by Nina West
But when Caleb is suspicious, the tension that swirls around him is thick enough to choke a herd of elephants.
Merrick spares Farley—standing sentry in the corner but ready to pounce, quick as a panther; the behemoth is surprisingly sprightly—nothing more than a glance before closing the distance to the bar and accepting a drink. “Still think we tried to kill you?” he asks with equal calm, his eyes steady on Caleb’s battered face. But his free hand is flexing by his thigh, looking ready to either ball up or reach for his gun at any indication of a trap.
Besides our loaded Glocks, Farley is our only protection in the room. He’s the one we trust unequivocally. If we tell him to dig a hole, he’ll ask how deep and nothing else. He’s like our Bane, only not a psychopath.
The other security detail is watching the entryways into the hotel and the elevator, except for Moe, who was instructed to stay glued to Mercy. Caleb argued with me for the last hour about having the Perris stripped of their weapons before being allowed up here. I argued against it. We’re supposed to be partners, not adversaries trying to kill each other at every turn. Plus, if I were these two, the hell if I would step foot inside this room unarmed, knowing we suspected them of attempted murder for even a second.
Now I’m wondering if I’m the idiot. Vince may be the convict with a history for violent assault, but Merrick is the highly trained MMA fighter. While Caleb and I can hold our own, we’re no match for the youngest Perri, guns or not.
“We know it was Peter,” I jump in to say before my cocky brother makes the tension worse.
“It is his MO.” Vince accepts his drink and, though he put on a façade of calm, his shoulders seem to drop through his sip, as if he’s finally allowed himself a breath. “He actually admitted to it?” His eyes flicker to Caleb’s battered face, and I see the question there—has the threat been neutralized? Did we spend our night watching as Farley dug a hole in the desert?
Has Nonna Perri finally been avenged?
A part of me wishes I could say yes. “No, not exactly. But they’ve gone to ground. All of them. Peter, Vic, Alexei—”
“Hiding like the bunch of fucking rats they are,” Caleb growls, downing a gulp only to wince. The vodka must be burning into that nasty cut.
Merrick steals a look at his brother. “This is a problem.”
“No, it’s not. It might change things, but the end result is the same. And if Peter’s willing to try to take us out, then you can bet your ass he’s after our father, too.” There’s a strong possibility that the Easton patriarchs will take each other out and our hands stay clean. Relatively so.
“In fact, we don’t really need you two, do we?” Caleb smirks, though there’s no humor in his words.
He’s right. Who thought Uncle Peter would have the balls to come after us like this? He should have done it years ago instead of going all turncoat. Then again, he needed us. We’re a hell of a lot smarter than his idiot sons. We launder quadruple what all their businesses combined can manage.
But now that he’s been outed as an informant, the clock is ticking. He knows it’s either him or us.
Another fleeting look passes between the two Perri brothers. They’ve figured out the same.
“So, what are you saying?” Vince asks, his face stony. “What the fuck are we even doing here?”
“Don’t get your panties in a knot, Perri. Like Gabe said, the end result is the same. We just have to play our cards right.” Caleb flips the channels on the TV from soccer to golf, as if we’re in the middle of a casual conversation. “Miles is going to get exactly what he deserves for what he did to our mother.”
“Only if you deal with your uncle before he gets to you,” Merrick mutters.
“We will. We’ve got people turning over rocks.” I don’t give a shit what our father said about taking care of the Peter problem himself. We need to know where he is and now for our plan to work. Having both Bane and our PI, Stan, on the hunt will net faster results.
“And what about those fuckhead cousins of yours?” Merrick asks.
Caleb lights a cigarette. “What about them?”
“We didn’t expect them to go on the offensive, is all. Are we going to have to watch over our shoulders for the next thirty years?”
A haze of smoke curls from Caleb’s lips as he levels Merrick with a steady gaze. “What’s the matter? Are your little Perri feet getting cold?”
“Fuck you,” Merrick sneers.
He grins in answer. “Our cousins are as good as dead. Bane’s after them, too.”
The brothers share a glance.
“Well, in that case…” Vince holds his glass up in a toast. “To finally being free of our families.”
“Don’t get ahead of yourself. A lot can go wrong before anything goes right,” Caleb, ever the pessimist, warns, though he clinks his glass all the same.
“Until then…” Vince’s astute crystal blue gaze wanders over the palatial suite, his posture visibly relaxing, his hands no longer looking ready to go on the attack “Have to say, this isn’t how I expected the Easton boys to do Vegas.”
Caleb snorts. “What’d you expect? A baby and a tiger?”
“More like a room full of booze and pussy to greet us.”
“Booze is already here. The pussy will arrive later, but it’s all for us. You’ll need to find your own entertainment tonight.” Caleb smirks through a sip. “If you’re nice to me, I might let you watch. This is what you’re really after anyway, isn’t it?” His steely gaze lands on Merrick as he cups his crotch.
Fucking hell, Caleb. The guy’s boyfriend was murdered by his own brother a month ago, and Caleb’s throwing around “come get my dick” jokes already?
The glower that overtakes Merrick’s face proves he doesn’t find the taunt amusing either.
Farley takes a looming step closer, and I take two quick ones, to create a barrier and to squash the impending eruption. “Are we set for tonight?”
Vince shakes his head at Caleb before turning back to me. He nods. “Ten o’clock sharp. They’ll use the service elevator, to avoid the Feds. You know the Feds are camped out downstairs, right?”
Caleb snorts, as if the idea that we wouldn’t know is preposterous. After last night’s fiasco, we assumed we’d earn one sooner or later. Moe is the one who noticed the unmarked gray van tailing us on the interstate. “Of course we know, and they can suck my dick because they don’t have shit on us.”
We hope they don’t.Ten tonight is perfect. Our concierge, a petite blond named Daniela who Caleb is already sizing up for a blow job, made reservations for us at the Mage’s high-end restaurant for seven, followed by VIP tickets to the circus show for the ladies. I don’t give a fuck about watching a bunch of dudes in tights swing around on ropes, but Michelle said Mercy has always wanted to go, so I made sure to get the full experience—prime seats, a meet and greet with the cast after, the whole shebang. It’ll keep them far away from here while Camillo and Miles are around.
Part of me wants to postpone this dog-and-pony show until tomorrow. It’s all a pointless charade, a means to making it look like we’re good sons following directives from the powers that be: my father. It’s better to just get it over with though. A quick in-and-out meet-up and then I can enjoy the rest of this trip, ideally buried between Mercy’s thighs.
I nod even as my stomach clenches at the prospect of inviting those snakes in here. The games room in our suite is the most secure location we’ll find anywhere in Vegas. Farley has thoroughly swept the place for bugs.
But with all the bad blood between our two families and the fact that Miles is a sick fuck, even without the older generation Eastons there, things could go sideways and fast. All it’ll take is one side comment about our mother, and my volatile brother’s liable to start sinking bullet holes into the walls, and then the Feds will have shit on us.
Do we have a hope in hell of pulling this off?
We have to if we want a chance at a legitimate life.
> With that in mind, I set my jaw with determination. “You two know your family better than we do. Let’s play out a few scenarios on how they’re going to want to handle the cartel situation, so we keep up appearances of this alliance—”
“Excuse me, Gabe, but the ladies are on their way back,” Farley suddenly interrupts, his baritone voice a deep rumble cutting into our conversation.
“What do you mean, they’re coming back?” I glance at my watch. We sent them away for four hours to give us time to work through details about tonight. It hasn’t even been two.
“They’re already in the elevator.” Farley taps his ear where an earpiece sits. “They’ll be here momentarily.”
Shit. I didn’t want Mercy knowing that we were meeting with the Perris again. She knows too much as it is. The first gathering with them at Empire ended in a fight and her snooping around in old newspaper articles, digging up dirt that could—should—have sent her running, our deal be damned. She’s put pieces together to figure out that Camillo was responsible for our mother’s death. Now she’ll start worrying about me doing something stupid and dangerous. As much as I find I like her worrying about me, I don’t want her anywhere near this.
What would Mercy even say if she found out we were masterminding a series of murders? Would she see it for what it is—a necessary means to an end?—or would she write me off as the devil that our father has worked so hard to raise me to be? There was a time when her opinion of me didn’t matter, when she was a sexual conquest and nothing more.
But now I’m finding that I care what I see reflecting back when I look into her beautiful brown eyes. I don’t want her to ever stop looking at me the way she does.
Caleb shakes his head and spears me with a told-you-so look. He insisted that bringing them would complicate things. He was all for leaving them in Phoenix with Moe. I’m the one who dug my heels in about bringing Mercy, because I’m a selfish ass who wants her nearby, who doesn’t want to go a night without waking up next to her. “Let’s move this conversation into the private room, shall we?” He grabs the closest bottle of booze.
I sigh, pulling my wallet out to see how much cash I have. I’d rather send them out to shop than have them sit here wondering what’s going on behind closed doors. “Give me a few minutes to clear them out—”
The elevator doors open, and Mercy steps out, her face chalky-white, looking ready to spill her guts all over the cool tile entryway.
7
Mercy
I concentrate on my breathing as the elevator climbs the levels, praying I don’t pass out before we reach the top. The last thing I want is Moe’s hands on my body as he peels me off the floor.
“Do you think it might have been that chicken sandwich?” Michelle’s voice is full of worry as she studies my face, which must be as white as death given how nauseous I feel. I wonder if the sheen of cold sweat I feel building on my forehead is visible.
“Yeah. Maybe.” I force a weak smile as I lie to my best friend. What choice do I have, especially with Moe hovering?
As the esthetician unraveled my body from the plastic wrap, I dwelled on Agent Lewis—on all she already knows about me, on her offer, and her warning. I imagined my father getting away from that hellhole and starting over fresh. I combed through every sordid detail I know about Gabriel—what I can confirm and what I can deduce. I already know too much. I could know a lot more, given enough time.
Then I replayed our conversation from early today, coiled around each other’s bodies with the sun cresting over the horizon, where he basically said that working with the Feds against his family would earn anyone a death sentence, blood relation or not.
By the time I made my way to the shower to rinse off the layer of chocolate on my skin, I’d convinced myself that my days of breathing are numbered.
So I bolted for my robe, canceling the rest of my session as my stomach churned and my lungs worked overtime to pull in air. I intended on leaving a message for Michelle to stay and enjoy the afternoon, but we crossed paths in the hallway, and after one look at my face, she insisted on escorting me back. I didn’t have the energy to argue with her then. Now, I’m happy I didn’t. If I had, I might be forced to cling to Moe instead.
“We’re almost there,” she says, smoothing her hand over my forearm comfortingly. “I’m so sorry.”
“Why? It’s not your fault,” I mutter.
Moe stands silent behind us, having said nothing beyond a quick directive into his earpiece to let the others know were coming back. But I feel his sharp gaze boring into my skull, studying me, and it only escalates my panic. Does he suspect this is more than the effects of a bad sandwich? Could he have seen Agent Lewis in the spa and identified her for what she is? Gabriel said he was highly trained. Does that include sniffing out FBI agents?
How did the Feds even know I was going to be at the spa? And how did they know we would end up in Vegas today, after last night’s tragedy? Have they been tailing us? Do they have Gabriel or Caleb bugged? Is someone informing on the Easton family? I shouldn’t be surprised that the FBI are actively investigating them, but does Gabriel know?
I have so many questions, and I don’t know if I can ask any of them.
The elevator doors slide open with a soft ding. The first face I see is Gabriel’s, and it brings me an unexpected wave of relief. I release a lung’s worth of air as I step out.
That relief is erased in the next breath as I spot Caleb by the bar with two familiar-looking men. It takes me only a moment to recognize them as the two guys they met with at Empire last week.
The Perris.
I know who they are. Or rather, who their father is—the man responsible for their mother’s brutal death. What the hell are Gabriel and Caleb doing meeting with them again? Is this a friendly visit, or are they the reason we came to Vegas in the first place?
I don’t have time to ponder that before Gabriel charges for me.
“What happened?” Concern mars his handsome face.
I swallow, struggling to find words as I feel all eyes on me. The weight of Agent Lewis’s business card in my purse is noticeable. Could I explain myself if they found me with it? Would they believe me if I said I’m not working with FBI, that I haven’t given them anything?
I should have torn that stupid piece of paper to shreds and left it in the spa trash can, is what I should have done. If not for my father, I would have.
When I don’t answer, Gabriel shifts his gaze to Moe and barks, “What the fuck happened down there? You were supposed to watch her!”
“It must have been the sandwich or something. I don’t know,” I mumble.
Gabriel’s eyes snap back to me. “You’re sick?” His tone has softened instantly.
“I’ll be fine. I just need to lie down for a bit until this passes.”
“Come on.” He slips an arm around my waist and deftly scoops me off the ground. I find myself sinking against his chest, comforted by his strength and the smell of his spicy cologne and the concern he’s showing as he swiftly carries me past the men without a single word to them, up the stairs, and into our bedroom suite.
“Here.” He rips the covers off the bed and sets me down gently. “What do you need? Water? Medicine? Should I call a doctor?”
“No doctor.” They can’t help me, aside from dosing me with Valium to dull this overwhelming dread that has taken hold of me.
“Wait here.” He strolls into the en suite. I hug myself and listen as the sink faucet runs. When he returns, he has a folded white facecloth in hand and he’s snagged the bottle of Evian from the table.
A knock on the door sounds, and a moment later it cracks open. I’m expecting Michelle, but instead Caleb pokes his head in. “Here.” He thrusts an ice bucket into Gabe’s hand. “In case she yackity-yacks.”
I grimace. “I’ll bet the staff would love that.”
Gabriel pushes the door shut, locking it this time. “They’d love it more than cleaning puke up off the carpet if yo
u can’t make it in time.”
“Fair enough.”
He settles down on the edge of the mattress. “Besides, I’m sure it’s not the worst thing they’ve had to clean up.” He brushes strands of hair off my face with soft fingertips and then settles the damp towel against my forehead. Consternation shines in his eyes. “Does that help?”
“Yeah.” As does being near Gabriel, oddly enough, especially when he dotes on me like this. Like a loving partner. Not like the dangerous criminal Agent Lewis claims him to be.
He has a handgun tucked in the back of his pants, I remind myself. And one in an ankle holster. And I just interrupted a meeting with a rival crime family. The rival crime family that is behind his mother’s murder.
Still…
Minutes pass in silence as Gabriel rubs my nape with cool fingers and I study his hard jaw and those full lips that are capable of such softness. Maybe I should tell him about Agent Lewis’s surprise visit. I didn’t do anything wrong, and I told her nothing. He’d want to know that they’re investigating him so he could take necessary precautions, to make sure he doesn’t end up behind bars right when he’s trying to break free of it all.
“Feeling better?”
I manage a weak smile. “A bit.”
He nods. “I’ll have the concierge rebook for tomorrow.” His warm palm smooths back and forth over my thigh in loving strokes. “Your skin feels like silk.”
“I got a chocolate body wrap.”