Chapter Three #2
Jack leans against the table, and his expression turns to stone. “Make no mistake that while we value our continued partnership, any attack on a Payne is an attack on all of us.”
I don’t miss the brief panic that crosses Michael’s features.
My father clears his throat. “Now that that has been settled, there is the matter of the location that was promised. We have several lined up.”
“This isn’t about the location anymore.”
Jack looks at Michael, who doesn’t flinch. “I understand there’s been some reservations about how things have been handled—”
“Especially by your son,” someone mutters from next to me.
I wheel in their direction, and a balding man with a protruding belly sinks into his seat and avoids my glare. “Anyone who has a problem with me can speak up directly.”
Jack places a hand on my shoulder and keeps it there. “We all know my son has done well in leading us into a better and more profitable future. His reputation speaks for itself.”
“You mentioned renegotiating the terms of our partnership.”
My father removes his hand and looks at Lorenzo Moretti, whose silver hair glistens underneath the fluorescent lights. His dark, rheumy eyes give nothing away, but I know he’s assessing everyone in the room and determining the best way to get himself to the top.
I’ve heard the rumors of how he’s spilled blood within his ranks to maintain power, and how he’s silenced even his family.
Lorenzo Moretti isn’t a man to be trifled with, and something about being in the same room always makes me uneasy.
Lorenzo is a man who enjoys the kill, a formidable enemy and ally, and a man I’d rather not piss off.
“We can renegotiate, yes,” Jack replies. “Though I was given to understand that the purpose of today’s meeting was something else entirely.”
I begin to wonder if we are here to smooth some ruffled feathers.
Or are our allies abandoning ship?
Fuck.
How did everything spiral out of control so quickly, and how had I not noticed the cracks and fissures?
Had I been so focused on getting London that I’d missed the signs?
You need to make this right. Whether or not you meant to set a chain of events in motion is beside the point. This is your fuckup.
I stand, feeling every eye in the room sizing me up. “We’re prepared to offer several of our prime locations in the interest of maintaining the continued partnership.”
It’s the one thing my father and I agreed on.
For the sake of the empire….
Michael Everett laughs. “I never knew it would be that easy to make a Payne yield.”
A flash of anger surges through me. “Most of this mess is your fault. I suggest you sit the fuck down.”
Michael remains defiant. “You going to storm my office again?”
I have my gun out before the words leave his lips.
The room grows tense as I step out from behind the table and cross over to Michael. The men who are positioned against the wall step forward, their hands on their guns. Without looking over, I know Carlisle, and a few of our men have formed a barrier between them and Michael.
I’m tempted to end him then and there, consequences be damned.
“Nothing to say?” I press the gun to his temple. “Here I thought you’d finally stopped hiding behind your name like a coward.”
Michael’s face remains calm and impassive. “At least one of us has.”
I lower my voice. “I should’ve taken care of you when I had the chance.”
One corner of Michael’s mouth twitches upward. “And who’s to blame for that?”
“I won’t make that mistake again.” I fire a warning shot into the wall behind him, and all hell breaks loose.
Someone tackles me from behind, and we fall forward with a thud. I throw my weight back, the back of my head connecting with something solid. There’s a loud grunt, and the arms around my waist go slack. When I spin around to face my attacker, all I see is red.
I pull my hand back and land a solid punch to the stomach.
My nameless attacker grunts again and launches himself at me.
We crash into a nearby chair, and the wood digs into my back.
Then we’re rolling on the floor, and there’s the metallic taste of blood in my mouth. I growl as fury burns through me. I’m battling to gain the upper hand when I hear another gunshot, and a bullet clips my hair and lodges itself into someone behind me.
The smell of sweat and gunpowder fills the air.
And all I can think about is getting my hands on Michael Everett.
Once I finally have the upper hand on my assailant—a blond, muscled man with a tattoo peeking out from under his shirt—I force myself to my feet.
My heart is pounding in my ears, and every inch of me is alert and on edge as I glance around the room to see my father locked in a heated exchange with Moretti.
There’s a flicker of movement to my right, and Michael lunges for me, his fingers closed around the grip of a gun. Carlisle materializes out of nowhere and knocks the gun from Michael’s hand. It only slows his advance long enough for me to throw myself at his middle.
I place one leg on either side of Michael and land a solid punch to his face.
I throw another punch and hear the satisfying crunch of bone as blood sprays from his nose.
Somewhere in the chaos, I hear Lance’s voice.
Then I see him stumble toward us, cradling his arm to his chest with his eyes wide.
Carlisle tackles Lance, and I turn back to Michael, whose blood stains my knuckles and my shirt.
Slowly, I lift him by the scruff of his neck, so we are eye level. “Not so smug now are you, you piece of shit?”
Michael pulls back his lips and offers me a bloody grin. “It’s a little pathetic how easy it is to rile you up. The great Mason Payne. I expected more.”
I shake Michael hard enough to make his teeth rattle. “In case you haven’t noticed, asshole, you’re on the receiving end of my anger, so you might want to reconsider your strategy.”
“Yeah?” Michael says. “Look at what you’ve done with only a little bit of goading.”
I slam Michael against the nearest wall. Then I place my arm against his chest, restricting his air supply. “I maintain what I said. You didn’t think this through, and I will enjoy watching you bleed out. Once I’m done with you, I’ll move on to Lance. Maybe I’ll even go find that sister of yours.”
Michael tilts his head and spits out a mouthful of blood. “Do whatever the fuck you want, Payne. You and I both know that you’re not in control anymore. After today, everyone else will know it, too.”
I punch Michael in the stomach, and he doesn’t flinch. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”
Michael leans in so close that I can smell the alcohol on his breath. “It’s going to be so fucking good to watch you burn. Knowing you’ll take the Payne empire down with you is just a bonus.”
I throw another punch and pin Michael again. “That’s not going to happen.”
Michael raises an eyebrow and uses his free hand to gesture vaguely. “Look around you. It’s already begun.”
A sick feeling spreads through my stomach as I glance away to take in the carnage around me.
A few people are bleeding out on the floors, and many others are cradling their arms or hobbling on their feet.
My father has Moretti pinned against the other side of a table, and they’re still circling each other, but I know that look on his face.
He’s out for blood.
All his tightly wound control is about to snap and unleash the side of him everyone whispers about, and it’s all my fault.
Shit.
I’ve played right into Michael’s hands.
My mind whirs to assess the damage. I see Carlisle holding Lance and a few others at gunpoint, and my stomach sinks. The real purpose of the meeting wasn’t to mend fences and make amends. The only reason we were lured here is to tear each other limb from limb.
I have a sinking feeling this whole fiasco was orchestrated by Michael and Lance, with the full support of their families.
The Fitzpatricks and Everetts aren’t just hoping to strong-arm us into submission.
They won’t even give us the courtesy of engaging in a direct war, not with how we outmaneuver and outgun them.
Fuck, fuck, fuck. This was set up to make sure everyone sees you spiral.
I’ve enabled them to thin out the herd.
After today, anyone who survives won’t want to side with the Paynes once word spreads of how quickly the meeting got out of hand, and how we instigated it.
I swing back to Michael with a growl. “This isn’t over.”
Michael laughs. “Isn’t it?”
I release him, and he crumples to the floor. “Get up, you pathetic son of a bitch. The only way you’re going to win this is by having other people do your dirty work. You can’t even take me on. I wonder what your father thinks of the coward he raised.”
Michael snarls and throws himself at me.
We spin in a half-circle, and I throw another punch in Michael’s side.
There’s a flash of silver as he whips a knife out and swipes at me.
He slashes me across the side, and as I watch a few drops of blood stain the hardwood floor beneath me, something in me snaps. I growl and throw myself at Michael again. Only this time, I throw punch after punch and don’t hold back.
His face is a bloody pulp, but it’s not enough.
I keep seeing London’s face when I saved her. Each blow feels better than the last, but it doesn’t quiet the roaring in my ears.
After days of quiet planning and thinking, it feels good to take my anger out in its rightful place.
I have no idea how long I stay on top of Michael, but my knuckles are raw and throbbing when a pair of arms wrap around me and yank me back. I twist to shove the person away, but stop short when I realize it’s my father. He glances past me and gives me a pointed look when I look back again.
Sirens slice through the air in the distance, forcing several people to their feet.
Everyone glances around, and no one says anything.
“I’d suggest we all leave while we can. Our friends in blue can’t overlook this.” Jack’s tone is calm and even. “We can deal with this later.”
There’s a chorus of grumbles and shoving as the sirens move closer.
Then, we race out the back door with Carlisle and a few others on our heels.
We throw ourselves into the black car at the end of the alley as it peels away from the curb. I take out a napkin to wipe my hands and exhale sharply. Once we’re far enough away, Jack takes his gun out and points it at me.
My heart skips a beat. “Another repeat of earlier? Aren’t you getting tired of—"
Using the butt of his gun, he strikes the side of my head, sending a sharp slice of pain through me and cutting off the rest of my sentence. I glare at him through narrowed eyes as he draws his hand back and strikes me again, hard enough to make stars break out in my vision.
When he draws back a third time, I move my hands to stop him.
His eyes widen.
Jack flexes his fingers and moves closer. “I should take care of you myself. Since you’ve been such a liability.”
I don’t release his hand. “You won’t.”
“You’re not untouchable.”
I look at his hand and then back at his face. “Neither are you.”
His nostrils flare, and his expression contorts into one of malice. “A man doesn’t make empty threats.”
I release his hand and roll my shoulders. “Who said anything about them being empty?”
“You have more of your mother in you than I realized.” Jack turns to the compartment in the center and pulls out a decanter. He pours himself a generous amount of amber liquid and glances out the window. His gun remains in his lap and is pointed at me.
I stare at the shadows and lines of his face, and a pang of longing hits me.
Suddenly, I’m a little boy hiding in the hallway and listening to my parents fight.
When I blink, I’m nine years old again, and I’m sitting at the top of the stairs, my feet dangling from the banister.
My parents are standing opposite each other in the foyer.
My mom’s eyes are red-rimmed, and her voice is thick with emotion.
My father’s face is silhouetted in darkness, and I remember how cold and emotionless his voice was.
That night, as I sat there, holding my breath while I watched them, my mother pleaded for her family as tears streamed down her face.
I blink again, but this time, I see my father’s impassive face reminding her of what she signed up for.
Though he had softened a bit and done his best to keep her away from the more dangerous aspects of his life, my father had never lied to her.
She had always known, or at least suspected, the kind of man she married, the one she had joined her life to, and no amount of love and wishful thinking would change that.
My mom probably thought she would be enough to save him.
The wrought-iron gates shudder open, welcoming us to the sprawling Mason estate, and I push away the memory. While having London around has made me think more about my mother and the sacrifices she made, I also don’t like that it brings up the feelings I’ve kept hidden under lock and key.
I keep replaying the promise I made myself as a lonely but determined nine-year-old.
One who told himself he wouldn’t put a woman through what my mother went through.
I had grown up believing love was a weakness, a tool to be used against you, and something that crippled your defenses.
But as the car pulls to a stop outside the estate, and I catch a glimpse of London’s outline through the upstairs curtain, I realize how wrong I was. When London comes downstairs to greet me, stopping at the last step and glancing uncertainly at my father, I take her into my arms.
Her familiar, comforting smell, like soap and freesia, washes over me.
I made that promise long before I knew London, when the thought of her was easy to dismiss as unrealistic.
Now that I have her in my arms and my life, I know I can’t let her go.
If I’ve doomed us both by not being able to do the right thing, then so be it.