Vote Then Read: Volume II

by Lauren Blakely

“Say it,” I snap, reaching a new height of fed up with all of it. “I need to get going. Kace is waiting.”

  “You need to take a breather.”

  Easing past him, I light another smoke and smart off, “I don’t have time.”

  “Kid,” he says with a warning tone as he follows me to the front of the car. Taking the lead, he lifts the hood and reconnects the battery. “You need to listen to me.”

  “She wants you,” I mumble as he rubs his hands on his jeans. “She is looking for her Masters to carry her home.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “First, she refused to go, and then she said she wanted to spend the holiday with you. She doesn’t want Jaid and Amber to come, and now she is talking about saying goodbye to Dom.”

  His tongue zips out to lick his lips as his jaw flexes. “She’s all over the map…” His words sound more like a rhetorical question as he follows it with an offer, “Let me come with you. You, Dom, Kaci, and myself. She’ll be surrounded by the men she loves.”

  I didn’t plan on a road trip with Kerris, but maybe it’s not such a bad idea. If nothing else, Kaci will have a doctor on hand. We move to the cab and plop inside with me in the driver’s seat. I crank her up, but before I can toss her into first, Jack lays his hand on top of mine.

  “You need to be careful in your relationship with Jaid,” Jack cautiously warns. “She may be an agent, but her position is delicate.”

  “Her father doesn’t know,” I boast, assuming as I glare out the windshield and avoid his scrutiny.

  “Delarte Cristos is a complicated man, Sal.”

  With the memories still fresh in my mind, I scoff. “Don’t remind me.”

  “He won’t take kindly to his estranged daughter working for the enemy,” he informs, composed. “You must understand she took over Kaci’s position.”

  Hearing the intel, I panic and shift from sarcastic to serious. “Wait…what?”

  “Kaci hand-picked Jaid to take her spot. You were her pet project, her side piece.”

  “No,” I brush off, rushing. “You said they were estranged?”

  “Cristos was nothing more than a sperm donor, son. I figured you knew.”

  “She is headed to his house in Florida for the holidays…”

  His chuckle fills the space. “No, she is on an assignment – a permanent placement – handed to her by the boss man directly. Someone thinks enough of you to give you a solid.”

  My mind runs spastic with the indecipherable Cyrillic manifesto. The jargon is rampant, splitting and colliding in a jumbled haze of letters and numbers. Words no longer exist for the shit Kaci has done. “Oh fuck… She’s headed to Chicago.”

  “This twenty-year-old girl knows the network better than anyone there, and that is why Kaci picked her.”

  “Is Cristos involved in any capacity with Sibyl?”

  “No, why would you even ask that?”

  I take a breath as I white-knuckle the steering wheel. “Because my trainer at Sibyl – Madeline Grace – said he had clearance.”

  “… How much did you say when you went to see him?”

  “Nothing because I know better. Trust no one.”

  “Thank God.” Pulling out his phone, he scrolls through his contacts and hits the M.G. button. “What the fuck did you and Kaci do?” His intense rage reveals an unknown passion in Jack Kerris as he is typically so even-keeled and calculating—meticulous. His phone call to Madeline Grace is sloppy and uncharacteristic. “Call me back ASAP!”

  His finger hurries along the screen as he barks off an order, “Archer, pack your bags. You are on Raniero’s ass until I say otherwise.”

  “I don’t need a babysitter,” I lament as he tosses his phone into the console. With pleading eyes, I groan, “Please…”

  “No, you need a fucking watchdog because of the shit Kaci has pulled,” he warns, sitting back in his chair and fastening his seatbelt. He latches his fingers together and calmly adds, “Until I say otherwise.”

  His fury may have diminished, but it was highly contagious.

  And now, I’m infected.

  “I don’t want a fucking chaperone on my ass.”

  “The decision is made, Raniero. Because apparently, your wife has been assembling two armies to go at it for the sake of shits and gigs.”

  “I don’t understand the connection…”

  “The connection is Madeline Grace’s sister is the girl who just swallowed your come.”

  I sink into the seat, leaning back towards the headrest and staring at the ceiling. “Tell me you don’t think Jaid just played the fuck out of me…”

  “I think the three Cristos offspring are beyond dangerous and none of them are aligned.”

  “But Madeline and Jaid are both Sibyl…”

  His look speaks of one that says—Really? “Correction, Madeline works in Europe. Jaid is completely stealth. Their cases do not intermingle. Mad is trying to save her father; Jaid is trying to take him out. Hell, Jaid is trying to take out all the Horsemen.”

  “So, who do I trust?”

  “Follow your gut.”

  I blink. “All this training and your advice is to follow my gut?”

  “Did I stutter, Kid?” He pulls a smoke from my pack on the dash and fills the car with a grey cloud of nicotine. “Here is the question—will Jaid harm Iris?”

  “No.”

  He takes another long drag on the cig. “Okay, why?”

  “Because she loved Kaci and killing Iris would go against her agenda.”

  “Right,” he stresses. “And it would help Madeline way too much to remove the asset, so Jaid is going to do everything in her power to protect Iris.”

  In learning to play the game, I’ve gotten better at seeing the bigger picture which always exists. The moves don’t make sense in the immediate, but widening the scope—things become crystal clear. “Ya, she is…from me.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me you were implementing Jaid as Iris’ personal protection unit?” Sal’s question rings through the Cruiser as I snicker. With Jack in the back seat, I refuse to take the bait and start a war. There will be plenty of time for that once we arrive in New Orleans.

  “If I had told you, would you have let it occur?”

  Tossing a glare my way, he rebukes, “God, Kace. Fuck no…”

  “And why?” I ask, knowing the lesson I’m giving is one that he needs to encounter for himself. He needs to be able to assess and act on a dime—without thought—where his instincts lead the path to the pot of gold. Sibyl trained his body and mind and sex to react rapidly, but I need his spirit so highly attuned that he doesn’t flinch even when the game recreates itself beneath his feet.

  “Because of everything in its own time. I would have rushed the gun,” he answers, cocking a brow above his Bolle shades. A smirk rises from the corner of his mouth as he adds, “Both of them.”

  “That’s my boy!” Jack marvels from the backseat, patting Sal on the shoulder. “Takes a fine agent to admit when he’s compromised.”

  “And Iris has you in a tizzy,” I state, understanding that Sal’s need to impress me is first and foremost. He wants Iris because I implemented the plan to put her in front of him. “You know Chance Ballister may have tossed that file in front of you in the dungeon cell, but it was me.”

  “But how do I…” he mutters as we speed over Lake Ponchartrain. “Why is Chance so willing to sell out his wife?”

  “Is he selling her out?”

  “He thinks she is dirty,” I admit, remembering the look in his eyes. “At the very least, he knows she works for Gennaro.”

  From the passenger seat, I move my hand to rest upon his arm. “And he wants to crack Gennaro?”

  “Not exactly. Ballister likes big, important cases. The fact that it is Angelo Gennaro doesn’t matter. It could be Tom, Dick, or Harry as long as they have their name in lights,” he says with the unlit cigarette parked between his lips. It’s been there for a good hour, and he is looking devas
tatingly handsome with his blue dress shirt billowing open. I catch sight of the ink, starting to come through sessions with Delilah Banks. I can only imagine how inked and scarred up he will be when this house of cards tumbles.

  “I built you to be able to garner Iris’ attention, don’t forget that.”

  “You built a killer to reassemble the fucking puzzle of your psychotic mastermind, but I’m nothing more than your bitch,” Sal teases with a snarl. “You scattered the bits, chiseled them down, and expected I could put it all together based on my subservience to you, but the thing is Kace, I don’t know if I can. If I fail…”

  “You will not fail; you don’t lose, remember?” I encourage, lifting my bare foot upon the dash and glancing out the window into the darkened night. “You wanted more than anything to take down your father, and if you cannot play a few practice rounds, you stand zero chance of attaining your goal. Ultimately, I’m giving you everything you ever desired—freedom from your familial ties, more money than you’ll ever spend, and a submissive wench. I deserve a note of thanks.”

  Part II

  His Long Goodbye

  15. Lucky SOB

  Wednesday, December 22

  10 days before…

  After getting little sleep, I find myself in my favorite spot—by the pool at Dom’s house, which is technically The Dollhouse that Kaci owns. And apparently, I will own at her passing.

  The Southern gothic plantation, known as The Dollhouse in New Orleans, is a pristine piece of property. By itself, the house is worth a fortune to most, but what I’ve come to understand is what all my wife owns. Not only will I have this tranquil space amongst the revelry, but the industrial Banks Arts & Co building in Houston with our fourth floor recently renovated spread. The Creekside Loft Apartments—as in the whole historical building—and the vast piece of acreage in Sugargrove—both the house we were building and Serene’s Victorian farmhouse. There is a spread in Galveston, and the old mission, La Chiesa.

  All totaled up if liquidated the estate of HR (Hope-Raniero) Holdings is worth millions including the cash, jewelry, stocks, cars, and racehorses. I’ve been doing quiet research since we married and tried to determine how in the hell this twenty-four-year-old girl ended up with so much.

  All records indicate she inherited some of it through a trust listed from David “Marshall” Hope, but her wise investments blossomed the sweet amount into a fortune. He worked for Sibyl until a bad deal sent him on the run some years ago. I know I should be studying his cases, but most of them have vanished or just gone “missing” and his father, Earl Hope, is a tight-lipped, locked up time-capsule. I’ve been working towards cracking Earl since before Sibyl – to learn more of Kaci’s history – but his memory is faltering more as time progresses, and he succumbs to the vile torment of age.

  From Georgia’s round-the-clock, intuitive hacking, we were able to determine the further Marshall delved into the criminal underworld, the more he realized what being a contract assassin could be worth. He would play for any team and held no loyalty if the price was right. In essence, he fucking raked it in from men like my father.

  Her sister, Cassidy Hope, is to inherit her portion at twenty-five. Kaci received hers earlier because she admirably followed in her father’s footsteps, but Cas is nothing more than a junkie, searching for her next fix.

  After Kaci passes, I have strict instructions to weasel my way into Cas’ life somehow and have her hand over the bulk of her fortune. It’s a ludicrous plan, and I won’t need the money, but according to Kace, Cas doesn’t deserve one penny. And being I’m her good little soldier; I aim to honor her wishes.

  I have accepted what Kaci did with me. She recreated me in her father’s image. Her fatherless childhood left an open, gaping wound, one which she yearned to fill even if it meant complete destruction of my soul only to resurrect me to be the new and improved Marshall. People can say what they want about what she accomplished, but I have one distinct quality that ol’ Dave never managed to embrace. A simple concept really—I may run, I might even hide, but I do not back down—ever.

  After his disappearance, many in the society believed his weak resolve led to his burrowing into the underground. He tarnished his reputation so much with his multi-playing faces that eventually no one trusted him. He could have gotten away with it once, maybe twice, but he did it for years. He’d take a contract with Cristos for a hit on a cartel leader in Central America, only to come back and point the gun at Cristos’ men. Round and round, David Hope went until he was so dizzy, all he could do was fall to the ground and land in his own pile of shit.

  We went on a goose chase looking for the man. Of course, I knew where he was all along, but I wasn’t giving Kaci that because he didn’t deserve her idolization of him. He is a worthless piece of trash in my book. At some point, picking a side is an important concept, but he never received that memo.

  Choose a damn team.

  My team is easily distinguishable—my own, bound with respect and blood.

  But the second she goes, I’ve got a target on my back for the estate. Still, my team will not change. I will be generous to those who respect the privilege and give hell to those who don’t.

  In the back of my mind, I’m already starting to process who I want beside me. Dom Gennaro will rank high up on my list, if for no other reason than I owe his ass for understanding the inhumane legacy of being the offspring of a crime boss. I know Kaci would insist I also work with Jack Kerris, and the rabid pit bull of a trainer sitting next to me, Dale Archer. He is Kaci’s uncle… Well, half-uncle by the maternal side. Half-sibling to Serene and her full sister, Jacqueline, who was murdered shortly after Cas’ birth.

  Dale is also a lucrative investor in online porn and worth the golden throne of a King, but the need to feed his adrenaline leads his work to play bodyguard over me. I think it should be the other way around, but I get that he isn’t the son of the Boston mob boss. That’s me. And somehow, that alone earns my ass a lovely red X on my back.

  Lowering my sunglasses, I take a sip of the iced coffee and challenge, “How long are you going to sit on the opposite side of the pool and stare at me, Archer?”

  “Until someone shows up to kill your ass.”

  “And then what?”

  The snarl beneath the fuzzy mustache says it all. “I kill them first.”

  Expressing my displeasure with getting the ginger-haired nanny, I spread my hand wide. “How long does this have to go on?”

  He rises with his large, militant frame. “Til the nice Italian man inside calls it off.”

  Tossing my glasses on the table, I sit up and protest, “What the fuck am I?”

  “A street punk who is using his hands to talk?”

  I shake my head. He may have saved my ass from the incident in the alley and done extensive training with me, but I’m beyond unhappy with his presence as I sit and sulk. He takes a seat under the umbrella at the nearby round glass table and chairs and lights a smoke. “You are overthinking about this. Just pretend I’m not here.”

  Standing up, I strip off my shirt and jeans, mostly because I’m an arrogant prick when I’m miserable. I dive into the pool naked and do a few laps as his eyes never once leave my ass. This is so wrong, and I cannot believe Jack and Dom agree that this is what is best for me. I catch sight of the nice Italian in his khaki trousers and tailored dress shirt and immediately, I exit the pool by taking my own sweet time on the steps. I shake my curls and rub my hands over my ripped abs, playing up the pretty boy image Kaci created. No one said I had to play nice with the oaf.

  Dom’s gaze drifts over in my direction as I say nothing, toss my shades on, and return to the lounge chair completely stark ass naked. “Raniero, why are you sunning yourself in sixty some odd degree weather?”

  “I’m not,” I growl. “I’m merely enjoying the morning air.”

  Dom cackles. He knows I’m pissed. “You going to keep this up?”

  “What?” I ask, pulling my glasses d
own to the bridge of my nose. “If I have to deal with the red-headed bastard watching over me, I intend to make things as uncomfortable as possible.”

  “You are behaving like a spoiled brat,” Dom contends, stealing my lighter for his smoke. “This will cost you. I suggest you remember where you are and who you are.”

  “He ain’t bothering me none,” Dale adds, leaning back in the chair with his big, buff arms crossed. “Let him do what he needs to work this out in his head to make it okay. No need to ruffle any feathers.”

  Although his stance seems to be on my side, I don’t want his support. “This will never be okay with me.”

  Dale leans forward and places his elbows on his knees. “But why is this not okay? Certainly, you had to anticipate needing protection at some point especially after…”

  I lift my finger with a warning as I interrupt, “Don’t say it.”

  “I’m going to leave you here to work out your lover’s spat,” Dom says with a preposterously broad smile. Dale chuckles; I fume. His massive ego is a thing of infamy, and I’m no stranger to it, but Dale Archer playing security guard is bizarre. The man is a damn billionaire, and he gets off on carrying sleek weaponry with his tactically trained bod.

  Lucky me.

  By noon, we are still in a stand-off. I thought of grabbing my wife and fucking her in the pool, thinking that would make him leave, but rumors from the inside of the house report that she is still asleep. “You just going to stand vigil?”

  “As long as it takes.”

  His answer is direct, but his focus on me is relentless. I have to hand it to the guy. If nothing else, he is as stubborn as a mule. “You’re kind of obnoxious. You know this, right?”

  His brows arch up high from beneath his aviator shades. “I’m doing my job in guarding your punk ass. If you don’t like it, take it up with your Masters.”

  “I don’t want to take it up with them,” I point out with an unimpressed stare. “I want to take it up with you.”