4. Draven
Chapter 4
Draven
Raising my finger, I signal for the bartender to bring over another couple of beers. He sets them down and updates the check before scooting down the bar to serve another customer. As is usual on a weekend, Murphy’s is packed. Swinging my beer bottle by the neck, I tap it against Ciaran’s. We’ve frequented this bar since our NYPD days, and despite neither of us being in the force any longer, we still come here, as do most of our former coworkers. It’s a good way to keep in touch, and you never know when a contact might come in useful.
“It’s good to be back home. Can’t wait to sleep in my own bed tonight.”
Ciaran laughs. “You’ve hardly been away to war. Besides, it was your choice to stay in a motel. You could have commuted or, I don’t know, stayed somewhere half decent. It’s not as if you’re short of cash.”
He’s right. Our business has taken off in a way I never envisaged when I started it. Seems like private investigators who get the job done are in short supply by both private firms, wealthy individuals, and, as evidenced by my recent work over in Jersey, police forces.
“Nah,” I grunt. “I like to keep work and home separate, and staying in some dive motel reminds me where I came from. We weren’t all born with silver spoons in our mouths.”
Ciaran grins. “Fuck you very much.”
I chuckle. “At least that’s one more piece of shit off the streets. Bastard will have been replaced by now, but you gotta keep fighting the good fight.”
“True that,” Ciaran says. “Can’t do more than we already do. Anyway, Millie gave me strict instructions to invite you over to dinner tomorrow night. And by ‘invite’, don’t think for one second that means you get a choice.”
“Sold,” I say, taking a long swig, the cold beer sliding down my throat. As the alcohol hits my stomach, my shoulders relax. “How are Millie and Aimee?”
“They’re great.” Ciaran’s face softens. “I highly recommend fatherhood. You should try it one day.”
I snort. “Can you see me pushing a stroller down fifth? Standing on the sidelines with the other soccer dads, freezing my ass off, listening to their whining and moaning because little Jonny has been substituted again. No thanks. I’m good with being an uncle.”
Erika, my nineteen-year-old sister, has an almost three-year-old daughter. When she’d gotten knocked up at sixteen, it’d been a helluva shock for the family, but we’d all supported her. She’d never spilled who the father was—probably because she knew I’d make sure the bastard never fathered any more kids. Ruby, my niece, rocks my world, but I also look forward to the moment when I can walk out of the house, leave behind the noise and chaos, get on my bike, and return to my childless life.
“Yeah, you’re probably right,” Ciaran says.
For some unfathomable reason, his words sting. I tug on my beard and grimace. Sure, I can’t see myself as a dad, but when my best friend thinks the same, it’s kind of a kick in the teeth. Yeah, I know. I’m something of a dichotomy.
We discuss our upcoming cases and iron out a few issues, but as I grab the check before Ciaran does, and we have our usual row about who’s turn it is to pay, movement out of the corner of my eye captures my attention. I slowly turn my head.
Are you fucking kidding me? Jesus Christ. Can’t the goddamn woman take a hint?
“Brace,” I mutter to Ciaran.
He frowns. “Why?”
“I’ll update you later.” I stand, cross my arms over my chest, with my feet planted wide. “Come for round two?” I growl. “’Cause you won’t get a free shot a second time.”
Ciaran glances between the Louise and me, catches on to the tension zinging off the walls, and, despite his obvious confusion, sensibly keeps his mouth shut.
Louise raises both hands in the air. “Please, Draven. I’m begging you. A few measly minutes. That’s all I’m asking for.”
I snort. “You, begging? Fuck, whatever shit you’ve gotten into must be bad.”
Ciaran nudges me in the back. “Dial it back, Draven,” he mutters.
Louise shoots a grateful smile in his direction while I growl again. She returns her attention to me, biting her lip as she assesses her next move.
“You’re right. I’ve got a huge problem that I can’t handle alone. I’m sorry about your bike. I shouldn’t have taken my anger out on it, or on you. How are your balls, by the way?”
Ciaran chokes out a laugh, and I throw a fierce glare over my shoulder, then turn back to Louise. “Needs more than a pussy blow from you to take me out, sweetcheeks. Don’t worry about that.”
She squares her shoulders and sets her jaw. “Really? Funny that, considering the last time we breathed the same air, you were on the ground, clutching your prized possessions, with tears rolling down your face.”
“Tell me more,” Ciaran says, a curious lift to his tone.
“Shut the fuck up, Ciaran.” Looming over Louise, my manner purposely threatening, I grit, “Go. The. Fuck. Away.”
She doesn’t even flinch. “Not until you’ve heard me out.”
“Oh, this is priceless,” Ciaran says. When I shoot him another glare, his smile almost splits his face in half. He pulls out a chair and gestures to Louise. “Have a seat. This is the best show in town.”
Shoving my body between him and her, I say, “You’ve got thirty seconds. Make ‘em count.”
My only reasoning for giving her that length of time is because if she sticks around much longer, my ribbing from Ciaran will last for days.
“My sister has gone missing,” Louise says. “And I need your help to find her.”
I shrug. “Not my problem.”
Her lips curl in a snarl, and the noise she makes in her throat kicks my dick into action. Fucking thing. What does it know?
“When did you give up on saving those who can’t save themselves, huh, Draven?” she asks, exasperation tinged with desperation bleeding into her tone. “The one thing I respected about you was that you always prioritized the victim.”
I shrug again. “Times change.” They don’t, and they haven’t. I’m still all about the victim. “Besides, I’m too busy.”
“You were talking about taking a vacation five minutes ago,” Ciaran unhelpfully interjects.
“No one asked you, so button it.”
“What’s the matter, Draven?” Louise asks. “Worried this case will beat you? Or are you such a pussy jerk off that you can’t handle being around a strong woman who won’t let you push her around?”
Ciaran’s laughter almost bursts an eardrum. “You are fantastic,” he praises, standing and shifting his position until Louise comes into view. He sticks out his hand. “I’m Ciaran. The grumpy bastard’s best friend and business partner.”
Louise gives him another of those warm smiles that I’ve never received and shakes his hand. “My condolences, Ciaran. If this jackass was my best friend, I’d demand a refund.”
Ciaran’s laughter grows while I stuff my hands into the pockets of my leather jacket in case one forms a fist and smacks right into his jaw. Traitorous bastard.
“Excuse us.” I grip her arm, pitching her to the other side of the bar, away from Ciaran’s earwigging. I’ll get enough grief from my best friend for allowing Louise to speak to me as she has. I don’t need to provide him with further ammunition.
“What the fuck are you playing at?” I snap, my face menacingly close to hers.
She meets my fierce stare with one of her own, poking me firmly in the chest. “All I’ve asked for is a few precious minutes. I get it, Draven. You’re pissed off with me because you think I ran you out of town like the bad guy in some seventies Western. But have you ever stopped to think for one second about your role in your own demise? Huh? No. You think the end always justifies the means, but sometimes, you need to take a breath and consider the consequences of your actions. Take ownership. Stop blaming others for your decisions.”
Her chest heaves with the effort of her outburst, drawing my eye to her tits. I’d pushed the image of them from my mind years ago, but now, all I want is to bury my head between her magnificent cleavage and never leave. What is it about the woman that when she rails on me, my dick gets hard as a baseball bat?
“Look.” She briefly squeezes her eyes closed. “My sister is missing as well as several other women from the Camden area. From what we’ve gleaned during the investigation, a sex trafficking gang has moved into the area, and you know as well as I do that means we’re on borrowed time. I refuse to believe she’s never coming back. I can’t lose her, Draven. She’s not only my sister, she’s my best friend. I can’t handle the thought of her scared and alone, suffering, or in pain. Please, you’re my last hope. I’m out of options. The FBI are taking over the case, and you and I both know what that means.”
Her words send me cold. My baby sister lives in Camden. At nineteen, she’s prime for a gang such as this one. I inwardly curse. That does it. I’m getting her and Mom out of there until this gang is caught…or moves on. I have enough experience to admit the latter is far more likely. These gangs tend to move in, snatch the girls to order, and ship out. Usually it’s a week or two of activity, followed by silence when they move on to another city. It’s what makes them so difficult to track and prosecute. Just look at the man hours I put into tracking Moretti through several states.
Louise touches my arm, and I glance down at where her hand lightly rests on my leather jacket, the warmth from her skin seeping through to my own.
“All I’m asking for is a few minutes of your time to explain what’s going on and show you what evidence I have. After that, if you’re still not interested in working with me, you’ll never have to see me again.”
“Now you’re selling it to me.” My voice has lost its acrimonious edge, and she knows it.
Her lips curve upward. “Great. Let’s get a drink, and I’ll brief you.”
I step in her way as she goes to brush past me. “Not now. Tomorrow. Come by my place in the morning.” I have to get over to Jersey and move my family somewhere safer, but I don’t want to tell her that. She’s panicked enough already, and if I admit that what she’s told me has me worried enough for my own family, it’ll panic her more. Plus, I can start to put the feelers out in the meantime.
I scrawl down my address, even though I have a feeling she already knows it.
“Draven, please. Don’t punish me by making me wait. The clock’s ticking.”
“Tomorrow,” I repeat, knowing I look like an asshole, but better that than scaring her more. “Take it or leave it.”
Her jaw flexes. “Fine. I’ll be there by eight.”
“Make it nine. I sleep in Sundays.”
“I hate you,” she grits out.
“Feeling’s mutual, sweetcheeks.” Lies. I hate what she did to me, but I’ve never hated her. I might have thought I did once, but I’ve matured in the last eight years, though Ciaran would probably disagree.
She shoulder-barges me as she marches past, muttering under her breath, and almost takes the door off its hinges when she spills onto the street.
I watch through hooded eyes until she disappears. Once again, a spat with Louise has given me a dick hard enough to hit a baseball for a home run. I take out my phone and drop a text to Mom, telling her to pack a suitcase for the three of them, and that I’ll be there in a couple hours to explain everything.
Resisting the urge to rearrange myself and risk further questions from my best friend, I toss some bills on the bar and fire a warning glare at him. “Think carefully before you say a goddamn word.”
Ciaran offers up a shit-eating grin. “If you’ve got any sense, you’ll marry that girl.”