by A. Zavarelli
“Stop deluding yourself.” He scoffed. “Everyone lies. It’s human nature.”
“You would know,” I snarled. “Considering you defend the worst of humanity.”
His brow arched in surprise. “Isn’t that a little self-righteous coming from you, sweetheart?”
This conversation was going nowhere fast, and time wasn’t on my side. I needed to focus on disarming this bomb so I could get out of here. “Tell me what you think Birdie has done, and I will fix it.”
The darkness in his eyes melted away to a cocoa brown, and his voice betrayed a hint of humanity when he spoke. “You can’t fix everything for her.”
Those words scared me more than anything because they held so much weight. It was as if he knew our history, and I couldn’t accept that it was true. I didn’t want to.
Lucian bent down to retrieve a file from the briefcase beside his chair, and my heart palpitated when he slid it across the table. “It’s all in there.”
With trembling fingers, I opened the folder. I thought I was prepared for anything, but it was worse than I imagined. What he said was true, and this was the proof. Birdie had been stealing from men, but she was an amateur, and it was painfully obvious by these photos.
Shot after shot, she was proven a thief and a liar. Rings, watches, wallets, cash. They were all listed in the damages, and the total was in the hundreds of thousands. But it wasn’t even the worst of it. The worst was that there were naked photos of her in this file. Photos of her seducing the men she stole from and doing exactly the thing I had been trying so hard to protect her from this whole time.
It hurt me, but it pissed me off too.
I looked up at Lucian. “Some of these are from casinos. But what about the rest? Are you having her followed?”
He didn’t answer, but he didn’t need to. The proof was right here.
I pushed the file away, unable to look at it a second longer. “I can pay it back. I’ll just need some time.”
He dipped his head, and the hardness returned to his features. “I’m sure you could. But these are just petty thefts compared to some of the things you’ve done. I don’t think a courtroom is going to let you charm your way out of a category A felony.”
My stomach roiled as my eyes darted toward the nearest exit. “And what exactly would that be?”
Lucian leaned forward, prompting every inch of my body into high alert. “How about the murder of Ricky Montoya?”
My heart leaped into my throat, and for the first time in too many years, I forgot how to speak. Terror wrapped its icy claws around me as I tried to figure out a way to deny it. But I couldn’t.
Lucian tapped the table, drawing my attention back to him as he whispered, “It isn’t your money I want, Gypsy Blue. It’s your life.”
HER FACE PALED, AND THE composure she wore as an armor finally fractured.
“You must be joking,” she choked out. “You think you can coerce me into doing what you want because of this?”
“It works for you, doesn’t it?”
She pursed her lips and took a sip of her wine, trying to hide her nerves.
“I think you’ll do whatever I ask of you if it means protecting Birdie. The Ricky Montoya deal is just another incentive.”
Her fingers made small, jittery movements in her lap. “And what exactly are you asking of me?”
For a moment, I allowed myself to get lost in her smoky gray eyes. They were hypnotic, almost feline, and I could see why men fell all over themselves for her. In this lighting, the soft glow on her coppery skin painted an image of a Greek goddess—close enough to touch but too far removed from reality. She was the ethereal oasis that men wished they could find in the parched desert. At a different time in my life, I might have been one of them.
Gypsy was tall and curvy in all the right places, flaunting a body not even an airbrush could replicate. Her presence radiated sexuality. Femininity. Sharp cheekbones and boldly arched brows highlighted the beauty of her face, but the real Achilles’ heel was her plump red lips. She was the woman who brought men to heel, her siren’s song luring them toward an unknown hell.
Her beauty wasn’t her only asset, but it was the only one she ever learned to use. If I were a sexually motivated man, I might have considered her a nice trophy, but to me, she was just another tragedy.
“You’re going to be my wife,” I told her.
Her lips tilted at the corners. She was amused by the idea, and she didn’t hide it. “Yeah, right.”
I drained my glass and wiped the condensation from my hand with a napkin. “Here is my offer. The only offer you will get from me.”
Her smile dissolved as I retrieved the pre-nup from my briefcase and tossed it in front of her. Dark chestnut hair fell around her shoulders as she leaned forward to read, her eyes narrowing farther with every flip of the page.
“Why would you do this?” She peered up at me. “You know what I do. Who I am. Surely even an asshole like you can find a wife who wouldn’t put you through hell.”
“It would be a mistake to lump me into the same category as the men you’ve fooled,” I assured her. “You won’t make my life hell because you will never have that power in this situation.”
“Of course not.” Her jaw tightened. “Because you aren’t looking for a wife. You’re looking for a puppet.”
“For the purpose of transparency, I will give you that. Your role is what I say, when I say it. You fulfill your end of the bargain for as long as I want, and then I will set you free. If you don’t, then I will use my digital Rolodex to destroy you and your sister’s lives.”
She shoved the papers back in my direction and shook her head in disgust. “I won’t do it. You can forget it.”
I stood, buttoning my suit jacket. “Suit yourself then.”
She rose too, like a queen from the flames of her throne. “Where is my sister?”
“You have seventy-two hours, and then the offer is forfeited.”
EVEN THOUGH MY AUDI R8 was built for speed and power, I’d never really tested its capabilities like I did on the way home. Gunning it through the streets of Vegas had always been too risky, and I didn’t need that type of attention. But in this case, the cops were the least of my concerns.
When I pulled into the lot, Birdie’s car was parked in her space, and my heart was racing as I scrambled up the stairs to our door. There was no need to unlock it because it was already cracked. I hesitated on the threshold, too paralyzed by the idea of what I might find inside.
“Gypsy?” Birdie’s frail voice called out. “Is that you?”
I shouldered the door opened and pushed inside but halted at the sight of my trembling sister on the sofa. Her eyes were red, her cheeks stained with mascara, and it had the immediate effect of triggering every protective instinct inside me. I wanted to murder Lucian West, and if he were here right now, I seriously might have.
“Birdie, are you okay?” I moved closer but froze a foot in front of her.
She wasn’t a little girl anymore, and I didn’t know how to comfort her when she was like this. Inside, Birdie was softer than she let on, but on the outside, she was full of rage. There was an incendiary device lying in wait for the right trigger, and it didn’t explode often, but when it did, it leveled everything in her path. Even that was preferable to what I was witnessing now. Birdie didn’t cry. Neither of us cried anymore. It was a silent promise we made to ourselves after we left California. No more tears.
“I’m sorry.” She clutched her arms around her body, rocking back and forth. “I’m so sorry, Gypsy. I screwed up. I screwed up so bad—”
“It’s okay,” I assured her. “I promise, it’s going to be okay. But right now, I just need you to go pack. Only necessities like we’ve talked about. Your wallet, IDs…”
Birdie’s gaze moved behind me, and the rest of the instructions lodged in my throat when the telltale sound of a gun cocked and pressed against the base of my spine.
“She’s not going a
nywhere, and neither are you.”
Birdie broke down again, sobbing uncontrollably while I tried to come up with a plan. But apart from kicking this dude in the nuts and trying to run before he shot and killed us both, I had nothing.
“Do you work for Mr. West?” I asked.
“I’m an associate of Mr. West’s,” he answered. “I don’t work for anybody but myself.”
Well, that was clear as mud. “Whatever he’s paying you, I can double it.”
A husky laugh wheezed out of his throat. “That’s cute.”
“Look, what do you want?”
“It isn’t what I want. You know the deal. It’s been laid out already. If you need clarification, you can call Mr. West.”
“Can you kindly put the gun away?” I asked. “So we can discuss this like civilized adults?”
He removed the gun from my back, and I turned around slowly to face him. The guy was huge. Undoubtedly some type of mercenary if my wild imagination had anything to say about it. I wasn’t in the habit of feeling intimidated by men, but it was a natural instinct to falter in the presence of this one.
The guy was an animal. Six feet of rugged muscle poured into motorcycle boots, jeans, and a leather biker vest. Not exactly who I would expect Lucian to run with, but I guess it shouldn’t have surprised me. He was a criminal attorney.
“I’m Gypsy.” I offered a tentative smile. “Which I’m sure you know already. But I didn’t catch your name.”
“You can call me Ace,” he grunted.
“Okay, Ace. Let me take a stab at the situation,” I ventured. “Mr. West helped you out somehow, and now you feel indebted to him, right?”
He tilted his head and smiled. “Lucian was right about you, you know that?”
His words left a sour taste in my mouth, but I tried not to let it get to me. “How so?”
“You think you can bat your eyelashes at any man who comes your way and bend him to your will.”
“It was just a simple question.”
Ace shrugged. “Well, if you must know, he did help me out. He helped me out in a way that nobody else ever would, and I owe him my life. So you can save your breath trying to make a deal with me.”
I knew he wasn’t mincing words. His loyalty to Lucian was unwavering, and I was at a loss. “So what happens now?”
Ace glanced at Birdie, and I stepped in front of her to obscure his vision. I didn’t want him to witness my sister crying. I didn’t want anyone to see how vulnerable she was.
“The way I see it.” Ace scratched at his beard. “You and your sister here are fucked six ways from Sunday. If I were you, I’d take the deal.”
“No,” Birdie shouted.
When I turned, she was already up off the sofa and trying to push through the barrier I’d created to protect her.
“Sit down, Birdie.”
“No,” she insisted. “I did this. It was my fault. Tell Mr. West that I will fulfill the deal.”
Ace narrowed his eyes and shook his head. “That’s not the deal, kid. Ain’t gonna happen.”
“Are you crazy?” I asked Birdie. “You know I wouldn’t let you do that. Stay out of this, B.”
“God, Gypsy.” She wiped at her tear smudged face and turned her angry blue eyes on me. “I’m not a kid, okay? I screwed up, and I should be the one to pay for it. You can’t fix everything for me all the time. Do you get that?”
“Obviously,” I snapped. “Because everything I’ve done to protect you has completely gone to shit now. How could you do this to me? After everything I’ve done to make us a home here, how could you just throw it all away?”
Regret welled in her eyes, and she looked at the floor. “I just wanted to be like you.”
Her words gutted me, and I knew she was right. This was my fault. I hadn’t shown her the way to live. I’d managed to get by with the idea that I’d done the best I could with what I’d been given, but that wasn’t an excuse. My eyes burned so deep with shame, it nearly spilled free. But I couldn’t allow that to happen.
Birdie had to know I was strong. She had to know I could handle this. I would fix it. I always did. I forced myself to hug her, and she cried harder.
“I’m so sorry,” I whispered. “I’m sorry, B. I should have done better. I will do better from now on.”
“It’s not your fault,” she insisted.
We broke apart, and I fixed the messy hair around her face as Ace walked to the fridge and grabbed a six-pack of beer he must have brought with him.
“Women,” he muttered.
“What are you doing?” I asked as he plopped on the couch, kicking his dirty boots up onto my Italian mahogany coffee table.
He reached for the remote and turned on the television. “Making myself at home. It’s going to be a long three days.”
I stared at him incredulously. “You think you’re staying here for the next three days?”
He flipped through the channels without regard to my frustration. “It’s either that or I take her with me as collateral until your decision is made.”
I jabbed a finger in his direction. “Over my dead body.”
He didn’t bother to look at me as he settled back into the sofa and got comfortable. “It’s your funeral then.”
I didn’t think he was serious about killing me, but then again, how could I be sure of anything? I turned to Birdie, who was obviously terrified even though she was trying to put on a brave face.
“It’s going to be okay,” I promised her.
“How?” she whispered.
I looked at Ace and forced the words out with a smile for her benefit.
“I’ll think of something. I always do.”
AFTER CLEARING SECURITY AT CLARK County Detention Center, the guard escorted me to a private room reserved for attorney-client meetings.
While I waited for my next client to be brought in, I went over my case notes and organized my thoughts. This was shaping up to be another high-profile case, and there was no doubt in my mind the media would hang my client out to dry.
Emmanuel Morales was another victim of an overzealous prosecutor and shitty detective work. The kid was only twenty. He still had his whole life ahead of him, yet the public’s already skewed perception of him would justify him rotting in a cell for the remainder of it.
The only thing they saw was the pretty face of the nineteen-year-old girl who had been murdered and the man accused in bold print beside the photos. So far, the witness accounts were contradictory at best, and the evidence was circumstantial. But it didn’t matter because a neighbor swore she saw a Hispanic man lurking around the victim’s home, and that man soon took the shape of Emmanuel Morales.
Signed, sealed, delivered.
In these situations, I was almost always portrayed as the villain. But the truth was that what the public thought of me didn’t matter. What mattered was that this was the worst week of Emmanuel’s life, and he needed an ally. Not because he was a potential criminal, but because he was human, and he deserved a fair shot at justice.
When the guard brought him into the room, he looked just as terrified as the first day I met with him. He hadn’t even made it to real prison yet, and I had serious doubts about his ability to survive in here.
“Emmanuel.” I met his gaze as he sat across the table. “How are you doing?”
He shrugged, but there was a tremor in his lip when he spoke. “I don’t know. This place is kinda crazy, ya know?”
“I know,” I told him. “But you’re here, and that’s the reality of the situation. So, I’ll tell you what we’re both going to do, all right?”
He nodded.
“You’ll mind your own business. Be civilized, but not overly friendly. If someone gives you shit, you don’t react, but you don’t show weakness either. You acknowledge it, and you move on. This is the job I need you to do so I can do mine. Okay?”
“Okay.”
“If it gets too bad, you tell me. Steps can be taken to protect you if it comes dow
n to it.”
He dipped his head. “All right.”
Sharp pain stabbed at my chest, and I doubled forward in a coughing fit that sucked the air from my lungs. I tried to be discreet as I retrieved my handkerchief and dabbed at my lips, but Emmanuel’s eyes were wide as he watched me.
“Are you okay, Mr. West?”
“I’m fine.” I tucked away the evidence that might suggest otherwise. “Just recovering from a nasty bug.”
I opened the folder and redirected the conversation to the reason I was here. Going over some of my case notes with him, I asked questions to clarify points and scribbled his answers as we went along. This would be my first of many visits with him, and I warned him from the beginning it would be tedious. Establishing a solid case took time.
“I understand.” Emmanuel looked at me with eyes that were far too young to fully comprehend anything like this situation he found himself in.
For now, we were finished, so I closed the file and stuffed it back into my briefcase. “Is there anything else you need?”
“Could you…” Emmanuel paused. “Would you be able to give my mom a letter for me? She won’t answer my calls.”
His face fractured as he admitted the truth, and even though I had witnessed this a thousand times before, it was Emmanuel’s first time having his life ripped apart.
“This happens sometimes.” I searched for empathy I didn’t often possess anymore. “It’s easy to get sucked into what the media says. What they don’t show on television is that the family becomes criminalized too.”
Emmanuel’s shoulders hunched forward. “My mom is a good person. She doesn’t deserve that. I don’t want anybody harassing her over this.”
“I’ll check on her. And I’ll give her your letter too.”
“I haven’t written it yet,” he admitted. “But I will. Maybe next time you come, I’ll have it.”
I nodded and stood, pressing the button for the guard outside. “I’ll be back next week. In the meantime, if you think of anything else that’s pertinent, let me know as soon as possible.”
The door opened, and the guard gestured me outside, but Emmanuel’s voice made me pause.