by Shandi Boyes
“Find out what that’s about. If a war is about to begin, I want to know about it, especially if it involves the FBI.”
“Already on it.” Smith digs one of his laptops out of his satchel, then fires it up. Within seconds, he has a confidential report up on the screen.
“Who’s the blonde?”
Smith double clicks on the trackpad on his laptop to zoom in on the image of a blonde in a towel. She’s attractive—if you’re into ball crushers. I swear I’ve seen her before, but I can’t pinpoint where.
Smith alleviates my curiosity. “That’s the infamous Regan Myers, Isaac Holt’s lawyer…” Ah, there’s the connection. “And Alex Roger’s current squeeze.”
I double back, certain I heard him wrong. The half grin he’s wearing reveals I didn’t, much less the tap of a revolver on the window next to my head. I don’t know how I didn’t put it together earlier. The Rogers’ familiarities are almost on par with the Petrettis. There’s no denying them when you drink them in at the same time.
Grayson Rogers, another one of Tobias’s little minions, acts as if he doesn’t have the scope of Rocco’s M4 on his chest when he requests for me to roll down the window. I could drive off, but Roxanne’s exasperating habit of nosy-parking has rubbed off on me. Furthermore, the last time I was in the same room as Grayson, I walked away with him owing me a favor. My assistance this time around will cost him much more than the gratitude I have no plan to cash in.
Rocco works his jaw through a thorough grind when I signal for him to lower his weapon. He has issues with law enforcement officers, most particularly, ones who are as cocky as Grayson.
After rolling down my window as requested, I say, “I’m shocked you’re up. I didn’t see you leave the front of the compound until well after four this morning.”
I’m happy to let him know I realize he’s watching me, just like I’m happy to watch his brutal swallow before he says, “Kirill—”
“Is not a part of my operation. I’ve told you that many times before.” My interruption is snappy and to the point. I’m sick to death of having the same conversation with these people. Yes, I run drugs, and yes, my entity is part of the prostitution conglomerate but tell me one fucking cartel unit that isn’t. If we weren’t running it, corrupts fuckers like Ravenshoe PD would. I don’t know about you, but I know who I’d rather deal with. It isn’t the corrupt members of law enforcement who put away innocent men for murders they conjure on a whim.
Grayson acts as if I didn’t speak. “Is the reason for Castro’s resurrection.” He shoves a set of documents through the crack in the window as if he’s a bank robber, and I’m the teller he’s demanding cash from. “He’s stateside because of this.”
I lower my eyes to the document to ensure he doesn’t see the shock in them. From what Smith unearthed the past couple of weeks, Kirill hasn’t been stateside since he purchased Katie from my father, so for him to be back, it must be for something big.
“You fucking idiot,” I mutter under my breath when I realize what I’m looking at.
My father learned nothing from my grandfather’s death, not a single fucking thing. I thought he squandered the massive payout he got for my mother’s death on the business ventures I’ve tried to steer our entity away from the past eight years. I had no clue he used it to try and regain control of New York.
We built that city. The Italians, Greeks, and Albanians made it the mecca it is, but my father lost the ability to be king of that realm when he put his drug-fucked friend above our ‘family.’ He had no right to stake a claim, none whatsoever, and now Henry’s lack of assistance the past few years makes sense.
“Consider your favor cashed in.” Needing to end our conversation before I take my anger out on the wrong person, I commence sliding up my window.
Grayson blocks its climb by lodging his elbow between the tinted glass and the metal window channeling it. “That wasn’t a favor. It was a warning. If you go into this with guns blazing, as I’m reasonably sure you’re planning, you’ll be up against more than Rimi Castro.”
“I’m not worried.”
Grayson laughs like Rocco’s finger isn’t itching to inch back his trigger. “Then that makes you a fucking idiot. There’s more at stake here than your family’s pride, Dimitri.”
Something inside of me snaps. “Pride? You think this is about pride? Henry Gottle can have New York, he can have the entire fucking country as far as I’m concerned when I get my daughter back. When she’s sleeping in the crib I built for her.” I bang my chest during the last half of my statement. “And when I see her face for the first time in front of me instead of via a fucking monitor. That’s when I’ll let my pride slide. Not before. It most certainly won’t happen before.”
Grayson doesn’t know how to reply. Nothing but silence resonates from both inside and outside of the cab for the next several long seconds. I want to say it eases my agitation. Regretfully, it doesn’t. I’m more worked up now than I was when Rocco had to strain to see Roxanne’s breaths to prove she was alive.
“How old is your girl?” Grayson’s voice is as rough as the wiry hair on his chin.
Not interested in idle chit-chat, I signal for Preacher to go. He slots into the position of driver when Clover wants to catch up on missed sleep. He was on alert to move all night, so he’s as tired as the rest of us.
“Hey, hold up.” Grayson follows the Range Rover’s slow creep down the road as Preacher seeks an opening in the traffic. “Do you want your girl back or not?”
“I don’t need your help to do that.”
Air puffs out of his mouth when he huffs out a laugh. “I wasn’t offering my help. I’m telling you the job will be done quicker if we work together.”
“I don’t work with the Feds.”
“Neither do I,” Grayson fires back with a waggle of his brows. “Well, not when it concerns Kirill.”
My lips involuntarily curl at the tips. I had wondered if my advice months ago worked. Grayson’s disclosure reveals it most certainly did. “What are you proposing?”
When Preacher’s eyes shift to the rearview mirror, seeking confirmation on if I want him to pull over, I shake my head. If Grayson wants to talk, he better do it quickly. We’re almost on the open road.
The fact his words aren’t chopped up from the clomps of his boots reveals he has maintained his fitness while undercover in Kirill’s crew. “A mutual corroboration like the one you had with Tobias. Shared information on the agreement it isn’t used for any outside influences.”
My brow cocks. “A ‘you scratch my back, I scratch yours’ situation.”
“Yeah,” Grayson answers, unaware I wasn’t asking a question. I was merely validating his name got him into the academy more than his academics.
“Kind of like your arrangement with Rico.”
I slice my hand through the air like I’m swatting a fly, not only wordlessly demanding for Preacher to stop, responding exactly as Grayson was hoping.
“Not as dumb as I look, hey?” He smirks a smug grin before straying his eyes to Smith. “You really should be careful which back doors you sneak through. When you leave it wide open, your footprints are easy to follow.”
While grumbling several curse words under his breath, Smith attacks his keyboard with the malice of a savage. I can tell the exact moment it dawns on him that Grayson isn’t lying. He not only initiates a lockdown on all our devices, he commences stripping information from Grayson’s cell phone. How do I know this? A photo of Katie Bryne popped up on his laptop screen within seconds of him hacking in.
“You don’t need to hack into my phone to understand my objective, Dimi.” Rocco doesn’t take kindly to Grayson using my nickname any more than me. “I’m more than happy to share it with you. We are, after all, on the same team.”
Grayson’s cockiness gets smacked into the next century when Smith barks out, “Katie Byrne was sold in a private auction when she was eighteen. Her handler was an up-and-coming prodigy your fathe
r had taken under his wing. He was supposed to prepare the mark for sale. Instead, he fell in love with her. That not only saw him falling out of favor with your father, it had his supervisor at the Bureau on the back foot as well.” Smith raises his eyes to Grayson, mouths checkmate, motherfucker, before he hits him with the motherlode. “Tobias did everything he could to help his rookie agent out of the pickle he got himself into, but despite both his stellar reputation and the rookie’s dad’s high standing in the Bureau, Katie was sold, shipped to another country, and was never seen again. Boo-fucking-hoo.”
Ouch. I forgot how nasty Smith gets when someone tries to outsmart him.
Spit flies out of Grayson’s mouth when he roars, “You punk-faced motherfucker.” For a man with shoulders as wide as mine, I’m shocked how far he climbs into the car. He gets close enough to Smith to knock his laptop off his lap, but nowhere near close enough to wring his neck like he really wants to.
“Enough,” I say a short time later, over the theatrics.
“Enough!” I roar for the second time when my first order is ignored. Grayson can get away with bypassing my directive, but Smith and Rocco can’t. “Tell me what you have. If it is of interest to me, I’ll return the favor.”
Grayson’s blue eyes shift to mine. They’re not holding an ounce of the humor they had earlier. “That isn’t how things work—”
“Then, we’re done.”
I signal for Preacher to go. I can tell Grayson wants to let me walk. It is in his eyes, slicking his skin. Hell, it’s even readable in the way he holds his jaw. He hates negotiating, especially with men like me, but it just has nothing on the rage he felt hearing how the men who were supposed to have his back didn’t.
After shaking his head in a way that exposes he thinks he’s making a mistake, Grayson says, “Meet with me tomorrow morning.”
“I’m going out of town for a couple of days.”
“I know.” He arches his brow, climbs back out the window, then taps on the roof of my Range Rover, signaling for Preacher that there’s an opening before he adds, “I’ll send the deets through your private network… if it’s back up and operating by then.”
On that note, he hits Smith with a cocky wink, spins on his heels, then stalks away.
18
Roxanne
“Are you okay?”
I drift my eyes from the only window in a room to my questioner. I’m not surprised when I discover the kind eyes of Audrey glancing down at me. Not only has she checked up on me multiple times today, she has a very faint voice. Even if we were the only two people in a soundproof room, I’d struggle to hear her.
I don’t know if her quiet stems from the other forty or so women crammed into the room with us treating her like a lecher or because her daughter isn’t held in the same room as her.
From what I gathered from the women with broken English, Fien lives downstairs. I could be wrong, but I’m reasonably sure her living arrangements aren’t recent. They kept saying ‘no’ while wiggling their fingers at Audrey. Although the rest of their sentences weren’t in English, I have a feeling Audrey understood them. Anytime they guide me away from her, she cowers instead of standing up for herself.
I’m a bit disappointed her personality doesn’t match her fiery hair coloring.
Redheads are usually hot-tempered. Audrey is as timid as they come.
When the worry in Audrey’s eyes doubles, it dawns on me that I didn’t answer her question. “Yeah. I’m okay. A little tender, but nothing I can’t handle.”
It seems as if a band is stretched across my mid-section, constantly tugging and pulling on my insides, but I can’t help but wonder if that’s because I can’t sit still. I’ve clawed at the deadbolt on the only door in and out of this room, endeavored to pull up the hardwood floors that are stronger than they look, and have been working on the nails hammered into the window to keep it shut.
The women captive with me find my endeavor to escape amusing. I’m not sure how to respond to their smiles. I’m annoyed by their lack of assistance, but I also understand it. Perhaps they tried as hard as I did their first few days here and soon learned their efforts were a woeful waste of time. I’ve only been going at it for a couple of hours, and I already feel my optimism dithering.
The concern in Audrey’s eyes shift to remorse before she asks, “Have you had any more bleeding?”
Her question is sincere, but it still stabs a knife into my chest. I’ve always believed you live the best life by leaving the past in the past. That’s a little hard to do when I’m continuously reminded about what I’ve lost.
With words alluding me, I shake my head. Bar the initial big bleed I had overnight, I’ve only detected the occasional smear of blood while using the bucket in the corner of the room. The brown-tinged byproduct had me hopeful my baby stood a chance, but Audrey quickly snuffed out that flare of optimism. She wasn’t cruel. She just knows how these things operate since she’s been here so long.
In a way, her bluntness could be seen as a godsend. If I were still pregnant, the goon who tortured me yesterday wouldn’t have left me alone today. He only has because he knows what my heart is trying to deny. I lost any chance of filling the memories Dimitri missed with Fien.
“You should eat something,” Audrey whispers just as the group of women mending loose hems notice she’s speaking to me. “You need to keep your strength up,” she adds while slowly sinking into the corner she’s been stationed at all day. “For when Dimitri comes, you need to be strong.”
She glances at me as if Dimitri’s sanity hinges more on me surviving this ordeal than her. Her gawk isn’t callous. It’s almost hopeful, which is odd considering it was her husband’s unborn child they stole from me.
My focus shifts from striving to work out Audrey’s peculiar personality when Fenna, the woman who hid me yesterday afternoon, runs her hand down my forearm. “Okay?” She nudges her head to Audrey. “She… no.”
“Know or no?” I ask when her accented words sound more like a question than a statement.
When she peers at me lost, I try another angle. “Me and you…” I gesture my hand between us, “… are friends. We like each other.”
“Like. Yes.” Her smile is bright enough to make me forget the horrible things she’s been through. It’s too beautiful for such a dark, horrid world. “I like...”
My heart warms when she touches my chest, advising she likes me. It could have slotted into my second-most memorable moment if Dimitri had returned my declaration of love two nights ago. Since he didn’t, it holds the top spot, and it may stay there when Dimitri learns the mother of his child isn’t deceased as believed.
After giving my pity-party-for-one ten seconds more than it deserves, I get back to my conversation with Fenna. “We like each other. We’re friends.”
“Yes. Friends,” she agrees, still smiling.
“You…” I touch her chest as she did mine, “… and Audrey. Are you friends?”
She glances in the direction I pointed when I said Audrey’s name before she screws up her face. “No.” She wiggles her finger in the air to get across her point. If I didn’t know any better, I’d swear she was a teacher in a previous life. “No like. We no like.”
“You don’t like Audrey?” The shock on my face can’t be missed in translation.
“No. No like. Stay away.” She curls her arm around my shoulders as she has many times today before she leads me away from Audrey, her steps extra slow since my foot is blown up like a balloon. “Bad woman. Stay away.”
Although the women across the room continue chatting while gawking at me, I know Audrey heard Fenna’s comment. She wipes at the tears sliding down her face at the speed of lightning, but I still spot them.
If she’s hurt about the women spreading vicious lies about her, why isn’t she defending herself? I don’t believe she needs to explain herself, but she as sure as hell doesn’t need to take their crap lying down.
I shouldn’t fight for her, s
ome may say she’s my competition, but for the life of me, I can’t hold back. If she can’t defend herself, how the hell will she defend her daughter when she reaches her age. “Say something to them. Tell them you’re not who they think you are.”
Audrey peers at me through the strands of auburn hair not covering her eyes before she shakes her head.
“Why not? You’re a victim just like them. You didn’t deserve what happened to you.”
I shrug out of Fenna’s hold more aggressively than I meant before I move to Audrey’s half of the room, whimpering through the pain of a suspected broken foot.
“I saw the video. I saw what they did to you. That wasn’t right, Audrey. What they did to you was wrong.” I can tell my words are breaking her heart, but I continue on, confident a mended heart will work far better than an empty one. “Help me help them. Help me stop this from happening to anyone else.” I’m getting through to her. However, my final set of words all but seal the deal. “Help me introduce a little girl to her father for the very first time. If you ever loved Dimitri, you’d want that just as much as me.”
I level my breathing to make sure I don’t mistake her whispered word, “Okay…”
“Yes? You’ll help?” The shortness of my reply can’t weaken the excitement bristling in it.
“Yes.” The fire I’ve been seeking in her eyes for the past six hours finally shines brighter than her fear when she nods her head. “I will help.”
Although I want to believe she’s doing this solely for her child, a small part of me knows this isn’t just about Fien. She wants Dimitri to know she is brave. She wants to show him she has the charisma and spark no one believes she has. She wants to prove she’s worthy of him as much as I wish I couldn’t see it in her eyes. They already have a connection that binds them together for life. Now she wants the commitment that comes along with it.
19