Chapter 15
Fifteen
JULIAN
“There’s nothing at all?” Carson asks. We’re back at his office at the casino. All four of us, plus our number twos.
“Nothing,” I reply, shaking my head. “I was up all night, looking through chat after chat on the dark web, in all the usual places where his name is mentioned, and then I dug deeper.”
I blow out a breath and push my hand through my hair. I’m fucking exhausted. I managed to grab a couple of hours of sleep this afternoon, before I came to the city for this meeting, and what I have to do after.
I’ve hardly seen my wife at all today. But I did hear her playing the piano this afternoon before I left, and everything in me wanted to go sit with her. She’s fucking talented.
“There are the usual hits out on his life,” I add and see the hate gleam in Carson’s blue eyes. “Sixteen as of this morning, to be exact. I see that you’ve contracted for all of them.”
“If anyone’s going to kill him, it’s going to be me,” he replies, his voice laced with hate and revenge. “What else?”
“The last known information on Damien was when everything went down with Lulu and her father.”
Rome stands and paces the room. He came close to losing his wife that day, at the hands of her corrupted piece-of-shit father, and it still fucks with him.
“Since then, he’s gone underground again.
No known location. No sightings, and we’ve been monitoring traffic cams as well, looking for his face.
He’s not in Vegas, that we know for sure, but it’s a big fucking world, Carson.
I’m telling you, there’s no intel. Sergei is lying out of his fat ass, trying to get a rise out of us. ”
“Figured as much,” Mateo mutters. “Sergei couldn’t find information with a map and a GPS. He’s an idiot.”
“An idiot with an army,” Rome reminds us. “We don’t respect or like him, but we shouldn’t underestimate him.”
“I don’t like that he lives in our city,” I mutter.
“As long as he keeps his business dealings in Russia and LA, I don’t give a fuck where he lives,” Carson replies. “Now, we need to go down to the cell.”
Mateo and Carson share a look while Rome and I come to attention.
“Who’s down there?” I ask.
“The motherfucking mayor of our fine city.”
Rome growls. It seems the conversation is going to center around the assholes who’ve fucked with his wife today.
The last time any of us saw Aaron Pierce was right after he put his hands on Lulu at the bar and then was kicked out of the club permanently. We roughed him up that night.
If he’d been anyone else, he’d be at the graveyard right now.
Instead, he was given a warning, a beating, and a lesson about putting his hands where they’re not supposed to be.
“What did he do now?” I ask.
“He owes my casino about a million,” Carson says. “And he cornered one of my waitresses in a hallway and tried to fucking rape her.”
“Let’s go,” Rome says, marching to the door. “He’s done. No more mercy for this piece of shit.”
I roll my shoulders and follow the others. I do have other business to see to tonight, but I wouldn’t miss this for the world.
Each of us owns many businesses in the city, but each of us also chose a building here on the strip to buy and use as our home base.
Rome’s and Carson’s buildings are attached by a skybridge, and they share many of the same clientele between Carson’s high-end casino and Rome’s luxury adult club.
Mateo’s building is on the other end of the strip, and mine is in the middle.
I’ll get over there after we take care of this handsy piece of garbage.
“I’ll keep a look out for him,” I tell Carson, and he knows that I mean Damien. “I’ve put feelers out and set up trigger words to ping me whenever anyone searches for them on the dark web. Nothing will happen where he’s concerned without us hearing about it.”
“I appreciate it,” he says, clapping me on the shoulder. “Now, let’s go see to this fucker.”
The eight of us—our number twos are silent but never leave our side—walk out of the elevator and down a cement hallway to where Carson has four cells. Three are used for holding, and one is for torture.
I’ll give you one guess which room we walk into.
“Oh, this is fun,” Spider, Carson’s number two, says as he rubs his hands together. “I hate this guy.”
“You can’t kill me,” Pierce announces as we stroll inside. He’s sweaty, his red hair plastered to his forehead. He’s wearing black slacks and an orange golf shirt, which makes him look like a pumpkin. Or an idiot.
“Is it casual Saturday?” I ask the others, eyeing the mayor’s stupid outfit.
“Seems so,” Mateo says with a shrug. “Or, lame-ass outfit Saturday. I would have played along, but I don’t shop at Walmart.”
“Fuck you,” Pierce snarls, and Mateo smirks. “I’m going home.”
The man is chained to the floor, sitting in a metal chair.
He’s not going anywhere.
“No, you’re not,” Rome says, shaking his head. “It seems you just can’t keep your disgusting fucking hands off of women who don’t want you to touch them.”
“Lies.”
“Not to mention all of the money you owe me,” Carson growls. “You see, that pisses me off. You come into my establishment, my house, and not only do you take advantage of me by racking up the kind of debt that an idiot like you can’t pay off, but then you go and harass my employees on top of it.”
“I didn’t harass anyone. She fucking wanted it.”
“That’s why she kneed him in the balls and called her manager,” Spider says to Rome. “Because she wanted this limp-dicked asshole to fuck with her. Makes sense.”
“You’re a problem,” Carson continues as he walks over to his workbench.
Carson doesn’t keep as many tools around as the rest of us because the scary-as-fuck assassin prefers to kill men with his bare hands.
But today, he grabs a sledgehammer off the bench and casually strolls toward Pierce.
“I have the money to square the debt,” Pierce says, eyeing the hammer. He keeps his voice even, but the man is scared out of his mind right now.
And he should be.
I cross my arms over my chest and grin. This is going to be fun to watch.
“Sure you do,” Carson says with a nod, then pulls back and swings, taking out Pierce’s knee, splitting his pants and the skin, and making him bleed all over the fucking place.
“Fuck, that’s gotta hurt,” Luke says to Spider, who nods in agreement.
Pierce howls in pain, writhing against the chains holding him down.
“You keep touching things that don’t fucking belong to you,” Carson says in Pierce’s face, and then his hand jabs out so fast, I would have missed it if I’d blinked, and he rips the other man’s throat out.
Pierce’s eyes go wide, and he gurgles for about three seconds before the life leaves them, and he slumps over dead.
“Graveyard,” Carson growls at Spider, who nods and pulls his phone out of his pocket to take care of the body.
“That was fast,” Mateo says. “You could have used the sledgehammer a little more.”
“He annoyed the fuck out of me,” Carson replies, pulling his hand down his face. “And I want to go home.”
“Fair enough,” Rome says as we turn to file out. “You’re all coming for dinner tomorrow. Eloise is making . . . well, I forget what she’s making, but it’ll be delicious, and it’ll crush her if you don’t show up.”
“We’ll be there,” I reply with a nod. “I have other business, unless you have anything else?”
“We’re good,” Mateo says. “I’m headed over to Rapture.”
Once we’ve all gone our separate ways, Jack and I climb into the back of my SUV.
“To the office,” I tell my driver, meaning the building down the street, and turn to Jack. “It’s time for me to check on Elliott.”
“He’s not happy with you,” Jack replies, shaking his head.
“I’m sure he’s pissed as fuck. I don’t fucking care.”
When we get inside, I hit the button for the penthouse first, and Jack and I ride in silence. When we reach the top floor, I take a look around.
I haven’t been up here in a few days. Not since the night that I found Elliott at the club with Natasha.
Knowing that he hurt her in here makes me want to burn it to the ground.
“I want a crew in here to demo the whole fucking thing,” I tell Jack, who stares at me, stunned. “And then I need to hire a decorator to come in and start from scratch. Have them consult with my wife. It should be the way she wants it.”
“But why?”
“Because I can’t tear the whole building down without walking through too much red tape. This is getting an overhaul as soon as possible. Arrange for the demo.”
“You got it, boss. Do you want me to donate the furniture?”
“That’s fine. And have my personal things taken to the mansion. Elliott’s can go in the fucking trash. Speaking of, let’s go downstairs.”
Once down in the basement, we walk to the cell where my son is being held. I haven’t been here since I ordered that he be brought here, and I haven’t asked any questions. Jack gives me daily reports that Elliott’s alive, but that’s it.
Pausing outside the door, I turn to my second.
“Report.”
“He’s eating one meal a day. Refused to eat at all for the first two days, but then hunger got the better of him. We’re feeding him shit.”
“Good.”
“I didn’t want him to freeze to death at night, so he’s wearing a T-shirt and sweats that I got from his room upstairs.”
“Fine. Anything else?”
“I suspect that the cuts you gave him are infected, but he won’t let me look at them.”
With a sigh, I turn and unlock the door, then step inside and feel my stomach roll over.
My son should not be in here.
He’s lost some weight already. His skin is gray, his lips are chapped, and his dark hair is a mess.
He looks up at me, firms his chin, and then looks away.
None of my cells are meant to be luxury accommodations. Most of the men brought here don’t make it out alive. I certainly don’t want my son to sit in his own filth, on a dirt floor, in the cold. But my kid needs a huge helping of humble pie, so here we are.
“Are you ready to talk to me?”
Elliott turns his head away like an insolent child.
“I’m prepared to give you options, Elliott.”
Still nothing in response.
“Fine. Another week it is.”
I turn to walk away, and Elliott starts to yell.
“Wait, what are the options. Dad!” I don’t stop walking. “You’re such a piece of shit! Just wait until I’m out of here, and how I’ll make you wish you were never born!”
I slam the door closed behind me and stare at Jack, who just sighs.
“Food every other day. Water once a day. I’ll be back in a week.”
He nods grimly and I walk away.
It’s late, past midnight, when I walk into the mansion. I ended up going up to the office in the penthouse to get some last minute work done, including going over the shipment I’m expecting in my port in LA tomorrow, before I decided to head home.
I hate that I haven’t seen Natasha today, and now she’s probably in bed. Unless she’s a night owl.
I don’t even know whether my wife prefers morning or night.
Walking through the house, I grin to myself. I can smell her soft jasmine scent in the air. The mansion already feels more like a home because she’s in it. I tug off my tie and jacket and am rolling my sleeves when the kitchen comes into view, and I stumble to a stop.
My angel is sitting on a stool at the island, slumped over, sleeping.
There are two bowls of food sitting there, uneaten.
She didn’t eat?
When I approach, I see that it’s not leftover Chinese either. This is soup that she must have heated in the microwave, but it’s gone cold now.
Shit.
I didn’t call or text to let her know that I’d be late. I haven’t had anyone to answer to in years.
Natasha shifts on the stool and opens her eyes, and then they grow wide when she sees me, and she sits up.
“Oh, I’ll heat this up. I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to fall asleep.”
“You should have gone to bed, sweetheart.” I stride to her and cup her cheek. She doesn’t flinch, and it warms my chest. “Why are you still up?”
“It’s my job.”
I frown down at her. “What’s your job?”
“As a wife, it’s my job to make sure dinner is ready for whenever you get home, and I’m not allowed to leave the kitchen until after you’ve eaten.”
What in the actual fuck is she talking about?
“Who taught you that, Natasha?”
She yawns, and I lift her into my arms, carrying her to the stairs.
“My mom. It’s part of being an organized crime wife.”
Shaking my head, I press my lips to her temple. “We’re going to talk about these rules in the morning, but I want to make it clear that I don’t expect you to have dinner ready for me ever, Angel. I’m hiring a chef.”
“You don’t have to. I figured out the microwave.”
Fuck, she’s the sweetest thing.
“Yeah, I do. No more cooking for you.”
Her eyes blink open, and she stares up at me. “I just want to be a good wife, so you don’t send me back.”
“You’re staying here, with me, forever.”
“Promise?”
“Yeah, baby. That’s what the wedding vows were for, remember?”
She nods and looks around and then frowns. “This isn’t my room.”
“It’s where you belong. This is our room now.”
“Oh, good.” It’s a whisper. “I almost asked to sleep in here last night.”
Surprised, I set her on the bed and squat in front of her. “You should have said something.”
“You were busy working.”
Unable to stop myself, I reach up and hook her soft hair behind her ear. “I’m never too busy for you. I want you to tell me what you need or want. Always.”
She’s in a loose tank and sleep shorts, so I help her under the covers and kiss her head.
“Are you working all night again?” she asks around a yawn.
“No. I just need a quick shower, and then I’ll be back.”
“Okay.” She nuzzles down into the pillow and takes a deep breath. “You smell so good.”
I hurry through the shower, anxious to be with her, and when I finally crawl into bed, I wrap myself around her from behind and tug her against my chest. She wiggles against me, making my cock hard as fuck, but I don’t do anything more than pepper kisses on her cheek and neck and then, with her safe in my arms, fall asleep.