be its own light brown afro, covers the top of her head. She wears makeup like she needs to draw her eyeballs into place, including green eyeshadow thick enough to be ooze. I almost miss the fact she has naturally dark tan skin.
“Anita sent me,” I say.
The old woman sneers. “You’re a little old to be one of Anita’s enforcers. Get in here, then. Get in here. Call me Juliet. And don’t touch my things!”
I walk in without further comment, and Miles nods to the woman.
“I’m Miles Devonport. Nice to meet you.”
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