by Jen Davis
He kissed her, a gentle brushing of the lips. “Whatever it takes.”
The pizzaman disrupted the moment with two raps on the door. She grabbed the box with quick thanks, grateful she’d paid online.
Jonathan slapped her ass. “You always answer the door commando?”
Laughing, she set the box on the table and threw open the top. The rich scent of pizza sauce and freshly baked bread was heaven. “Your shirt is longer than some dresses I own.” She pulled out a slice of cheesy goodness and bit in to a small piece of nirvana.
He frowned. “Maybe I need to check out some of those dresses.”
“What you need to do is eat up. Because when we finish this pizza, the only thing you’re gonna see is my bare ass before I climb on top of you for round two.”
He finished his first slice in three bites.
Within five minutes, there was no more talk. The pizza was history, and Jonathan’s clothes were on the floor, where they belonged.
***
Sucre
“You’re sure you saw Brick?” Sucre glared at his nervous employee. Quinton was only sixteen, and Sucre used him for light surveillance work. The kid did a good job blending into the background.
Today, he’d sent Quinton to follow Tre. Even though Brick’s protégé tried to hide it, he knew Tre was losing his shit over his little brother rising in the ranks. Tre was already a loose cannon. Sucre needed an accounting of what he did every minute until he knew for sure the kid wasn’t a threat.
Tre trashing some school teacher’s car was of little interest. But Brick playing her knight in shining armor was another story. Perhaps this was the mystery person who had received his video clips.
Quinton shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “Not a hundred percent sure, no. I was a ways down the street. After Tre left and I texted you, I stopped at McDonald’s for a burger. When I was coming out, I saw Brick–or a big guy who looked like Brick—changing the tires on the car Tre had trashed.”
“You didn’t try to get a closer look?”
Quinton shook his head emphatically. “No, sir. You texted me to come back.”
Irritation rose. “And you didn’t think to drive closer to the parking lot first?”
Another shake of the kid’s head. “No way. Not my job to think. It’s my job to do as I’m told.”
For fuck’s sake. Those were the words Brick made all of his new recruits memorize. Most of them were too stupid for him to give them leave to think on their own.
“Fine,” he growled. “Do some sniffing around. Find out who the teacher is. Then I’ll figure out if she’s of any use to me.”
As Quinton scampered off to do as instructed, Sucre leaned back on his throne. If the woman could be any kind of leverage over Brick, it would be a major boon. The man’s grandmother had died a week ago, and Sucre didn’t know how much longer he could keep the information quiet. He was almost out of photos to send. Thank fuck he’d thought far enough ahead to keep a few in reserve. With the old lady out of the picture, he needed a new way to control his best soldier.
He’d considered using Kane Hale once he learned Brick had befriended him at his construction job, but he knew better than most, only a fool would trifle with the guy’s motorcycle club. After some thought, he decided such a plan would be more trouble than it was worth.
But Brick had no other friends. No other entanglements. Hell, he wasn’t even sure the man had a sex drive. Brick never took advantage of all the free pussy roaming around. Most guys considered it one of the best perks of the job.
Maybe he needed to pay him more money. If he couldn’t force him to stay, maybe he could entice him.
He discarded the idea as quickly as it occurred to him. Brick had plenty of money. The bastard had been squirreling it away for years.
No. Force was the only way to go.
He grinned as a text from Quinton lit up his phone.
Olivia Turner.
At least now he had a place to start.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Brick
Brick knew something was wrong as soon as he saw the receptionist’s face at the nursing home on Saturday. His heart sped up at the resigned look she flashed him. “What’s going on? Has she taken a turn?”
Mrs. Beckwith motioned him to follow her toward a private family room. She tried to get him to sit down, but his blood pumped too hard to let him relax.
“I’m sorry, Brick. Your grandma has passed.”
The words didn’t register. The woman’s mouth still moved, but her words didn’t matter. Besides, she couldn’t be right. He clutched his phone. Sucre had sent him a picture yesterday.
“I want to see her,” he said quietly.
“I’m not sure—”
“Now.” There was no room for argument in his tone.
She sighed. “Let me get the doctor.”
He paced as she left him alone in the room, his emotions a churning mess. On the one hand, it was a punch in the gut to lose the only family he had. His grandmother had been the single constant in his miserable life. She never baked him cookies or rocked him to sleep, but she cared for him in her own way. For a long time, she was all he’d had. Someone in the world who cared if he lived or died.
He’d done everything in his power to make sure she lived a comfortable life. She had a warm bed to sleep in and food in her belly. It was more than his piece-of-shit father had ever managed for her.
But despite the loss, her death also meant hope. She’d been the only thing keeping him under Sucre’s thumb all these years.
He was finally free.
The doctor walked into the room, Mrs. Beckwith nowhere in sight. “I understand you want to see Sylvie. Come this way.”
Together, they walked the sterile halls down to what was presumably the man’s office. The doctor gestured for him to sit, but he shook his head sharply. “What happened? Where’s my grandmother?”
“The renal failure finally got the best of her. She’s already been moved to the county morgue.”
He stilled. “Renal failure? My grandma didn’t have problems with her kidneys.”
The doctor shot him a sympathetic look. “I’m afraid she did, for about six months now.”
Anger flared. “No one told me about this.”
“It’s almost over,” she’d told him. “I’m dying.”
Why didn’t he take her seriously? Ask more questions?
“It wasn’t our decision to make,” the man said calmly. “Your grandmother was mentally fit and did not give us permission to share the details of her condition or treatment with you. It was her choice, Mr. Barlow. She knew, even with the dialysis, it was only a matter of time, since she wasn’t a good candidate for transplant.”
He shook his head, flexed his hands. “When did this happen? Why didn’t you call me?”
The doctor grimaced. “It happened last week. I honestly don’t know why no one contacted you. A phone call is protocol. Believe me, I am going to make it my business to find out.”
“Don’t bother.” He already knew the answer. Whoever Sucre had in his pocket here had made sure to keep this a secret as long as possible. It was in Sucre’s best interest for Brick to think his boss had power over him. “Did she leave any instructions? What she wanted for her burial?”
“She left you a letter she dictated to one of her friends. There was a copy in her file, but it’s missing now. Fortunately, she also gave one to me for safekeeping.” He pulled an envelope out of a pocket in his white coat. “I’ll give you a moment alone. Come on out when you’re done.”
He ripped it open before the man made it out of the door.
Dear Brick,
I know you’re upset with me for not telling you the whole story about my kidneys. I knew you didn’t take me seriously when I told you I was dying, but there was nothing you could do about it anyway. You’ve already done enough. More than I deserved. You put yourself in that bastard’s hands, so I could live in peace. And I h
ave. This place was exactly what I needed.
But my time is done.
Besides, you’ve waited long enough to live your life. I know you’ve done some bad things, but I also know why you had to do them. Forgive yourself. If you can, forgive me, for all the years you’ve suffered. Then, try to start over. Get as far away from all this as you possibly can.
Don’t waste your money on a fancy service for me. I don’t need it. Just scatter my ashes at Piedmont Park.
I’ll be watching you from wherever my tired old soul goes next.
She didn’t sign it, but he had no doubt those were his grandmother’s words.
He balled the letter tightly in his fist, then hurled it at the wall only to watch it bounce pitifully to the ground. His blood burned to break something, to swipe everything from the desk onto the ground. Instead, he stomped outside to the gazebo where he sat with her last. Then he vaulted up and wrapped his hands around one of the beams framing the turret.
He didn’t count as he pulled his body up and eased it down. His mind was too busy raging. He pulled up…eased down.
It didn’t matter whether he could have saved her. She was dead. After everything he’d fucking done to keep her safe, she was dead anyway.
And she knew. She fucking knew what it cost him.
Why wasn’t it enough to save her?
His lats and his biceps burned, but he pressed on, pushing himself harder. Until the anger drained away. Until the impotence stopped crushing him. Until he could really focus on the words his grandma had left behind.
She thought he’d done right by her. She was grateful. She was sorry.
Could he forgive himself?
Who knows?
Could he forgive her?
Wiping the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand, he looked up at the blue sky. That one was a no-brainer. Even though his heart weighed heavy, he was ready to start his new life, and in her way, his grandma had given him her blessing.
He wasn’t going to waste this chance.
***
Brick’s first order of business was to collect his cash from the apartment. He needed money if he had any chance of making a clean break from Sucre.
Everyone seemed to be watching as he parked his truck and strode into his place. He emptied out the hollow leg of his table, stuffing all the bills into a backpack. Gently, he wrapped his tiny, childhood race car into a bandana and added it to the bag, along with the photo of his grandma and the napkin from the Majestic. Those were the only things he wanted to keep. Everything else here could be replaced.
He’d tried calling Olivia on the way back, but the calls went straight to voicemail. The plan was to go to her apartment from here and never look back at his old life again. He’d disappear. If anyone was fool enough to come after him, they wouldn’t live to regret it.
He almost didn’t recognize the hope—the promise of freedom—fluttering in his chest. It was so foreign, fragile.
Hefting the pack on his shoulder, he didn’t even spare a look around as he walked out the door for the last time. Still no answer from Olivia when he tried calling her again, but her car sat in the parking lot when he pulled up to her building.
His hand was poised to knock on the front door when he caught sight of Tre’s little brother, watching him from the sidewalk. A hundred ways to kill the kid shuffled through his head, but if the boy was here, it might already be too late. He turned away from the door and approached the teenager with caution.
The kid, Devon, shook his head before he could say a word. “Sucre’s got her.”
He swallowed the bile rising in his throat and stared at the boy’s face. It was almost expressionless, except for a small twitch in his left eye.
“I wanted to stop them. Miss T was always good to me. She tried to get me out of this hellhole. I was afraid to let anyone see she mattered to me, though, so I kept my mouth shut.”
For a moment, he’d forgotten the kid’s connection to his girl. “What did they tell you to do?”
Devon’s focus flickered around the parking lot, probably looking for a sign of whether the boss had set up spies. “I’m supposed to be watching for you. Sucre’s got a suspicion you might be involved with Miss Turner, but he’s not sure. I was supposed to stay out of sight and tell him if you showed up. Here.” He held out Olivia’s cell phone. “They’re gonna be searching for this. Your pictures are all over it.”
He shoved the phone in his pocket. If Sucre already had Liv, killing the kid would do no good. Cold sweat trickled down his back. Panic gripped his heart like a vice, but he fought to ignore it. He had to use his head if he wanted to save her. “What tipped him off?”
“He didn’t tell me. He said he was sure the lady would be of interest to at least one person in the crew, and he needed to know if she’d be of interest to you as well. I don’t think he realizes I know her.”
“Shit. Tre had a tail.”
Devon stood up straighter. “What does my brother have to do with this?”
“Olivia came to your apartment trying to find you.” He had no idea if Devon realized what a sociopath his brother was, but now wasn’t the time to mince words. “He’s been stalking her ever since.”
“This is really bad,” Devon whispered.
“You don’t know the half of it. She only wanted to help you. She didn’t understand what your brother is.” He clenched his fists as shards of anger broke through his icy fear. “Do you?”
“Yeah.” From the expression on his face, Devon understood the situation completely.
“Tre trashed her car at the school yesterday.” He gestured to the Corolla, which still showed evidence of the attack. “She called me for help. I made sure your brother was gone, but I should have realized he’d have a tail. Sucre’s probably just waiting for him to implode over you getting recruited.”
“Tell me what to do. How can I help?”
He considered the boy, thought back to Olivia’s steadfast belief he was destined for something better than all this. “Stay here. Don’t let them know you’ve seen me. Don’t let them know what I’ve told you. Wait until they call you, and act like everything is normal. But don’t lie about your connection to Olivia. In fact, you need to disclose it as soon as you can. Otherwise, it seems like you’re hiding it. You got me?”
“Yeah. What are you gonna do?”
A very good question. “I’m gonna do whatever it takes to make sure she gets out of there alive.”
***
Liv
When a strange man grabbed her from her front porch, it didn’t even occur to Liv to try and fight back. All her sister’s pep talks, all of her training…and still, her brain couldn’t process what was happening fast enough for her to react.
So instead of slipping away or twisting the guy’s fingers, she was a sack of potatoes when someone shoved her into the trunk of a car. Thirty minutes later, someone pulled her back out and dragged her into a shady bar. Though it was obvious she was there against her will, no one so much as batted an eye.
The man clasping her arm let her go in front of an ornate throne in the back of the room. The thing looked ostentatious and ridiculous, much like the man who sat on top of it. The man in the sick video she could never unsee.
He wore a white suit like the one John Travolta had in Saturday Night Fever. Flashy rings adorned his fingers and a familiar thick, braided gold chain circled his neck. The crisscrossed braid made her think of the ring she’d given to Jonathan. The one like her mother’s.
She wanted to kill Sucre de la Cruz, but she was outmanned and outgunned. It’s why she didn’t roll her eyes, why she didn’t laugh, and why she didn’t scream. She forced herself to breathe as his gaze slid over her like he was assessing a horse to stud.
“Do you know why you’re here?” His voice carried a hint of a Spanish accent, and it was as smooth as aged bourbon.
She clenched her hands to her chest as she shook her head.
Sucre smiled, but it didn’t
reach his eyes. It was a serpent’s smile, frightening and cold. “My name is Sucre de la Cruz, and this,” he spread his arms wide, “is my domain.”
She trembled, not even trying to hide it. Let him think his name alone made her quiver. His reputation had permeated Atlanta like a poisonous fog.
This time his smile showed teeth. “I see you know of me. I wonder how. Perhaps my face looks familiar. Or is it my body? I’m told I look even better without my clothes.”
“Everyone knows who you are.” Refusing to accept the bait, she kept her voice meek, subservient. No reason to poke the bear.
He picked up a lock of her hair, then let the strands fall from his fingers. “Even a sweet little school teacher such as yourself?”
She swallowed against her dry throat. Nodded. The less she spoke, the less she’d get herself in trouble.
“Tell me, Miss…”
“Turner,” she whispered.
“Why do you think you’re standing before me right now?”
She would never admit to knowing Jonathan. Never. “I don’t know,” she whimpered.
“Really?” He cocked his head, then glanced over her shoulder. “This lady look familiar to any of you?”
“I’ve seen her.” An unfamiliar voice rang out from the small crowd surrounding them. “She was with Devon at Burger King the other night.”
The information clearly took him off guard. He sat up tall in his seat. “Aren’t you full of surprises? Tell me, Miss Turner, what do you have to do with my Devon? And how do you know of his association with me?”
She lowered her eyes. “Devon is—was—one of my students. My best student. I had encouraged him to t-try for a scholarship. When he didn’t do it, I pushed him, and he said he had obligations in his neighborhood, and he worked for someone important.” She fudged the details a little, but it paid off when Sucre puffed up. “I didn’t know it was you.”