by Nina West
Too well. “If he touches that woman, or any woman, while we’re gone and I find out, I swear to God I’ll give him a matching black eye,” I warn. “I’m not kidding.”
Gabriel smiles through a sip. I wonder if he’s recalling the time I slapped him for propositioning me in the prison parking lot. I drew blood. For a moment, I thought he would kill me. “He won’t be tempted. At least, not for the afternoon. And you’re taking Moe with you.”
Not this again. I steal a glance to where Farley hovers, pretending to not listen. “An armed dude hovering over me at a spa? It kind of defeats the purpose of going, doesn’t it?” How can I even attempt to relax?
Gabriel’s sigh is heavy with forced patience. “He can wait in the lobby.”
I open my mouth to argue.
“He’s the best bodyguard I’ve got. He just wants to make sure you’re safe. He’ll stay out of your way.” Farley’s grumbling voice cut into the quiet room. “He specifically asked to be on your detail.”
Moe asked to follow me around? Why the hell would he ask? Is that supposed to make me feel better?
“Mercy. Please. There’s shit going on that you don’t have any clue about.” There’s a tired, strained edge to Gabriel’s voice that makes me feel like a spoiled brat.
I bite my tongue and nod sullenly.
“Should I have the mud bath or the rejuvenating massage?” Michelle muses, studying the menu card.
Amie, the hostess behind the counter, a pristinely manicured blond dressed in a white suit much like Sienna’s, flashes a toothy smile. “Why not both?”
“Why not, indeed.” Michelle giggles and turns her attention to me. “Seeing as we’re not paying for any of this… what are you in the mood for?”
I roll my shoulders in a poor attempt to remove the soreness from sleeping in the lounge chair by the pool last night. “Lying on a table while someone pampers me for hours?” The Mage spa looks more than equipped to handle that task. I was a little wary to commit myself to an entire afternoon here, but the moment we stepped through the doors and I inhaled the rosewater scent lingering in the air and took in the expanse of cool gray marble, a calming sense washed over me. I’ve never had a real massage—one by a professional and that didn’t equate to foreplay—and now I’m in no rush to leave.
But I can’t ignore the voice in the back of my mind that keeps reminding me which business is footing the bill for the luxury we’re afforded this weekend. Is it wrong to lavish in it if we’re simply recipients?
It was one thing for Mary’s Way to unintentionally accept a hundred thousand dollar check. A twisted irony of sorts—that the money Marsha will be using to fix all of the rehab center’s leaks and creaks and shortcomings so we can continue accepting drug addicts is coming from the very business that created those drug addicts.
But at least in that case, Gabriel’s money is going to a good cause.
Now, it’s going to silky smooth skin and fewer muscle knots.
“We have the two-hour or the three-hour personalized rejuvenation massage sessions to choose from.” Amie taps the menu card with the tip of her pen, and I try not to balk at the price tags listed next to each line item. “Why don’t you do the three-hour, while your friend can start with a mud bath and whirlpool and then do the two-hour.”
“Perf!” Michelle squeals. Clearly she’s not battling with the same moral demons as I am.
“It’s settled then. Let me take you to your rooms, ladies.” Amie comes around the desk to lead us farther into the spa.
Moe, who I did my best to ignore while he hovered by the glass entrance door, closes the distance to sidle up behind me.
Amie eyes him warily. “Will… he be joining you in the treatment room?”
I sigh in an attempt to expel my annoyance. “He’ll just check everything out and then he’ll wait out here for us.” Visually dissecting every person who enters for signs of a threat, no doubt. I wish Gabriel had sent Farley instead. He might be the size of a grizzly bear, but at least he doesn’t have the crazy eyes.
Amie’s smile is tight as she leads us down the hall, and I think I catch her muttering “Fun times” under her breath.
I could get used to this.
The soft notes of a flute tickle my eardrum as I lie in my cocoon on the table, my eyes shuttered with a cooling face mask. The aesthetician scrubbed my body and slathered it with what she called a “cocoa-rich formula” before wrapping me in plastic. She then ducked out, telling me she’d be back in a half hour and to simply relax and enjoy the quiet while my skin absorbs the medley of serums and creams.
At first, thirty minutes—bound and unable to move, to check my phone, to do anything—sounded like an eternity. But between the music and the dim lights and the heavenly chocolate scent seeping into my body, I feel the tension slipping from my muscles as each minute passes.
I’ve nearly drifted off when the slightest creak of the door announces her reentry.
“Feel good?” she asks softly.
I make a humming sound of contentment, the effort to form actual words too much.
“I’ve heard Gabriel Easton doesn’t spare any expense for his women.”
All the calm from the past hour evaporates as my body goes rigid. I never mentioned Gabriel, and that voice doesn’t match the aesthetician’s. Hers was wispy. This one is deep and commanding.
I open my mouth to scream for Moe—I can’t move, bound in plastic as I am—when the eye mask is peeled from my face.
“Relax. I’m not here to hurt you,” the woman says. “I just want to talk.”
It takes a few blinks and moments for my eyesight to return in the dimly lit room. I focus on the woman who stands over me in a spa robe, her thick mane of curly black hair held back by a white headband, her brown skin radiant, as if she just left a facial—only the swipe of plum eyeshadow across her lids denies that. She smiles easily, but behind that smile and those striking coffee-colored eyes, I see calculation. She has me cornered, and we both know it.
“Who are you?” I ask, though I think I already have an idea.
“My name is Special Agent Kennedy Lewis of the FBI. Call me Kennedy. And you’re Mercy Wheeler.”
Holy shit. I swallow against the swell of panic that surges. The FBI knows my name. I mean, my name was taken down last night by law enforcement people after the explosion, but I assumed it was strictly for report purposes.
And now the FBI is in my spa treatment room.
In Vegas.
Have I become a face on a board in a room somewhere? Is there a line drawn from the Easton crime family to me? I know this is about Gabriel. Who else could it be about? My father is the only other supposed criminal in my life, and he’s behind bars.
“Does the FBI normally sneak into private spa rooms?” I ask, failing to keep the shake from my voice.
Kennedy’s smile widens. “We do what we must, especially when there’s a rather intimidating man standing at the entrance to the spa, scaring everyone.” She seems amused by Moe.
“My aesthetician will be back any minute—”
“My partner’s keeping her busy. But you’re right, we don’t have a lot of time, so let’s get right down to it.”
You haven’t done anything wrong, I remind myself as I take a calming breath. “Okay? What do you want to talk about?”
“Your boyfriend, Gabriel Easton.”
“He’s not my—” I begin to say but cut myself off. It’s probably better the Feds think we’re in a relationship rather than know about our arrangement and the bank account at my disposal. “Why do you want to know about him?”
“Let’s call him a person of interest in an investigation,” she says casually. “How’d you two meet?”
“I can’t remember,” I say, my mind spinning to formulate a lie. But why am I lying? There’s nothing illegal about the way we met.
“Was it at Fulcort? Both of your fathers are serving time there. It stands to reason,” she presses.
Stu
pid Mercy. Of course the FBI would have done a preliminary search to learn some specifics about me. I’ll bet Dad’s status was near the top of “facts about Mercy.” “Yeah. A few weeks after my father began his sentence. I… ran into him in the parking lot. I thought he was attractive.” Please ignore any surveillance footage that might have captured me slapping him, suggesting otherwise.
“Do you know how he and his brother make their money?” Her eyes narrow, and I feel like a bug on a magnifying glass with her hovering over me.
“They own Empire?” It comes out as a question. I clear my throat to add, “It’s a nightclub.”
Kennedy’s head cocks as she studies me for a long moment. “You’re a college student, aren’t you?”
“Not anymore. I wrote my last exam yesterday.”
“Congratulations.” She smiles. “And you work at Mary’s Way. You’ve been there for six… seven years?”
“Six. I’m training to be a counselor.”
“For drug addiction.” Her perfectly drawn eyebrow arches as she emphasizes those words, and I catch a hint of amusement. Not because it’s funny, but because of the irony, I gather.
They know so much about me already.
They definitely have my face on a bulletin board.
She begins to pace. “You’re a smart girl. Do you really believe those two make that much money running a nightclub?”
“It’s a really nice club. High end,” I croak, my eyes darting to the door as I pray for Anna the aesthetician to magically appear.
She opens her mouth to speak but hesitates, as if changing her mind. “So, what are you guys doing in Vegas?” She’s taken on a casual tone.
“Like I said, I just finished school. Gabriel offered to bring me and my best friend here to celebrate. I’ve never been.” Have they snuck into Michelle’s room to interrogate her, yet?
“You’ve been working on that degree for a while, too, haven’t you?”
A cold unease slides down my spine. Special Agent Kennedy Lewis knows a lot about me.
“Any other reason? Anything you might have overheard?”
Like that they’re planning on buying this hotel? I’d like to think they’re not going to do anything illegal to make the deal go through, but who knows with those two? I err on the side of caution and shake my head.
“Nothing at all—”
“No,” I say, a little too forcefully. “Like I said, we’re here to celebrate. It’s taken me a few extra years to finish my degree. I’ve had a lot going on in my life lately.”
Kennedy’s gaze searches the empty walls, silent for a moment. “How is your father doing?”
I blink several times, processing the sudden subject change. “As well as to be expected.”
She nods slowly. “But better than he was, from what I hear. That Diego Montoya guy really did a number on him a few weeks ago. Before Diego was murdered in solitary.”
I swallow against the rising panic. “I heard he committed suicide.”
Kennedy makes a doubtful sound. “Right. And your father intended to kill his coworker. What was his name again? Fleet?”
“He didn’t!” My anger sparks.
“Exactly.” Kennedy circles my table slowly. “He shouldn’t be in there for murder, especially after what that guy tried to do to you.”
It’s the first time anyone with any authoritative power has admitted that to me. “Right.”
“But it seems he’s made some friends on the inside. They’re protecting him.”
“He’s a likeable guy.”
“Still… it’s got to be hard for you. Dad, in prison for the next few decades. Mom, deceased years ago. Drug overdose.”
“Yeah. It is.” And that’s the truth.
Her smile wavers. “The Easton family has been a key player in the heroin and cocaine drug trade for several decades now. Everything they buy—the cars, the house, the money for you to lie here enveloped like this”—her hand waves aimlessly over me—“has been bought and paid for by the sales of drugs.” She watches me carefully, looking for a reaction. Or a lack thereof, if she suspects this isn’t news to me.
“You’re wrong,” I hear myself say, because denial seems to be the best option.
“I’m not wrong, Mercy. I wish I were, for your sake. I can’t imagine you’d choose to be carrying on with a man like that, given your career choice and history with your mother.”
I didn’t choose this! I want to yell. Had the system not so spectacularly failed my father, I never would have met Gabriel Easton. I never would have appeared on his radar. He never would have had the opportunity to play on my desperation.
And now? Somehow I’m at a spa in Vegas and I seem to have lost sight of all the reasons Gabriel is not a man I’d ever want.
If she senses my inner turmoil, she doesn’t let on. “The Easton family has enemies. A lot of them. And the longer you’re with him, the more likely you are to get dragged down into his world. Look what happened last night. You almost died.”
“That was a fuel leak,” I mumble.
“Is that what he told you? Is that why you have a bodyguard out there? Because of a fuel leak?” She smirks, but it falls off immediately. “Did you know his mother died?”
“He mentioned it.”
“Did he mention how she died?” She drifts around the table, studying me with an arched brow.
Have the FBI checked my internet searches at work? If they have, they’d know that I’ve combed through countless news articles about Vlad Easton and his murdered bride already.
I say nothing—not lying, not admitting. It seems like the safest answer.
It prompts Kennedy to continue. “She was killed by a rival family. I’ll leave the details out for now, but suffice it to say it wasn’t a quick or pleasant end.” She furrows her brow. “I would hate to see the same thing happen to you. But you can help us stop the Easton family from destroying more families and more lives. You’d want to do that, wouldn’t you?”
She pauses a moment, waiting for my answer.
I wait quietly for her to continue.
“Sometimes these guys get careless, especially around the women their share a bed with. He might start answering phone calls around you or entertaining business partners at his club while you’re there. He might have a hard day and complain to you about it.” She shrugs. “All I’m asking you to do right now is listen and let me know what you hear.”
“You’re asking me to be an informant against a crime family, if what you’re saying is true about them. That sounds extremely dangerous.” My heart starts racing with trepidation at the very thought of betraying Gabriel like that. His uncle Peter was an informant for the FBI and put Gabriel’s father in jail.
His uncle now has a hit man after him, courtesy of Gabriel’s father.
What would the family do if they found out I was working with her?
Her lips twist, but she doesn’t deny it. “I’ll bet you’d like to have your father’s sentence reduced.”
And there it is. The carrot the FBI will dangle to try to lure me in. I’m so goddamn sick of people dangling my father in front of me like bait.
“I don’t want his sentence reduced. I want him out of prison. He doesn’t belong in there.” She just admitted as much.
Kennedy frowns in thought. “Depending on what you bring to me, that could be arranged. That, and a new life for the both of you, so you’re safe from harm.”
Is she telling the truth?
If the FBI could arrange for my father’s release… I wouldn’t need Justin DeHavilland and that enormous bank account of drug money to pay his fees. I wouldn’t have to wait months—possibly years—for the court system to work in our favor.
I wouldn’t need Gabriel at all.
A sound carries in the hallway, pulling Kennedy’s attention to the door. She slides a business card out of her robe pocket. I watch her stroll over and slip it into the robe I hung on the hook by the door. “Think about my offer, Mercy. It’s a g
ood one. You’ll be helping a lot of people.” She reaches for the handle, but then hesitates. “Oh, and I would suggest you not mention this conversation to Gabriel, especially if you happen to know more than you’re letting on. Especially if you know anything that could be used against him in court. Witnesses against the Easton family have a habit of vanishing. Gabriel’s a dangerous man. Don’t be fooled by his charm.” She ducks out, leaving me tense and stewing in my thoughts.
Do I know anything that could be used against Gabriel or Caleb in court? I don’t think so. At least, not as key witness testimony. Nothing they could build an entire case on. Well, unless their case was about the illegal prison fight ring the brothers run. Gabriel outright admitted it to me. Would my word be considered solid evidence?
In any case, it doesn’t sound like the FBI is after them for that. They want to take down the “family business,” the one Gabriel’s father and uncle are now dueling over. The one Gabriel doesn’t want. He’s trying to get away from it. He was born into it. It’s his father that’s the real problem. And this Uncle Peter, who’s trying to kill him. What if I could help bury that guy while protecting Gabriel?
I lie trapped on the table, weighing Kennedy’s offer, knowing Gabriel would never forgive me for working with her. Would he go as far as to send one of his goons after me? I don’t want to find out.
The door creaks open again, and this time Anna enters. “Oh! Your eye mask slipped off.”
“Uh… yeah.”
She mock pouts. “How are you feeling, otherwise?”
Like I want to leave this spa and run far, far away.
6
Gabriel
“Not even a good ol’ fashioned plane bombing can keep you two down. Impressive.” Vince Perri strolls off the elevator and into the penthouse with his hands in his pockets and a smirk on his face, as if he owns this place and we’re just visitors here. His younger brother, Merrick, is on his heels, looking less casual. His poker face would sink him in two rounds.
“Well, that’s us, isn’t it? Impressive.” Caleb is composed as he pours a round of vodka with surprising accuracy for having only one fully operational eye. He slides the glasses across the bar with the tip of his index finger. I know his composure is an act. He’s still not a hundred percent convinced that the Perris weren’t behind last night’s explosion, even though our father has all but confirmed it was Uncle Peter. But my gut tells me these two had nothing to do with it, and I’ve learned to always trust my gut. Besides, they wouldn’t be walking had Camillo or Miles Perri discovered our secret arrangement, and from what I can see, they don’t even have a scratch to suggest that.