"This isn't an objective thing, Mark. We are all thieves. That is what we..."
"Did," I cut her off. "That was what you did. For a decade. It isn't who you are. It doesn't have to be what you identify with in the future either. You have every chance to start over if you can just change that fucked-up way you see yourself. And don't bother trying to tell me I don't know what I am talking about. Because I live this life, Scotti. No one knows better than I do what it is like to worry about the law, to wonder if an enforcer is all anyone sees when they look at me."
"You're a lot more than that," she said, shaking her head. "You're a son and brother and uncle and a businessman and..."
"And you can be a sister, a wife, an aunt, a businesswoman. You can have all these things if you would get your head out of your ass and see that there is nothing wrong with you wanting and working toward them." I pushed away from the dresser and moved toward the bed, towering over her so that she had to angle her head up to look at me. When she did, I could see a deep sort of vulnerability in her eyes, like she wanted to believe me, wanted to put her faith to rest in my words, but couldn't get over ten years of seeing herself as nothing other than an avenging criminal. "You didn't even give it a fucking chance, baby. First test had you running scared. I know we haven't known each other that long, Scotti, but I think I've known you long enough to know you're not a chickenshit." Her eyes flashed at that, making it clear she didn't want to be considered that. "So stop acting like it."
"I'm not chickenshit," she objected immediately. "And while this has been largely about protecting myself and my brothers, I also didn't want to..." she trailed off, shaking her head.
"Didn't want to drag me down," I supplied when she refused to go on, feeling a weird as fuck swelling sensation in my chest that I didn't know what to blame on, so I went ahead and called it frustration even though I damn well knew that wasn't it. "Alright," I said, exhaling as I reached down to grab her arms, dragging her to stand with me beside the bed then reaching to snag her chin in my fingers, forcing her to keep eye-contact. "Let's get some shit straight right now."
"There's no reason," she objected, voice hollow.
"Well, fucking humor me anyway," I suggested with a smirk. "I think you know that the locking shit down thing has never been my style."
"And by 'locking shit down thing' I am assuming you mean relationships?" she asked, lips twitching.
It didn't take much to get past her shields if you were able to see them for what they were protecting. All the soft and sweet and vulnerable that she kept hidden behind them.
"Yeah, that shit," I agreed with a smile, making one spread across her face too. "But I'm also someone who knows a good thing when he sees it and knows his own mind. You, Scotti, whether you believe it right now or not, you're a good fucking thing. You're the best fucking thing I've ever had and I made my mind up about wanting you in my life. Now, you might be a stubborn pain in the ass," I said, ducking my head a little and smirking, "But I am just as stubborn and just as big a pain in the ass. So this running away shit, this isn't going to fly. You want to be grown-ups and sit and hash this shit out, I'm game. But I'm not accepting you just up and leaving."
"It's not your choice, Mark," she said, trying to sound firm, but only ending up sounding deeply unhappy instead. "I have every right to leave you for any reason I see fit. And you can't stop me."
"No," I agreed, nodding. "I can't stop you. But I can follow you. All the way to goddamn Russia. I'll buy an obnoxious fur coat and matching hat and follow your sexy ass through the streets until you're so fucking embarrassed to be seen with me that you inevitably follow me back to the states and come raise our chicken together like a happy family."
"Nugget..." she said, need clear in her voice.
"Is enjoying his chicken mansion. I have word to Lea to drop in with some feed if I am not back by tomorrow afternoon. But I have a feeling I'll be back," I said, arms moving out to slide around her hips and fold at her lower back, pulling her closer. "And that I won't be alone."
"You seem pretty sure of yourself," she said, softening already.
"And you," I agreed, nodding.
That seemed to do it. Maybe she didn't think I was as serious as I felt. Maybe I hadn't been clear with that shit. I figured that my actions spoke volumes- the flowers, the invitation for her to stay as long as she wanted, the building of the chicken coop. But maybe she was someone who needed to hear the words.
That was my fuck up.
I would remedy it.
She needed words; I was full of them.
"I don't know, you know?" she asked, tone coy, dark eyes dancing. "I mean, I've been getting really good at my Russian."
"I'm cool with bilingual kids," I said with a shrug. "Spanish might be more useful, but Russian would be more badass. Ever hear someone cuss you out in Russian? Scary shit."
"Well, I would hope our kids wouldn't be cussing people out," she said before her eyes went huge and her mouth clamped shut, likely realizing what she had just said.
Maybe, normally, this kind of talk this soon would freak me out. I was pretty sure it was supposed to freak me out. But I meant what I said to her; I was a man who knew his mind. I knew she was it. And if she was it, I also knew I wanted a shitload of kids with her. Coming from a big family herself, having the huge support system that was four other siblings, she likely wanted the same exact thing as well.
So it wasn't too soon for me.
"Dunno, baby. You heard Fee about Becca. If we think our kids won't be cussing, we're fucking dreaming."
"Well, I guess that's..."
Her sentence got cut off by the sound of my phone screaming in my back pocket. Normally, I would ignore it.
But it was almost fucking two o'clock in the morning.
No one called me that late save for the times Fee went into labor.
"You should get that," she said even as my hands unfolded from around her and went for my pocket, seeing my mother's number there, and feeling my guts twist.
Calls from your mom at 2 AM could never be good.
So I answered.
And my entire fucking world collapsed.
"What's wrong?" I asked, cutting to the chase.
"Eli."
I knew.
I fucking knew.
Never in my life had I felt so completely fucking unsteady.
I dropped down on the edge of the bed, my stomach in painful knots, having to swallow through a lump the size of fucking Russia in my throat. "Tell me," I demanded, the words barely getting out with my painfully clenched jaw.
I was vaguely aware of Scotti looking down at me for a minute before frantically going in search for shoes, like she knew it was serious, like she knew she needed to be there for me.
And, as fucking self-sufficient as I might have been, in this case, she wasn't wrong.
"We got the call just fifteen minutes ago," she said, and I could hear my father laying on the horn in the background. "He's at the NBPD. We didn't get anything more than that. But, you know," she said, tone heavy. And I did know.
This wasn't like when she would get the calls about Shane or me when we were younger and stupid. This wasn't some bullshit drunk and disorderly or disrupting the peace.
This was Eli we were talking about.
He never got in idiotic, bullshit trouble that meant he needed to be bailed out.
But he did completely fucking rage out and beat the ever-loving shit out of people sometimes.
So if he was in, he was in for aggravated assault.
"They just picked him up now?" I asked, trying to get the whole picture even as I stood, giving Scotti a nod as she pointed to her purse with furrowed brows, asking silently if we needed to move.
"No. Apparently they've had him since this morning," my mother snapped, obviously pissed. And Helen Mallick pissed, well, she was about to stir a lot of shit up at the NBPD.
"The fuck you mean they've had him since this morning?" I asked as we went into the hall. "Why wouldn't he
have called before now?"
"That's just it," she went on as the elevator started dinging downward. "He didn't call at all."
"What do you mean he didn't call?" Why was she giving me everything in bits and pieces? I felt like I was being ripped apart with each new revelation.
All I could seem to think was: not Eli. Not fucking Eli. Not the only goddamn one of us who never should have been in the fucking business in the first place. He wasn't meant for it. He was forced into it.
Even as I thought it, all I could imagine was the guilt my parents must have been feeling right then, knowing what I knew about him not being cutout for the enforcer life, and painfully aware that they had been the ones to push him into it.
"He refused his phone call. Didn't even call a lawyer."
"Then how did you even know he was there?"
"Collings called," she said, sounding tenser by the minute. "He said he knew he was supposed to respect his right to make a call, or not to, but that he knew us and he knew we would want at least to know."
Thank fucking God for Collings.
I swear the town would go to hell without him.
"How far out are you?"
"An hour and fifteen if I do the speed limit," I said as we stepped out of the elevator.
"So thirty-five tops," she guessed.
"Exactly."
"We're here now," she said, and I could hear doors slamming. "So are your brothers." There was a short pause, then, "I can't fucking believe this."
I couldn't fucking believe it either.
FIFTEEN
Scotti
I was only getting bits and pieces at first.
I could tell that whatever it was, was serious.
I mean, of course it was at that hour.
But when I say it was serious, I mean enough to knock a grown, strong, lifelong criminal off his own two feet.
So that only meant one thing.
Family.
And then I could hear Helen's voice on the other line say the dreaded phrase: NBPD.
Someone was arrested. And given their professions, I had to assume it was for something at least related to assault.
I wanted to ask; I wanted to know.
But I also knew the last thing he needed right then was more questions. He needed answers.
So I was silent beside him as we broke out into the lobby, him still talking to his mother.
I caught sight of King at the front desk, brows drawn together. I rushed over, handing him my keycard for the room, and answering his unasked questions. "One of his brothers got locked up," I said, knowing he knew what that meant, knowing I could trust him to deal with all the details of the room and whatnot while I left.
"Shit," he said, giving me a heavy look.
"I know," I agreed, moving off.
"Turn that phone back on," he called at my retreating form.
"Doing it right now," I called back, pulling it out of my purse even as I went out the front doors and jogged down the street to catch up with Mark as he finally hung up and tucked his phone away.
I didn't even need to ask once I moved in beside him, feeling at a loss, so I did the only thing I knew I could, reaching for his hand, and giving it a reassuring squeeze.
"Eli," he told me, and I felt my belly tense.
Eli.
The quiet, sweet, artistic, recent doggy dad.
I didn't say anything.
There was nothing to say.
Because there were no words that would take away his worry, that would ease his mind. I knew this because I had four brothers who meant the absolute world to me and I knew they did illegal things that could get them locked up as well. Nothing he or anyone could say to me if that became a reality would help.
What he needed was traffic to be light, cops to be MIA on the way back to Navesink Bank so he could crush the speed limits, and to get to the station as soon as was possible to be with his family and to get the answers he so desperately needed.
And that was exactly what happened. We got his car out of the parking garage; we cursed our way out of city traffic; we hit the main roads where Mark pushed eighty-five the whole way back to his little corner of the world.
He actually jumped out and forgot to cut the engine at the station, making me take an extra minute to do so, then lock up, as I followed him up, my own stomach tensing.
Everything in me rebelled against stepping foot in there, tempting the fates. But when your man who had been nothing but exceptional to you needed you to step inside the belly of the beast, you just had to ovary-up and fucking do it.
So I took a breath so deep it hurt, grabbed the door, and moved inside.
To say I walked into chaos would be an understatement.
Because I walked in to not only find Mark, Helen, and Charlie there, but also Hunter, Shane, Ryan, Lea, and Fee. The only one missing was Dusty, and I had a sneaking suspicion it was because she was babysitting, not because she didn't desperately want to be there as well.
Everyone was talking, talking over one another, practically yelling at the man they were standing in front of.
And who was that man, you might ask?
None other than the man who had interviewed me at the box store after the holdup.
Because, of course.
"And as I said before, Charlie, this is not my case. I really don't have much else to give you."
"I want to know why he would fucking refuse a goddamn phone call to his lawyer," Shane snapped, everything about him a tense, coiled spring about to snap. Lea moved in, putting a hand on his arm, saying nothing at all, but the contact seemed to allow his chest to expand with breath again.
"I don't have that answer for you, Shane," Collings said, clearly apologetic, obviously somehow having a soft spot for the family, despite them all being criminals and, therefore, supposedly his enemies.
"And why he won't see us," Ryan put in, his voice a low, threatening hiss. Granted, I didn't know him all that well, but from the time I had shared with him, he had always been a bit detached. He gave off an aura of competence and control. But there was nothing controlled about him right then either. He looked like he was one wrong answer from getting his very own assault charge.
"Did someone put their hands on him during questioning?" Hunter asked, seeming to be the most under control. But judging by the way that Fee moved in closer when he spoke, appearances were obviously misleading. If she was worried about him, moving in just in case, he was obviously close to losing it too.
"Alright, alright," Collings said, holding up a hand. "I don't know why he refuses to see you all. But I have seen him with my own two eyes, Helen," he said, addressing their mother with a look that said he understood how much she needed the words that would follow, "and I swear on my daughter's life that your son has not been roughed up."
I didn't know Collings. He didn't even seem like the kind of man who had a daughter, more like the kind who was married to his job. But seeing as Helen's shoulders relaxed a little as she leaned into her husband, I figured that he not only had a daughter, but that she meant quite a bit to him. Men who loved their children didn't swear on their lives unless they were one-hundred percent certain of something.
"Small miracle, that," Hunter mumbled.
"Ah, there is Detective Jones now," Collings announced. I guessed that must have been the name of the detective on the case because, at the announcement, the entire group of people moved in the direction of the man in question.
Mark turned back, half-distracted, but his eyes were pleading when he said, "Wait for me here, Scotti."
I gave him a nod even as my stomach sank to my feet.
Because I had given Collings a license that claimed my name was Angela.
I couldn't be mad. I couldn't blame him for the slip. He was out of his mind with worry.
But as my eyes drifted to Collings, I could see the understanding there.
"How about you help me get coffee for the whole lot of them?" he suggested, waving a han
d toward the other end of the room where a four-pot system was set up. "Scotti, was it?" he added, lips twitching, not seeming pissed at all for the lie, something that in no way eased my concern.
But what was there to do? I couldn't refuse him. That would likely only make things worse. "Sure," I agreed, giving him a nod as he invited me to move next to him as we started walking.
"So you and Mark pulled a Speed, huh?"
And, despite the swirling anxiety in my stomach, I had to laugh at that. "Something like that," I agreed as we moved next to the coffee pots and Collings set out ten cups. I assumed eight for the Mallicks and one for each of us.
"Don't know about the girls, but the rest drink it black," he explained as he started pouring.
"You know them well, it seems."
Collings' smile was warm. "Hard not to in this town. Hell, I went to school with Charlie back in the day. Had a wicked crush on Helen in my early twenties. He was a lucky sucker to get her. But yeah. These boys have been causing all kinds of chaos all their lives. Never been anything like this before though. They're careful with their... work," he said, raising a brow at me. "Eli never gets to do a job alone."
Because Eli had some rage issues, I remembered Mark telling me. If he didn't have someone to pull him back, sometimes he would just keep going and going and going.
"But this wasn't a job far as I can tell," Collings went on, surprising me with his willingness to share as he clipped tops on all the cups. "Happened three days ago one town over. Took them until this morning to bring him in."
Three days ago.
My stomach twisted again, realizing for the first time that those cars that had been patrolling the area weren't looking for my brothers or me at all, but Eli.
Somehow, even though I barely knew him, that was just as bad.
"So, Scotti," Collings said suddenly, done with the coffees, and turning to lean back against the counter, looking out at the station. "Funny thing. I ran your license a couple days ago..."
Shit.
Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit.
"Oh, I..."
"It obviously came back fake," he said casually, tone somehow completely devoid of surprise or anger. "Nice work, that one. Barney?"
Mark (The Mallick Brothers #3) Page 18