by JA Lafrance
“What the hell is this?” he asked, gesturing to the photos.
“I know who she is. I know who she is to you.”
Joe stared at him, bewildered. “You’ve made a mistake, brother. I don’t know this woman.”
Diego shook his head repeatedly. “No. No, you can’t fool me, old man. My intel is good, I know it. I know who she is to you and believe me when I tell you I will make her suffer considerably unless you back down and turn your business over to me. My men here are dying to line up and have a go at that bitch. Probably more than one,” he threatened.
“Fucking bullshit,” Joe muttered. Without another word, he drew his own piece and put a bullet between Diego’s eyes. The whole room seemed to freeze and then in a flash, all out war erupted as Diego’s men reacted.
Taking cover, Joe felt the burn of fire in his right side and knew he’d caught one. Twenty-five years. Twenty-five years he’d been in the game and never caught a bullet. As he crouched, one of the photos drifted down onto the floor in front of him, smeared with the blood of some motherfucker. The smiling photo of the young brunette stared up at him as he started to lose consciousness.
Some things...some things were so precious and innocent not even death could erase their value.
The sacrifice of life was the most beautiful gift of all.
Chapter 2
Atticus Ellison wasn’t a man that took responsibility lightly. As mayor of Glen Abbott, a position he obtained at the age of thirty-four, he faced a unique set of challenges. Elders who believed he was unfit to lead undermined him at every turn, while other members of government thought he was in it simply for the accolades. The few that really knew him understood his intentions were pure; his ambition without a personal agenda.
When the pandemic hit a few months prior, he’d had to step into the role of leader much faster than he’d planned. The weight of heavy decisions pushing on his shoulders on a daily basis. Keeping Canadians safe was his first priority, even if people didn’t agree with the rules and guidelines he put in place. At the end of day, if what he was doing saved a life; all the criticism and grief over the imposed lockdowns would be worth it.
Pulling his black Acura into one of the only available spots outside of Just a Scoop of Sugar, the town’s most popular coffee shop, he flipped the visor down and took a good long look in the mirror. His light brown hair was sticking up in odd tufts all over this head, a telltale sign that he needed a haircut badly. Behind his black-rimmed glasses, his light green eyes all but screamed how exhausted he was. Hence the desperate need for a good cup of coffee. Fitting his mask over his face, he exited his car and headed towards the shop’s double doors. With any luck, Shea would be working and maybe he could finally convince her to say more than three words to him.
He’d been coming to the coffee shop for as long as he could remember, and she was still as beautiful as the first time he saw her, with her shoulder-length dark hair and light blue eyes. Eyes that were somehow made more luminous by the bright mask covered with yellow and pink polk-a-dots she wore.
Approaching the counter, he had a few rare moments to observe her unnoticed. The grace she carried herself with was so appealing, while at the same time being damn sexy. The gentle sway of her hips, and bounce of her tits beneath her fitted t-shirt as she moved with urgency caused his mouth to go dry as he studied her. Realizing he was openly gawking, he gave himself a mental shake and screwed his head on straight. No need to be caught as some kind of fucking creepy lunatic.
“Good morning,” he called out, raising his voice to be heard over the glass barrier separating the counter from the line of customers.
Shea’s head swiveled in his direction and her smile came easy as their eyes locked on each other. The spark of chemistry even with all the barriers between them was impossible to deny. It was unlike anything he’d ever felt before. His skin came alive; his body yearning to be closer to her. He’d give anything to snatch her into his arms and find out if her skin was as soft as it looked.
“Mayor,” she greeted him. “The usual?”
Atticus inwardly sighed. It appeared their exchange wasn’t going to start off as anything but normal as he’d hoped. “Bran muffin instead today, please. And better add an extra espresso shot in my coffee. Lord knows I need it.”
Shea merely nodded her understanding and moved away to fill his order. He kept his eyes glued to her perky ass, fantasizing about her flesh turning pink under his hands while he made her moan in pleasure. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed another man in line also appreciating Shea’s attributes and sent a glare in his direction. Don’t even think about it, bud.
She returned with his order, and with nothing more than a smile, cashed out his order. Not wanting to let another day go by without moving things forward, he took matters into his own hands.
"Thank you, gorgeous. Shea,” he stopped her as she started to move on to the next person. “One of these days, I'm going to ask you out on a real date.” Her eyebrows shot up at this statement. “Well, as real as it can get these days. And you're going to say yes. Not because I asked, not because I'm the Mayor, but because you want to. And sweetheart, I definitely want you to say yes."
Shea blushed and glanced away, not sure how to respond. He was handsome enough and certainly charming. But a date? With the mayor? Not something she ever saw as a real possibility.
"Ummm...Mr. Ellison..." she began.
"No. Don't answer now. I haven't asked you yet." He winked at her and scooped up his order from the counter. Tossing a cocky grin towards the bastard in line that had been ogling her, he headed for the door.
"Have a good day, gorgeous!" He left whistling, his mood considerably improved.
Shea stared after him, completely shocked. He'd been the star of her fantasies for so long, and now he'd expressed his interest in her. But really, a date? Was that even wise considering everything that was going on in the world? Henry, her co-worker and roommate elbowed her in the ribs to move aside so he could take the next customer since she was standing there dumb as a doorknob. Smiling gratefully at him, she pretended to wipe down the counter.
"Mommy, what's a date?" Penny, her five-year-old daughter asked. Her mop of curly reddish brown hair was starting to come loose from its ponytail, her big blue eyes curious. Shea's heart leapt into her throat seeing her at the storefront, but settled when she realized her mask was still safely in place.
"Penny! You know you aren't allowed out front. Come here," she chastised. Taking her daughter by the hand, Shea led her back to the lunch room where she was supposed to be colouring and watching cartoons. Life as a single mother was tough on a regular basis—but add in a pandemic with no childcare and even less people willing to babysit, it made working for a living literally impossible. The only choice she had was to bring her daughter with her and take every precaution possible to make sure she was safe.
"But what's a date?" she asked again, taking her seat at the long white table.
"It's an opportunity for two adult friends to spend time together."
"But, Mommy, you don't have any friends."
"Ouch, kid. Don't hold any punches," Shea laughed. "Now, I'll be back to have lunch with you before you know it. Remember, just play in here and only leave to use the bathroom, okay?”
"Okay, Mommy." Closing the door behind her, Shea pulled her phone out of her apron pocket. A quick glance around let her know she was alone, allowing her a moment to check her messages in private. Her features hardened as she slipped into the darker side of herself. The side that did what she had to do; no matter the consequences.
Boss, shipment on East 12th is secure. Orders?
Hold for now. Will contact distributors for inventory allocation. ~ S
With a sigh, Shea put her phone away. Life had not been easy for her for quite some time. Being the leader of a gang of ruthless criminals wasn’t how her life was supposed to turn out, but sometimes you had to play the cards you were dealt. Joe Benza might not
have been much of a father, but he’d been one hell of a thug. His legacy was world renowned, his men loyal to a fault. When he’d been gunned down in a horrific gun fight; she’d been heartbroken. As much as she grieved, she raged even harder. Fuelled by that emotion, she’d done the one thing she’d avoided her entire life.
She became her father.
At first, the men were resistant. It took months to get them on board; and several examples of how far she was willing to go to ensure her father’s empire didn’t fall into the wrong hands. Now, as important as it was to maintain what he’d built, it was even more so to keep her anonymity in place. Her job at the coffee house was no longer a monetary necessity, but still required all the same.
Dating the mayor that was single-handedly trying to make sure her crew was disabled permanently wasn’t the best choice for her. No matter how attracted she was to him.
Henry was grinning at her stupidly when she returned to the storefront, all but bursting at the seams with excitement.
"What?" she asked, moving past him to take the next customer.
"You like him. Don't try to hide it from me, I could practically see your pussy begging for him to be your leader. More than he already is."
"Shhhhh!" Shea snapped, horribly embarrassed when the young kid Henry was serving giggled. "You're going to get us both fired if you keep that up."
"Well, you're not fooling anyone. If he was into me, I'd be all over that, honey," Henry whispered. Shea nodded and then tensed. Her phone vibrated relentlessly in her pocket, signalling a series of incoming messages. She finished up the kid's order and then scooted to the back, before Henry could pry into who was desperately trying to get ahold of her. Opening her messages, her mouth ran dry at the words.
Ambush. Lost three men and half the shipment compromised.
Boss, we need orders.
Place will be crawling with cops any minute now. We need orders!
Fabrizio's last message had come in just a few minutes prior. Fucking bastards. Since taking over the business, her father's enemies had seized opportunity after opportunity to attempt to wipe them out, each one failing. They were becoming bolder with their efforts, a fact that pissed Shea off more than anything.
They thought she was weak.
They thought she couldn't handle the pressure.
They thought the new leader of the West 9th gang was a pushover.
They couldn't be more wrong.
Without another moment's hesitation, she gave the only order she could.
Kill them all. Make them suffer for daring to cross me. Leave one alive and bring him to me.
Chapter 3
Shea entered Strip on the 9th with fire in her step and murder in her eye. Three men. Three of her men dead in a fucking shoot out in broad daylight. If that didn't attract unwanted police attention, nothing else would. She was furious; livid and out for revenge. The heat from such a display was not going to be easily avoided.
Fabrizio was seated at the bar, smoking a cigar and arguing with Tyler. Both had blood splattered all over their clothes as they'd been through a war. Which technically, they had.
"What do we know?" Shea asked, signalling for Beverly behind the bar to make her a martini.
"Fucking bullshit, boss. It was Terry's crew, they hit us from the North side, full force. Sheldon, Jason and Gino are dead. Half the shipment compromised," Fabrizio told her.
"Paid for it, though," Tyler chimed in. He wiped his forearm across his brow. "Took out the ones that had the balls to fight us. Got you one in the back."
"Good." Shea snatched up the martini and tossed the drink back in one go, relishing the burn of alcohol as it slid down her throat. She wanted to comfort the men, to ask if they needed anything. But she'd learned that such emotions would not be seen as compassion and caring, but as weakness. A leader had to be strong, cold, and forceful at all times. Anything else was unacceptable.
"Let's go," she ordered. Shea led the way across the bar and down a short hallway. There were a few offices on the right side, the last door on the left opening up to a large storage garage. At the moment, it served as a prison for their guest. He was chained up in the center of the room, hands outstretched towards the ceiling, thick steel twists wrapped around his hands as he hung suspended in the air. His toes barely grazed the concrete floor as he writhed, desperate to gain his freedom.
Shea studied him for several long minutes in silence. He couldn’t have been more than forty years old, shaved head and muscular build. He was trying in earnest to speak around the bandana stuffed in his mouth, not having any success. There was blood all over his clothes. Blood of her men, no doubt, mixed with a little of his own since he hadn’t come willingly. The longer she stared at him, the angrier she became. This man, a pathetic waste of space was breathing, while her men were dead. It was an injustice she couldn’t allow. Certainly not if she wanted to maintain her ground as a strong leader.
Steeling her spine, Shea approached the man, drawing her weapon. The heavy Glock wasn’t a silly female gun; it packed power and weight. A mean piece that meant business. The prisoner’s eyes lit up when he saw the gun; incorrectly assuming that death would come swift at her hands.
He was wrong.
While she played the part of loving mother and devoted employee on a daily basis; the truth was, she’d inherited more of her father’s traits than anyone knew. Perception was everything and Shea worked hard to conceal her devious desires. She’d morphed into a brutal gang leader with ease, wore the hat of a savage killer like her favourite summer dress and would happily drink the blood of her enemy like a delicious red wine.
“Do you know what my favourite saying is, Mr—?” She looked to Fabrizio for confirmation of the prisoner’s name.
“Don’t know, he wouldn’t give it up,” Fab told her.
“Ah, I see. Well, let’s just call you Mr. Smith, then. Is that okay with you?” Shea tossed him what she knew would be a charming grin as she circled him, considering her options. He didn’t answer, of course, just kept up his constant thrashing back and forth. Crimson blood dripped down his arms from where the chains were starting to turn his skin raw, but she was unconcerned. Soon, it wouldn’t be an issue.
“As I was saying, Mr. Smith, my favourite saying. It’s ‘an eye for an eye.’ It has such a poetic ring to it, wouldn’t you agree? I mean, nothing could be more true in my opinion. Why should one crime go unanswered? If you wrong someone, you’re automatically opening the door for retaliation. You might as well roll out the party balloons and welcome banners, if you know what I mean.”
“Damn fucking right! These assholes need to pay!” Tyler spat out, his own anger starting to get him worked up.
Snatching a long knife from a stainless steel table nearby, Shea approached her prisoner. Her emotions were threatening to boil over, rage becoming a living organism inside her. Cowards. Every single one of them was a coward; too afraid to face her one on one. Men and their damn egos, they’d rather fuck shit up with a ridiculous plan that only caused more harm than good.
Well, apparently, it was time the rest of the city learned the new leader of the West 9th gang was not to be tangled with. Not one for dramatics, she stood directly in front of their captive; prepared to do whatever it took to make sure the message was clear.
In a lightning move, she slashed the blade across the man’s midsection, gouging a deep gash that exposed his insides in a splay of blood and guts.
“Arrghhhhh!” he screamed around the gag, his body twitching and convulsing. Not showing any mercy, she flipped the blade up and gripped the handle in her fist, clutching it tight and plunging the steel forward, directly into his right eye.
The pitiful howl that escaped him turned her stomach, the horrid display more gory than she would have liked. Still, it had to be done. The business would suffer if she didn’t flex her muscles. She’d be damned if her father’s legacy went down that way.
“Fucking A,” Fab commented from behind her, his app
roval evident.
Satisfied, Shea let the knife clatter to the floor. “I’ll consider that a lesson learned,” she said to the man, stepping back as he lost control of his bladder. Disgusted, she stalked towards the door.
Glancing back, she surveyed the scene. Never would she have imagined such a display would be her doing. A twinge of guilt started to creep in, but she clamped down on it, shoving the useless emotion aside. Opening the door, she called out one final order over her shoulder.
“Find out who was responsible for this and send them his fucking head.”
Atticus knelt down next to the black body bag and lifted up a corner with his gloved hand. The gruesome sight that greeted him was shocking, but not unexpected. Glen Abbott was locked in a gang war; had been ever since Joe Benza had been gunned down several months earlier. Whoever had inherited his business was more ruthless than he had been, a thought that chilled him to the bone.
“Jesus,” he breathed. The man’s headless body was battered beyond recognition, he’d clearly endured massive torture before his head was taken. It was a death meant to send a message. What that message was, Atticus didn’t want to know. His main priority was to find the sick bastard responsible for such a heinous crime and put an end to their reign of terror.
“Hell of a mess, isn’t it,” Captain Ian Porter remarked as he joined him.
“That’s putting it mildly. What the hell happened?”
“As far as we can tell, it was some sort of retaliation hit. There were reports of a shootout on the southside of town yesterday afternoon. My guess is this unlucky bastard here was one of the men involved,” the captain explained.
“This is the last thing we need to be dealing with right now with everything else going on. We need to shut this down.” Atticus stood and tugged off his gloves. They were useless now that he’d contaminated them.