by M. K. Gilher
Thank fucking god.
We step into the gym.
Ivy tenses behind me.
She screams, and I turn just in time to see Shane jump to the side as she fires.
"Ivy, no!"
Her bullet enters the wall of the foyer.
Shane pokes his head and gun around the corner and sees Ivy pointing her weapon at him. "What the fuck!"
"Shane!" Ivy's voice springs off the walls. "I almost shot you!" Her chest rises and falls with each syllable.
"Give me the damn gun." I peel the pistol from Ivy's fingers. Probably wasn't a good idea to give her a weapon in the state she's in.
Shane is unfazed by Ivy's near miss. "What's the situation?" he asks me.
"Someone was in here. Left me a present in my bathroom sink. I cleared the place. Give it a second pass."
Shane nods and stalks down the hallway. He's silent as he enters the master bedroom.
Jett bursts through the elevator doors with his handgun held high. His gaze focuses on my face then narrows in on the ruby droplets on my clothes.
"You okay?"
"Yeah. The penthouse is clear. Shane's double checking."
Jett lowers his weapon and waits for me to explain.
"Bernard's uh…"
Ivy whimpers and hides her face in my chest. With my hand around her ear, I mutter, "Master bathroom," and gesture with my head.
Jett nods and treads toward the execrable spectacle.
"Fuck…" He drags out the word.
Yeah, brother. This sucks.
Ivy's shaking like she's naked in the snow as I position her on the sofa. "It's okay. No one's here."
"Who… Why would…" She mumbles and gapes at me with panic-stricken eyes.
"I'm not sure. I'll find out. There will be hell to pay."
A switch flicks in her and agony blankets her face. "Uncle Bernie…" Water fills her eyes and pours down her cheeks. Her sobs rip my soul to shreds.
I hold her close and stroke her hair. "It's okay."
It's so not okay.
"Trip." Jett calls me over to the kitchen.
"I'll be right back." I release her, and she brings her knees up to her chest, clutching them tightly and rocking back and forth.
Shit.
I walk to Jett at the center island. "Yeah."
"We gotta get her outta here." He looks toward Ivy on the couch.
"I know. Let me think for a second."
He pours two glasses of whiskey as I try to figure out where Ivy will be safe. Hard to fucking know since I have no idea who planted that goddamned head in my sink!
Shane joins us in the kitchen. "Clear."
I nod at him. Fuck. My fortress has been breached. My defenses, outmanned.
Only an insider could get through my security system. Which one of those fuckers betrayed me?
I turn my back to Shane and Jett and down my drink.
Who in the hell would sever Bernard's head and deliver it to me as a warning? Who out there has the balls to challenge the new boss?
I didn't want to have to kill anyone anymore, but this is way over the line.
The asshole who put that look on Ivy's face will die an unmerciful death at my hands.
No one messes with her and lives. No one.
Goddamn.
I need to murder someone, but I have no fucking clue who.
Chapter 22
Ivy
"Fuck!" Jacade's infuriated roar pierces my ears and pulls my head up from my knees.
Jett and Shane watch his aggravated pacing in his kitchen. He runs his hand down his cheek, his bloodstained shirt taut around his tense shoulders.
Crash!
Jacade catapults his tumbler into the fireplace, and it disintegrates into flying bits of glass skidding across the floor like ice. I've never seen the beast this rabid before.
I squeeze my eyelids to shut out the vision of my hella pissed off Cosa Nostra, only to have it replaced with the taunting memory of my uncle's mutilated face.
Inhale. Exhale.
His spiritless eyes. His mouth open and filled with red-tinted water.
"Ivy?"
He can't be dead. I refuse to lose the only father I've ever known. No!
A hand shakes my knee. "Ivy, baby…"
Jacade.
My eyes open to Jacade's statuesque face plagued in worry. He dabs a wet washcloth to my cheek then rubs it against the burgundy water stains on my legs. "You're going with Shane. No debate."
"Where?"
"Somewhere safe."
"You're not coming with me?"
He looks at the floor then up at me. "No."
He's abandoning me?
He wrenches the washcloth and a few drops fall to the floor.
"You're not coming with me after some psychopath killed my uncle and broke into your place to showcase his work?" My hand quakes as I point down the hallway to the gory scene.
Jacade glances at Jett and Shane watching us from the kitchen.
"Ivy…" He attempts to hush my skyrocketing tirade.
His head snaps back when I push my flat palm out in front of his face. "No fucking way." Don't mess with me, Dr. Jordan. Not after what's happened. "There's some crackpot Hannibal Lecter on the loose! I'm not going anywhere without you!" If I have to superglue him to my hip, I will.
"Keep your voice down."
"I'll talk as loud as I please!"
I dig my fingers into my thighs and focus on the indentations in my flesh. Adrenaline surges through my system. Jacade's hands dislodge my nails from my skin.
"You need to go to a safe house while I sort this out. I want you out of sight and nowhere in the vicinity."
I rip my hands out from under his. "Well, I don't want you anywhere near it either. So, I guess we're at a stalemate."
My stomach lurches at the prospect of discovering his noggin in the toilet. No way in hell am I leaving him.
"Listen. Whoever did this knew enough about us that there was a possibility you would find his head. You're a mark as much as I am."
Crap.
"This could spark a turf war. I have to retaliate. I can't brood over you. I need to focus on making critical decisions."
"Turf war? Like with Gerry Boothby and his crew?"
"Yeah. It could've been him. I'm not sure yet."
I sigh and reassure him. "Jacade, I committed myself to this life. Let me fight beside you."
"Absolutely not. You have no training."
"Please, just think about it. In the club, we were separated and I watched as you were almost shot. At Viktor's farmhouse, we made it out alive because we were together."
"I said no. Drop it." His lips purse.
I stroke the stubble along his jawline. "Apart… we're powerless. Jointly… we're ironclad."
He's mute while he scans my face. His hand seizes my wrist and places it back on my leg. An eclipse darkens his eyes, and the indulgent man I desire is obscured by the apathetic wiseguy.
Dammit. I thought I had him persuaded to let me stay.
Jacade stands and slides his gun into his hip holster. "This isn't up for deliberation. You'll go without stint or I'll tie you up and toss you into the car. Up to you."
Yep, my altruistic man has evaporated into the stratosphere. Okay, fine. You just flicked my bitch switch, asshole.
I rise on my tiptoes and cock my neck to the side. "Give it your best shot."
He grabs me by the shoulders, his fingers digging into my skin as he gets close to my face. "You're going. Fucking deal with it." He releases me and barges off to the kitchen.
Gah! He's such a, such a… jackass!
I stare at him with my hand on my hips. Excuse me for not wanting to be away from you after encountering my uncle's dislocated skull in your bathroom!
Jett walks over to me like the big peacemaker. "He's right, Ivy. This could get ugly—uglier—and you're obviously their target."
My eyes squint in his direction. "Fuck off, Jett. I don't give
a shit."
His torso goes rigid, and he blinks twice. "Okay, then." He walks slowly back to Jacade in the kitchen and slaps his shoulder. "She's all yours, bro."
Fifteen minutes later, Jacade sets a duffel bag next to me on the couch. "I packed for you."
I focus straight ahead. "It's up to you how you waste your time." Although I'm secretly grateful he prepared a bag for me, so I wouldn't have to walk back into the bedroom.
Jacade looks to the kitchen and speaks to Jett and Shane. "Fellas, we need a minute."
They exit down the hallway.
The couch dips next to me. "You can detest me. I don't give a flying fuck. If it means you're still breathing at the end of this, then so be it, fucking loathe me." He rests his elbows on his knees and links his fingers.
I don't despise him. I know he's only trying to protect me.
"There's nothing I can do to convince you to let me stay, is there?"
"No." His pitch makes it clear this is a clash I'm not meant to wrestle with him.
I sigh. "Fine. I'll go, but under complete and utter protest."
"I wouldn't anticipate it any other way." He chuckles.
I turn and straddle him on the couch. My hands grab his cheeks, and his calloused fingers glide up my dress.
I crush my lips to his, and kiss him like he's my final spiritus frumenti before I'm carted away to rehab. His tongue slips in and out of my mouth with sensitive licks. I suck on his bottom lip when his palms grope my ass under my dress.
I press my forehead to his and lock eyes with him. "You'd better come to back me. None of this dying shit without me. Say, you'll come for me." I need the reassurance from his mouth in his comforting voice.
He swipes a stray piece of hair away from my face. "No man nor mountain could keep me from you."
Our powerful kiss forces a tear to well over the rim of my eye. The thought of him succumbing to mortality launches me into my own private hell. The angel of death emerges from the bathroom and looms behind the couch, threatening to divide us with his scythe. The dread streams down my face and dampens my skin.
He pulls back and wipes the moisture from my cheeks. "No more waterworks." His mouth quirks at the corners as he watches me sniffle and subdue my tears. "Oh, and of course, no dying—for both of us."
With a nervous laugh, I wrap my arms around his neck and tug him closer. "Please don't make me hide another gun to rescue you. I'm running out of comfortable body parts to house a firearm of that magnitude."
"Quite thought provoking, since you accommodated a weapon of mass destruction in countless areas last night."
"You're horrible."
"And you love me." He brushes his lips to mine.
"I so do." I murmur into our final kiss before exodus.
***
Ivy
"Does this one have a gunner?" I ask Shane from the passenger seat of a shiny new Land Rover.
"You're safe." He moves to the left lane to pass a slow-moving semi on the eastbound I-90.
"How many vehicles are at your disposal?" I ask.
"As many as I need."
"Can you at least tell me where we're going?"
"East."
"Right." I lean my head on the headrest and watch the Indiana landscape fly past.
As we pass a sign saying Welcome to Michigan, Shane flips open a burner phone. "McCormick." He listens and then takes the exit toward Detroit.
I sit up in my seat. "Is that Jacade?"
Shane ignores me. "Yes, sir."
"Let me speak to him." I hold out my hand, but he snaps the phone closed, rolls the window down, and whips the phone into the wind.
"He didn't want to talk to me?"
"He hung up."
Shane's icy response chills my spine. He hung up?
I slump in the passenger seat and focus on the dark, billowing clouds that have been my only companion on this daunting trip. I just wanted to hear his voice, verify his head is still attached.
Poor Uncle Bernie. I'll never be able to thank him for changing my life. Even if he did do it for all the wrong reasons and sold me out to the man who killed my mother. He gave me a future, no matter which way I look at it.
I wonder if Jacade has told Aunt Helen yet. Darn Jacade for insisting I get out of town right away. Now she has to hear the news without me there to support her. I'm stuck in this car running from a family crisis like a coward.
A single tear glides over my skin. I close my eyes and do my best to push these devastating thoughts to the back of my conscience.
A few hours later, the starkness of concrete highways and urban blight changes to the picturesque rural countryside of the east bank of Lake Michigan. Shane exits the main highway and steers the Land Rover onto a mountain road toward Grand Rapids.
"Are we almost there?"
"Yes." He doesn't take his eyes off the road to answer me.
Yeesh, Bryn's gonna need a jackhammer to crack this man's armor. I've been in the car with him for five hours, and his alertness hasn't wavered. He's as staunch as the Queen's Guard outside Buckingham Palace.
As we come up over a ridge in Crystal Mountain, I gasp as a beautiful two-story wooden chateau with a high brick chimney comes into view. Towering pines and bare aspens engulf the bucolic, Kinkade-like property.
Shane parks at the top of the driveway and turns to me for the first time in our journey. "Stay in the car while I clear the dwelling."
He approaches the cabin with his gun drawn.
Who does he think I am? I rarely do what I'm told. Unless it involves Jacade and a spinning wheel attached to a wall.
I exit the car and grab my bag from the backseat. Crisp mountain air hits my skin and curled leaves crunch under my shoes as I step onto the dirt path leading to the chateau. I run my hand along the cool, polished spruce stair rail and notice four whitewashed rocking chairs on the wrap-around porch. A few birds chirp hello, and the sparse leaves remaining on the trees rustle in the wind.
Shane steps into the doorway at the top of the stairs and glares at me. The corners of his mouth turn down in disapproval. "You can come in now. No hogwash inside."
Ahh, my phlegmatic bodyguard is teasing me with the word I used in the Hummer.
The worn planks of the cabin's great room creak under my feet. This place may be old, but the furnishings are new and extravagant. Someone has put effort into creating a lavish ski retreat. I wonder who owns it. Tabitha mentioned skiing in Crystal Mountain with Jude. Maybe it's his place.
A stack of chopped wood as tall as me stands guard next to a giant fireplace in the center of the room. It's glass on both sides making a bedroom visible on the other side. Well, at least the fireplace will keep me warm on this lonely night. Or possibly nights. I'm not sure how long I'll be here.
Shane moves around the perimeter of the cabin, checks the window locks, and pulls the curtains closed, casting the rooms into darkness. The only light enters from the three rectangular skylights in the A-frame roof.
"Don't open the drapes and stay away from the windows. I'll be on the porch." He closes and locks the front door behind him.
I flick on a light switch and drop my bag on the king-size bed in the bedroom.
Now what? No phone. No TV. No Internet. What the hell am I supposed to do?
Shower. The whole ride here I've wanted to scrub my arms and legs. I wiped them with a washcloth before I left Jacade's place, but I really want to get in there and loofa the blood off. Uncle Bernie's blood. My gut tosses at the reminder.
I unzip the bag Jacade packed me; a pair of dark denim boot cut women's jeans and a long-sleeved, gray women's Henley, a toiletry bag, and a matching set of silky panties and bra. He even remembered socks and gym shoes.
I'm surprised he had all this stuff at his place. At the bottom of the bag is a prescription from Dr. J.
Wow. How long have these items been waiting for me to need them?
How long has my hot ass doc been waiting?
Too long.
Jacade
No message on my phone from Shane, but the clock tells me Ivy should have arrived at Jett's chateau by now.
Dix the Fixer's cleaning crew marches through my private residence. Dix nods in my direction as he passes by with more supplies and tools.
Twisted mop strands drag across my marble floors, disinfecting my citadel.
"Trip…" Jett's voice. "Bro, when was the last time you ate?"
"Last night," I say.
Jett steps to the side to block my view.
"You should think about doing that," he snickers, "and soon."
I glare at him and sweep my arm in the direction of the workers. "I have a fucking elder's head in my bathroom sink! I can't order a pizza. Christ, man. Get your priorities straight."
My fingertips turn white as I grip the counter and drop my head. I don't have the time or patience to contend with Jett.
"Damn, boss. It's not like his head has a date to the prom or anything tonight." He mumbles.
I chuckle and glance up at him. "Make yourself useful and pull the security footage."
"Already on it." He points to his phone on the counter.
I tilt my head toward the master bedroom behind him. "I want the entire bathroom gutted and redone. No memories."
"Dix knows how to do his job."
"Go make sure."
He exhales and rises from the barstool. His low voice carries while he speaks to Dix.
My hands scrape through my grubby hair. What a goddamn clusterfuck! I bet Ray didn't have to deal with this kind of shit during his first few days.
As Jett returns to the kitchen, I say, "This was an inside job."
"Looks like it." Jett slides onto the barstool opposite me. "Boothby?"
"Nah, man. He doesn't have the audacity. You should've seen him cave when I came down on him. He got where he is by kissing ass his whole life."
Jett rubs his chin with his forefinger and thumb. "Who else wants to get your attention?"
"Lots of fuckers, but inside? I dunno. Who'd want to take out Bernard as a warning to me? Doesn't seem like Mahoney's M-O."
"Anyone else know about Bernard's expansion plans?" Jett asks.
"The twenty-one council members at the vote and anyone they blabbed to."