“Something wrong?” he asks.
“No.”
Miles procured all sorts of clothing, but nothing in the usual suit format. I feel lowbrow wearing jeans and a T-shirt, but they look nice on both Miles and Rodger. Especially Rodger when he’s wearing nothing but jeans.
Then again, the thought of Miles stripping down also gets my blood hot.
I’m neck-deep in pancake batter with smoke swirling overhead, but my mind careens into the gutter regardless. It doesn’t take much sometimes.
“Pierce?”
I jerk my attention to the other end of the kitchen and spot Miles staring. He’s got his arms crossed over his chest, and he eyes Rodger with an odd expression. I nod to him and he motions me over. I throw down Rodger’s shirt and walk to his side.
“How much longer are we going to be here?” Miles asks in a quiet tone.
“A few days,” I reply. “Then we’re all going to Big Man Vice’s house.”
Miles grips his arm tight and stares at me with a hard expression. I stare back, bemused.
“Do you wanna fuck him?” he asks.
I chortle and offer Miles a smirk. “Yeah. I do.”
His honeyed skin gets flushed, and he turns his gaze to the floor.
“I’m not going to,” I say, rubbing at the soreness that lingers on my neck. “Nick’s made it clear no one is to touch his children. Besides, Rodger likes the ladies and not so much the cock.”
“And if he was available? And wanted you?”
“I’d fuck him, then, sure.”
Miles drills a hole in the floor with his eyes. “What if I said I didn’t feel like sharing?”
Tsk. This is the exact reason I stopped fucking all my past flings. They start thinking they can tell me what to do—limiting who I’m gonna fuck or where I’m gonna go—or demanding I give them my time. It’s a deal breaker for me. I don’t let anyone tell me what to do outside of the hatchet work I do for the Vice family.
I open my mouth to explain but stop before I utter a single word. His grip on his arm grows tighter with each passing moment. I don’t like the thought of relinquishing control to other people, but… I’m not gonna be with Miles much longer anyway. Why not give him what he wants? He looks like he needs it.
“If you don’t want to share, I’ll keep it in my pants,” I drawl.
He snaps his gaze to mine, taken aback. “Really?”
“Don’t look too surprised. It’s what you wanted, right?”
“Y-yeah,” he says. “I just… I mean, you’re not angry or….”
This would be a different conversation at any other point in my life, but for now I revel in his excitement. “No, I’m not angry.” I brush his chin with my knuckles. “But I do expect more from you if I can’t get it elsewhere.”
“Of course.”
I already bed him to my heart’s content, but I love hearing him admit he’ll submit even further to keep me satisfied.
“You busy right now?” I ask.
“No.”
“Good.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
IT’S HARD to sleep during the hours leading up to a major assignment.
I watch the sun set from the balcony of the master bedroom. We have a couple hours before game time, and I inhale my cigarette as I mull over the details in my mind. Today is a turning point—not just for the Vice family, but for me.
Nothing will be the same tomorrow. It gets me anxious.
I exhale a long line of smoke and stomp out the rest of the cigarette before heading back inside. Everyone else must know I’m on edge, because they keep their troubles to themselves and their volume low. The cabin isn’t as much of a cringe factory today.
I spot Brisko leaning against the wall in the hallway. He’s guarding Jayden’s room, and I’m glad I kept him for the week and a half. He does well given simple instructions.
“Brisko,” I say as I approach him. “What’s going on?” I motion to Jayden’s door with my eyes.
“Miles is talkin’ to him.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah. Been talkin’ for hours.”
I stand by the door and stare. I’ve been avoiding Jayden the entire time we’ve been here. I don’t care for the kid, and he thinks I’m gonna rape him if we’re left alone together for longer than thirty seconds. It doesn’t make for a great relationship.
I wonder what Miles is discussing with him.
“Hey, uh, boss?” Brisko asks, his voice slow and his mannerisms even slower. “What’s goin’ on tonight? Somethin’s brewin’?”
He’s a little more astute than I gave him credit for. “We’re gonna go see Big Man Vice tonight once I finish my assignment.”
“What assignment?”
I flash him a glare. “My assignment. You don’t need to worry about it.”
“Right. I forgot.”
“Brisko—why don’t you take a break and watch TV? I’ll stay here for the time being.”
Brisko stares down at me for a long moment. I don’t know if he’s processing my request or zoning out, but once he’s done he nods. “If that’s what you want.”
He lumbers away but I grab him by the arm. “Hey. I need you to drive for me tonight. You good with that?”
“Yeah, boss.”
“Stop calling me boss. I’m not the boss.”
“You’re the boss right now.”
I release his arm and motion him to the living room. “Well, then, I’m ordering you to rest up.”
“Right, boss. I’ll get on that.”
Heh. I think I might actually miss seein’ Brisko from time to time. He’s grown on me.
I shake the thought from my head and return my attention to Jayden’s room. Once Brisko leaves, I lean up close and listen. I’m curious—I want to know what Miles plans on doing with the little gangbanger. What could he be saying to sway this kid’s mind? What if Jayden is harassing him and Miles isn’t saying anything?
Their voices muddle together, but I can identify them through context.
“—and they live out of town now,” Miles says.
Jayden scoffs. “She always hated Noimore.”
“They have a nice house too.”
“Good for them. I don’t care. She doesn’t give a shit about me.”
“I talked to her recently. She said she would take you back.”
“She did?” Jayden asks, his voice betraying his hopeful disbelief. “When did she say that?”
“A month or so back.”
The conversation lulls but I doubt it’s because of anything bad. Miles breaks the silence by asking, “Would you at least give it a try? She seemed like she wanted you back in Lacy’s life.”
“How old is Lacy now?”
“I dunno.”
“I remember when she was a baby. She was so adorable.”
“Yeah,” Miles replies with a hint of melancholy sadness. “I remember when you were a baby too.”
Again, Jayden scoffs. “You do not.”
“Yeah, I do. I was four, going on five. You were adorable then, just like Lacy.”
I move away from the door. I don’t know how Miles does it. I just don’t have the patience… but he seems like he gets to everyone eventually. Charisma, I guess. Maybe it’s his honesty. I’m not sure—all I know is that I don’t have it like he does. I would’ve left Jayden, and we would’ve killed each other in a gang turf war, even if we were blood brothers.
Miles is different. He has a lot of traits to admire. A lot of good traits.
“Pierce, are you spying?”
I turn on my heel and face Rodger with a glower. “What is it?” I snap.
“Aren’t we going to go kill Harlan soon?”
I glance around before lunging forward and taking him by the collar of his T-shirt. “Who told you we were doing that?” I ask.
Rodger holds up his hands in mild surrender. “Jeremy. He told me that I should help you out when the time comes.”
“Why would he say that?”
“So that our father wouldn’t be so furious at me for running off.”
I take a deep breath and release Rodger. I guess that makes sense. He can walk in and claim he killed the King Cobra himself to get in good with Nick. That suits me perfectly. I don’t need any fame or fortune where I’m going. Rodger can take it all.
“Get your things together, then,” I say. “We’re gonna be leaving soon.”
I knock on the door to Jayden’s room to signal our imminent departure. My blood pressure is high, and I know I’ll be on edge until the mission is done. I walk back into the master bedroom and collect the few items I got from my house. A gun holster, a spare .45, some cash…. I glance at the key to the safe deposit box and debate about whether to give it to Miles now.
The box contains half a million dollars in various forms—Miles and I are the only names with access, and it’s my parting gift to him. I could give it to him now, but then he’ll know what’s up. Instead I pocket the key and decide to tell him afterward. Right before I take off. I want the parting to be quick, and I don’t wanna give Miles time to work his charisma on me, or whatever it is he has.
I throw on a jacket and head for the front door. The sun has set. Game time.
Brisko, Rodger, Miles, and Jayden are all waiting by the van. I give Jayden a sideways glance but dispel my thoughts afterward. We can’t leave him here alone, so we might as well take him. I can leave him in the van with Brisko.
There aren’t many words spoken as we gather up. Brisko takes the pilot’s seat, I take copilot, and everyone else takes a seat in the back. We leave the rental cabin, and I’m sad to see it go. I guess I hate people, but this week and half wasn’t as terrible as I had suspected it would be.
The pulse of life in Noimore is different tonight. Maybe everyone is on edge. Maybe everyone can sense it. Something big is gonna happen. It’s Saturday but the traffic is that of a Wednesday or Thursday. There aren’t any lights or parties on the streets. Nothing is right.
We zoom through town, avoiding known police beats, and circle our destination wide, avoiding anyone who might be watching for patterns. I light a cigarette to try and calm my nerves, but my unsteady hands betray my true feelings. I suck down the nicotine in record time and light myself a second. I should’ve taken a bottle of vodka.
Brisko parks the vehicle and nods to me. “We’re here.”
“All right,” I say. “Miles, Rodger—you’re with me. Brisko, watch Jayden, understand?”
“Right, boss.”
I jump out of the car. My body hasn’t fully recovered, but the tension in the air stifles all other feelings. I unlock the laundromat and allow Miles and Rodger inside.
The place has all the welcoming warmth of a horror movie. The cold, unused washing machines cast long, dark shadows, and the place smells of mold. We walk through, our footsteps echoing. I pull my gun and Miles follows suit. It seems we’re alone, but who can tell for sure?
The back room has our false door and tunnel. I pick up the trigger left sitting on an old basket and fiddle with the simple controls. I glance at my phone. Jeremy said he would send me a text once everything fell into place. All I need to do is wait for the signal.
The text comes sooner rather than later.
The buzz of my phone causes everyone to flinch, and I rip the device from my pocket with a sweaty palm.
The message reads: now
No punctuation, no other words. It’s a simple command.
I glance between the trigger and Rodger. “You wanna do the honors?” I mutter, keeping my voice low out of paranoia rather than necessity.
“What’s going to happen when I activate it?” he asks.
“You’re gonna kill a handful of drug-running gangbangers.”
Rodger holds out his hand, his expression less than enthusiastic about the matter. Miles turns to me and indicates he would be willing to flip the switch, but I give him a curt shake of my head. If anyone is going to taint their soul with the death of scumbags like Harlan, it’s gonna be me or Rodger. Miles doesn’t need this kind of weight on his conscience.
I hand Rodger the trigger. He flips it without a second thought. Moments later the ground beneath us shudders and the dust of a well-settled building rains down upon us. I wait and hear the tunnel beyond the false door rumble. The wall cracks and wood splinters outward. A rush of air and thick particles fill the cramped space. I cough and wave my hand around to clear my vision.
“That was mighty anticlimactic for the gravity of the situation,” Rodger says between heavy rasps.
I force a chuckle. “Yeah. Let’s get outta here.”
We walk as a tight group into the front room and out to the road. No signs of trouble. No Cobras. Nothing. I’d say we’re lucky, but my sense of dread has yet to leave me.
I pull myself into the van and dial Nick. There’s no longer a reason to hide anything from him.
The phone rings once and he answers.
“Pierce,” he says.
“Nick,” I reply. “I’m on my way over. Your son Rodger triggered the explosives. If all went well, Harlan is dead, along with all his major lieutenants.”
“Good work.”
He’s more terse than usual, and I can’t get a read on his mood. Perhaps he’s irritated I haven’t contacted him in a few weeks. I wait for anything else he may have to say. Nothing.
“Rodger is coming back with me,” I say.
Nick doesn’t answer.
“We’ll be there within the hour.”
Again, he says nothing.
“Is there anything else you want me to do?”
“Just get here.” He ends the call with a sharp click.
I hadn’t anticipated Nick being upset with me. It might delay my flight from the city—but not for long. I’m sure he’ll be pleased by the outcome of the turf war, if nothing else.
Brisko starts up the van, and we head straight for the Vice family compound. I spot Jayden in the rearview mirror as he fidgets around like only tweakers do when they haven’t had their fix. Miles calms him with a few words under his breath, but I know the younger brother will be trouble. I hope Miles follows through with the rehab program.
“Was my father upset?” Rodger asks, cutting the silence with his voice.
“Seems like,” I reply.
“I thought he would be proud. I’ve never done anything to help his organization before.”
“He’s been under a lot of stress lately.”
Stress….
I can’t seem to relax.
The van pulls up to the Vice family gates, and they open to let us up the long driveway to the house. A whole handful of cars are parked outside—more company than I’ve seen in years—and all varying makes and models, not just the vehicles of the aristocratic elite. I stare at them as Brisko finds a place to park. Enforcers stand at the doors and behind us near the gate.
“What’s going on?” Brisko asks.
“A celebration,” Rodger answers before I do. “Perhaps thanks to our victory over the King Cobra himself.”
Yeah, maybe. Seems a little premature. What if Harlan survived? Doubtful, but still a possibility. Or perhaps some other gangbanger will take his place in the void and the power struggle that is soon to take hold of the streets. In an ideal situation, the Vice family would reacquire their holdings, but there are a myriad of possibilities.
I shake my head to dispel my dark thoughts. I’ll speak to Nick himself. He’s always straight with me. I’ll get to the bottom of this.
With a heavy sigh, I step out of the van. I motion for Rodger to follow, but I shake my head at the others. “Wait here,” I command.
They all mutter acceptance, and I slam the door behind me.
The two men at the front door are the same enforcers I saw at Jeremy’s strip club. What did Miles say their names were?
The men flinch back as I draw near, their hands on their guns and their expressions so suspicious it’s like they expect a chest-bursting alien
to fly from me at any moment. Perhaps they don’t know who I am—perhaps it’s too dark. I glare at them and piece together their names from fragmented memories.
“Dorian, Lucky,” I say with a nod. I’m not sure who is who, but that’s their names.
The moment I speak casually, they relax. Both return my nonverbal greeting and force one-sided smiles, opening the front door for me as I walk by. Rodger shadows my steps and gives the men an openhanded wave.
I gawk at the interior of the home. It’s lit up bright, and the housekeepers hustle about in a panic. There are more enforcers inside than out—they stand at major entrances and hallways and they’re bullshitting with each other until they catch sight of me. Then they clam up and get tense.
What’s going on? I glance at Rodger and his expression mirrors my internal thoughts. This is bizarre behavior.
“Where’s Nick?” I ask the first guy I roll across.
He motions to the ballroom. I walk by and head straight there. I throw open the ballroom doors and freeze, my breath caught in my throat.
CHAPTER TWENTY
“PIERCE! YOU made it!”
The room is a giant open floor with a hundred individuals gathered around the sides. They leave a wide-open space in the middle—a space already coated in fresh blood, brain matter, bullet holes, and hunks of raw flesh—while enjoying booze and hard liquor displayed on long tables. Jeremy steps from the crowd, his arms wide.
“Come over here!” he calls out. “I’ve been waiting for you!”
My eyes linger on the guests. I recognize half—friends of the Vice family—but the other half of the crowd…. They’re not people I would associate with Vice holdings. They’re street thugs; there’s no other way of calling it. Some are a little more well-to-do than others, but they all stick out like sore thumbs. Most are already drunk.
I see other familiar faces as well. Donny, Santiago—other men from the streets. A man I don’t know pushes me farther into the room and swipes my handgun from the holster before I can offer any protest. I don’t fight for the weapon… not when I can feel the bloodlust of a hundred armed individuals pulsing through the crowd.
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