by Nina Levine
He spits at my feet, his furious gaze locked with mine. “I thought we were done!”
“What the fuck made you think that?”
“You guys beat the shit out of me and left me at that party unconscious.”
I grip his face and bend to bring our eyes level. “Clearly you know nothing then, Ricardo, because if you think that makes you even with Storm, you’re delusional. We’ll be done when I say we’re done.”
The anger doesn’t leave his eyes. A moment later, he rears his head back and then forward with enough force to headbutt my nose. “Screw you! You’ll have to kill me to be done with me!”
Without hesitation, and ignoring the pain he’s caused me, I punch him so hard he falls sideways, chair and all. His head hits the ground with a loud crack that is satisfying as fuck to me. Bending, I clutch his shirt and reef him up, shoving his chair back against the wall. His head hits that, too. Another satisfying loud thud.
My fist connects with his cheek a few more times, a warm-up as I get started on the task of extracting the information King wants.
When I’ve punched him enough times that his face is a bloody mess and he’s in some serious pain, I bring my face close to his again and grab a handful of his hair. “You want me to kill you, Ricardo?”
His lip pulls up in a sneer. “You don’t have it in you, pretty boy. I’m not even sure why King would bother to send you.”
His bullshit amuses me. A lot of the men King sends me to take care of think the same thing; they underestimate me. It’s always their last mistake in life. “And to think the other night you were begging me not to hurt you.”
“Yeah, well I’m thinking straight now; I wasn’t then.”
I crouch in front of him. “Good, that means you might make some smart choices when I ask you what I’m about to ask you.”
More of that sneer from him. “Not fucking likely. I’m not telling you anything.”
I lift a brow questioningly. “So you do want me to kill you?”
He fights against his restraints. “I want you to fucking leave.”
“Tell me who you take orders from in Black Deeds and I’ll consider leaving.”
A frown briefly touches his forehead. “Black Deeds? I don’t work for them.”
I stand and smack him hard across the face. “I don’t believe you. Give me the name.”
He looks up at me, anger buried deep in his eyes. “I’m telling you the truth.”
I work my jaw as I reach for my gun. Pressing it firmly to his temple, I roar, “Tell me his fucking name!”
“Shoot me, asshole. I have no name to tell you.” He still thinks I don’t have it in me to kill him.
Taking a step back, I meet his gaze. “You know what? I’ve got some time this morning to spare. I think we might settle in for some fun.”
I return my gun to my jeans and swiftly, before he sees it coming, punch him in the gut. The punch has some force behind it and he cries out in pain. While he’s in that pain, I punch him in the same spot again. And again. And again. Over and over, I develop a rhythm. The way my mind hums along to the rhythm and focuses only on it is what I imagine meditation must be like for people who bother with it.
Time passes and I move from punching his stomach to punching his face. Again, it’s rhythmical. Methodical. Ricardo thinks I’m a pretty boy with no darkness in me; he’s as far from the truth as he can get.
This shit settles me in a way not much else does.
Ricardo has made a serious miscalculation; I never hesitate to embrace my darkness when it’s needed.
My phone sounds with a text and I back away from him to survey my work. He’s a mess and is staring at me with all the hatred in the world. Not that he can do that easily; I’ve beaten him so much that his head is hanging at an odd angle and his eyes struggle to open. Blood covers his face, dripping down to a red pool on the floor that’s filling fast. We’re getting there.
I grab my phone and check the message.
* * *
King: Ricardo isn’t working for Black Deeds, but take care of him so he knows not to fuck with us again.
* * *
“Looks like it’s your lucky day, asshole,” I say as I place my phone down.
Unable to articulate with words, he grunts his response. I can’t be sure, but it seems he’s still trying to argue with me.
Grasping a handful of his hair, I jerk his head up so his eyes meet mine. “King doesn’t want you dead, but he does want me to make sure you know not to fuck with us again. How long do you feel this is going to take for you to get?”
Through the blood and bruising and swelling, he shoots me a filthy glare.
“Fair enough.” I let his head go and leave him for a moment in search of a knife. Locating one, I come back to him and cut one of the cable ties secured around his wrist. Pulling his arm up to rest his hand on the table, I raise the knife and bring it down hard to cut one of his fingers off. His body spasms with pain and he unleashes a tirade of shit I can’t understand. The only words I do make out are the fucks.
Squeezing his cheeks, I demand, “That enough or you want more?”
His lips twist and he sends me a look that clearly says that’s not enough, so I rinse and repeat, cutting a second finger off.
“Fuuuuuck!” he roars, his pain increasing. Good.
He jerks so violently that the chair falls back. His head cracks against the floor when he lands. I step over him, my feet either side of his body. “Another?”
With agony etched into every line of his face, he challenges me, “Try it.” His chest rises and falls as he pulls air in. “You won’t like the consequences.”
I punch his face. “You are so full of shit. The other night you were pissing your pants.”
“Yeah, well I’ve lined up my allies since then. I’m not fucking scared of your club now.”
I punch him again. Harder this time. “You should be. Whoever your allies are, they’re idiots. Everyone in Sydney knows not to go against King.”
He doesn’t respond to that, so I do as he challenged; I cut a third finger off. I have to fight him for this one, though, and end up on the floor with him, smearing his blood all over my hands and arms in the process.
“I’m getting a feel for your stubbornness,” I say as I push up off the floor, sweaty and pissed off. “Something tells me I could cut all your fingers and toes off and you’d still fucking fight me.”
He’s in a whole lot of agony and yet he continues to stare defiantly at me.
I pull out my phone. I’m done with his bullshit. And it’s not his lucky day after all.
I search for Kick’s number and call him.
“Jesus,” he answers with a grumble, “It’s not even five yet, Fury.”
I eye Ricardo, who is writhing in pain on the floor, making as much fucking noise as he can. Jamming my hand over his mouth to silence him, I say to Kick, “Sorry brother, but I’ve got a plumbing problem.” King’s paranoid as fuck these days about being listened in on, so he has us using a whole heap of code. Code he changes weekly. It does my head in some weeks trying to remember what means what.
“Fuck,” he mutters, but I hear him moving into action. “Text me the address.”
Ending the call, I shoot the text through and then look down at Ricardo as I reach for my gun. “It was your lucky day, but not now.” Aiming the gun at him, I add, “You should have shut the fuck up after the first finger.”
He spits blood at me. “You shouldn’t have come here today.”
I’m so past listening to his shit that I don’t even bother giving him the satisfaction of continuing the conversation.
I pull the trigger.
The fucker isn’t good at going down, though, not even in death. Instead of shutting up, he gurgles something about the blonde from the other night not being safe. That gets my attention. I crouch in front of him. “What did you just say?”
His lips pull up with menace. He’s barely breathing, but he gets out, �
�The blonde. We’ll get her…”
With that, any breath left in him dies on his lips and I’m left wondering what the fuck he meant. I’m also forced into action.
Stalking through his house, I find sheets and wrap his body ready to be moved when Kick gets here. I then clean myself up in his bathroom, doing my best to ignore his filth. The guy’s messy and doesn’t appear to know his way around a cleaning cloth.
Once I’m done, I text Kick.
* * *
Me: I can’t stick around and wait for you.
Kick: What the fuck? I need the extra manpower for this.
Me: Sorry, can’t stay. Will catch you up later.
* * *
Letting myself out through the back door, I disappear down the path at the side of his house and quickly make my way across a couple of blocks to where I left my bike. A few moments later, I’m on my way to Zara’s house.
It’s just past 5:30 a.m. when I pull up outside her home. Although the sun’s just rising, it’s twenty-four degrees and humid. Today is gonna be a bitch.
When no one answers the door after I knock a few times, I bang louder. Ricardo was probably talking shit when he threatened Zara, but I need to see that she’s safe before I call King and let him know what was said.
I bang on the door again. Louder. Finally, it’s yanked open and a cranky Holly says, “What the hell, Fury? You do know it’s too early for unexpected visitors, right?”
Looking behind her, I ignore what she says and push my way inside. “Where’s Zara?”
I’m already halfway down the hall looking for bedrooms when she catches up to me. “She’s asleep as far as I know. Why? And Jesus, ever heard of being asked to come inside before just bulldozing your way in?”
I continue to ignore her as I throw doors open. “Which room is hers?”
“That one,” she says as I open Zara’s door. “But you seriously do not want to wake her up.”
Too late, Zara’s awake and glaring at me like she wants to kill me. “What’s going on?”
I can’t help but drop my eyes to her body as she moves off the bed and comes my way. Two nights ago, she wore a dress that hid her curves. Today, her body is barely covered and I’ve got curves for days coming at me. My gaze zeroes in on the skimpy tank that meets pink panties before leading to long tanned legs made for sin.
Christ.
I jerk my eyes back up to hers. “Go back to bed.” She doesn’t need to know why I’m here; I don’t want to scare her.
“Go back to bed?” Yeah, she’s pissed.
“Yes.”
I’ve almost made it back outside when her fingers curl around my bicep and dig into my skin as she attempts to slow me down. “Do you storm into people’s houses often or are we the lucky ones?”
“Fuck,” I mutter as I stop and face her. “I don’t have time to get into this with you, Zara. I have shit to do for King.”
Her hands go to her hips and she flashes anger at me. “I don’t give a shit what you have to do for him; I want to know why you came here and why you think it’s okay to wake us up and then leave with no explanation.”
“I told you,” Holly says as she comes down the hall to where Zara and I are arguing. “She’s grumpy in the mornings and doesn’t like being woken up.”
“Yeah, I’ve got that.” I look back at Zara who’s still shooting daggers at me. “King will fill you in.”
Before she can keep at me, I stalk outside to my bike and make a call to King.
“Yeah?” he answers.
“We may have a problem. Ricardo made a threat against Zara and I couldn’t tell if it was legit or not. I’ve just checked on her to make sure she’s okay, and she is, but do you want me to stay here and keep watch until we can figure out what the go is, or do you wanna send someone else so I can get over to Hagarty?”
“Fucking hell.” His wrath surfaces and I can imagine the look of extreme displeasure crossing his face. “What the fuck do you mean you couldn’t tell if it was legit? You couldn’t find a way to drag that information out of him?” Zara mightn’t be his daughter by blood, but they sure as shit share the same temper.
“He stopped breathing before I could get it out of him.”
He’s silent for a few moments, which is not like King. That lets me know this shit is as serious as I thought. Fuck knows what King has going on at any time; he keeps a lot close to his chest and only shares information when it’s absolutely necessary. When he answers me, his voice has the low, vibrating anger I don’t hear often from him. It’s the anger that means he’s not only pissed, he’s out for blood, too. “Stay there for now. I’ll find someone to replace you.”
The line goes dead at the same time Zara gets in my face again. She’s dressed now, wearing a loose, black dress that can only be described as dull, and yet, because I’ve now seen those curves of hers, it seems anything but dull.
“Can you please tell me what’s going on?” Her anger is nowhere to be seen now, but I’m getting the sense she’s still feeling it, just not showing it, because those brown eyes of hers are still flashing wildly at me. But also in there is something else. Fear.
It’s the fear that reaches me; it reminds me of what I saw too much of in my mother’s eyes while growing up. So I give her what I can to calm that fear. I figure that living with King has opened her eyes to the shit that goes on in this world, so there’s no need to hide the basics. “A threat was made against Storm; I had to check you guys were okay. You are, so all is good.”
The fear doesn’t leave her eyes. “How bad is this threat?”
“I don’t know yet.”
“Are you staying?”
“Yeah. Until King sends someone else.”
She relaxes a little. “How worried should I be?”
Fuck, this is the shit I don’t want to get into with her. Not when I don’t know how King wants this handled. “How about you go back inside and leave me to deal with this?” My voice has turned hard in an effort to stop any further conversation.
“And how about you stop treating me like a child and give me some information?” The attitude blazing from her could start a fire.
“Last I knew, you are a child. At least, you act like one. So do us both a favour and go inside and stop asking me shit you know better than to ask me.”
Her lips press together. “I’m almost nineteen; that’s hardly a child.”
“As far as I’m concerned, Zara, you’re King’s child, so I’m gonna leave this shit for him to tell you. Now get your ass inside and let me do my fucking job.”
Those lips of hers smash together even harder. “Has anyone ever told you you’re an asshole?”
“Yeah. Plenty of times.”
“Well they were right.”
She glares at me for another couple of moments before spinning on her heel and stalking back inside. Fucking finally. If I have to keep putting up with her shit, it’s going to be a long day until King sends someone to replace me.
4
Zara
* * *
I pull up outside Mum & King’s house and kill the engine of my car. Kill is almost literally the right word. My old beat-up Ford has seen better days. She sputtered so much on the way here I wasn’t convinced I’d make it. I’m not sure I wanted to make it, though, because I have no doubt I’m about to hear what Mum thinks of my drinking the other night. I’m surprised I haven’t heard anything from her already. She always has something to say about the shit I do.
Taking a deep breath, I centre myself as best I can for this visit. As much as we love each other, we have a difficult relationship. I don’t blame her; she’s just being a mum and looking out for me and trying to stop me from the bad choices I make. But knowing that doesn’t make it any easier for me to accept her always being on my case. My defences come up way too fast these days. They always have, but it’s worse now.
Thank God for King. He might be overbearing and pushy, but he always manages to talk her around when she looks se
t to give me a hard time. I’m pretty sure it’s thanks to him that she’s not been too pushy about me seeing a psychologist the last couple of months. While he’s pushing me on that now, I think he tried to give me time to figure it out on my own. It’s because I love and respect him for that and a million other things that I’ll do as he’s asked rather than argue with him over it.
We will have to discuss Fury, though. The bullshit from this morning has put me on edge, and I’m already on edge enough these days; I don’t need Fury showing up like he did, causing me more stress. I get it if King wants him or any of the other guys to check on us, but his delivery needs some work or else my paranoia and panic are going to go into overdrive.
A tap on my car door startles me, and I turn to find my grandmother staring in at me. “Goodness, Zara, it’s hot out here. Come inside, child.”
Smiling at her, I say, “Hey, Gran,” before exiting the car and wrapping my arms around her. “What are you doing here?”
She takes hold of my shoulders when I end our hug, and meets my gaze with a seriousness I’m not used to from her. “Your mother isn’t doing well at the moment. She needs me.”
For Mum to need Gran, she must be in a lot of pain. “Her fibroids?”
She gives my shoulders a quick squeeze before letting them go. “Yes.”
With that, she leads the way inside where my three-year-old brother Cade throws himself at me and cries, “Zawa!”
I have no idea how Mum does it—two children under the age of four, plus Robbie who’s twelve. On top of that, she still worries too much over Holly and me. And then there’s her pregnancy and the complications her fibroids are giving her.
As I lift Cade up for a cuddle, Mum comes our way. She’s walking slowly, and while the pain isn’t reflected on her face or in her body language, I know she’s feeling it. I hate seeing her like this, and it just seems to be getting worse.
I give Cade a kiss and put him down so I can hug Mum. He runs down the hallway towards his bedroom, leaving us alone.