6
Broadway
I rise to my feet, ignoring Koby’s quiet hiss. Carter told us not to engage. He said we’ll get Violet together when the time comes. While I’m not about to break the promise I gave him, we’re moving at a snail’s pace and I’m sick and tired of feeling like prey to my own instincts.
The sooner we secure the girl the sooner I figure out what the fuck it is about her that makes my hair stand on end and my trigger finger itch for a gun.
I head out the back entrance, locating Cassio’s limousine in no time. The driver sits at the wheel, phone in hand. He almost jumps through the closed sunroof when his door flies open.
I’d also bet good money he nearly shits his pants the second his head faces the barrel of my Glock.
“Get out and run,” I say, gesturing with the gun.
His Adam’s apple bobs, lips part, but words don’t come. Fear steals his voice and makes his eyes twice their normal size as he bolts out so fast he trips over his legs, landing face first in the dirt.
“You have ten seconds to round the building and disappear,” I add, taking his seat behind the wheel.
He shoots upright, forcing his legs to work overtime and he’s gone in seven seconds.
Good job he hurried up.
The moment he’s out of sight, the emergency exit door swings open and Cassio exits the building, visibly agitated.
I can see it in his rushed steps and clenched fists. In the way his chest heaves as I use the side mirror to watch him march toward the limo.
He yanks the door open, slides into the back seat and slams the door behind him.
“Noretto’s auction,” he orders, loosening his bowtie. “Fast.” He leans forward, opening one of the cabinets to fetch a bottle of champagne while I turn the key.
The sound of the cork popping out and the hiss of the bubbles escaping the bottle fills the space, quickly muted by the low hum of the engine.
Reversing out of the parking space, I head toward the main street, joining the mild traffic. Pittsburgh’s almost two hours from Columbus. No way I’m spending that long with Cassio. Also, no way am I entering Noretto’s lair with one measly Glock and no backup.
The man’s ego was severely hurt six months ago. Word on the street is he’s still pining after the evidence.
Who isn’t?
Everyone involved wants to get their hands on the file. Noretto, Grey, even Hailey’s father. But they can’t. Attacking Carter isn’t a move anyone would consider thanks to his ties with Dante Carrow—the king of the criminal world.
All they can do is hope that, one day, Carter will need something badly enough that he’ll exchange the evidence for it.
Considering Hailey’s safety is the only thing he cares about, it’s never going to happen. In a twisted way, the evidence is both the biggest threat to her safety and the only thing ensuring it.
Carter’s loyal to the code. The only reason he’d ever rat on his fellow mafiosi would be if someone hurt Hailey. Then he’d send the pictures everywhere.
And everyone knows it.
What a stalemate.
None of the big players would dare go after the woman Carter loves, but some of the less-than-bright bulbs might try their luck one sunny day, hence why she’s under twenty-four-hour watch.
Flicking the indicator, I turn left, taking Cassio the opposite way to where he asked.
If I had my earpiece in, I’d be listening to Koby and Ryder swearing. I bet Carter’s already speeding through the city in his Pontiac to cut me off.
I may have ditched my earpiece, but Ryder can tap into my phone’s location with his eyes closed, so they know exactly where I am.
They’ve probably figured out where I’m taking Cassio.
He’s silent at the back, drinking the champagne straight from the bottle for a few minutes before he pulls his phone out and presses it to his ear.
“I need to move some money,” he says with a twinge of nerves vibrating his tone. “Two,” he adds, then lets out a resounding, “Fuck!” before adding, “No, make it three just in case.” He squeezes the bridge of his nose. “No, you dumb prick. You think I’d be calling for three grand? Three million. Pull it in from the Swiss account. Within the hour.”
Three million dollars for one girl.
You’d think she’s made of gold. Or better yet, that Dali painted her. For that money, Cassio could buy a whole shipment of girls from Noretto and have enough change left over to build them a luxurious brothel.
From our research into Noretto’s auctions in the past three months I know most girls sell for around thirty grand. Virgins go for eighty. Not many fetch six figures, but it happens more often than I’d anticipate.
I’d love to see the girls these men pay hundreds of thousands for. The sale logs don’t detail names, just one-night-only ID numbers. They change all the time.
The numbers never repeat, even though there’s word on the street that when a brothel in Pittsburgh closed last month, Blaze got to reauction the girls and took the profits.
“I don’t fucking care how you’ll do it. Just do it. That’s what I pay you for,” Cassio clips and disconnects the call, tossing the cell aside.
He takes another large gulp of champagne and finally pays attention to what’s outside the window. Two wrinkles immediately crawl onto his forehead.
“Where are you going? This is—” He cuts himself off when he catches my eye in the rearview mirror.
He was so deep in his head he didn’t notice I’m not his usual driver. Now he does and his paling skin is so satisfying. He reaches for the door handle, ignoring the fact we’re going forty miles an hour. I bet if he could, he’d fling himself out of here, but the handle doesn’t budge. I locked him in the second he sat down.
He didn’t notice that, either.
“Who the fuck are you?” he asks, fighting and failing to keep the fear out of his tone. “I’ve seen you outside my house all week. You’re one of Willard’s men, aren’t you? What do you want?”
Technically, I’m one of Beckett’s men, but Carter doesn’t bother correcting anyone when they call him Willard. His father was a bastard, sure, but many looked up to him with respect. Willard ignites a sense of fear that Carter enjoys. His documents might say Carter Beckett, but in our world, he’s a Willard through and through.
I turn left, navigating the long limo around the narrow streets, my lips sealed for another ten minutes until we reach our destination—the warehouse Carter’s father utilized to execute people who wronged him.
I turn in my seat, pinning Cassio with a pointed stare, and unlock the door. “You can’t outrun a bullet. Keep that in mind while you decide your next move.”
He swallows hard, wiping the sweat beading at his hairline. “Fine. What do you want?”
“You purchased something I’m interested in.” I exit the car, encouraging him to do the same.
I don’t want to have to crane my neck.
It also means it’ll be easier to shoot the fucker if he’s dumb enough to make a run for it.
“I’ve purchased many things over the years. That’s how I make my living. You’ll have to be more specific.”
“About this high.” I make a line in the air at my pecs. “Pretty little thing. Violet hair, violet eyes...”
“Fuck,” he heaves, running both hands through his hair. “You want to buy her?” He kicks up the gravel in a dramatic display of frustration.
“Oh, I’m not buying. I’m taking.” I lean against the limo, folding my arms. “We can do it the easy way or the hard way. Either you hand her over willingly, or you end up dead. Your choice.”
A dry, humorless chuckle escapes him. It’s loud at first, but quickly grows strained. “You saw me with her last week, didn’t you? At Scarlett .”
“I’d praise your intelligence, but you brought her into Carter’s club, so you’re obviously not always this clever.”
“You saw me with her and assumed I own her,” he continues, completely ignoring what I said.
“I overheard you chatting to Malik. I know you have her on some kind of lease agreement.”
“Had.” His nostrils flare as air leaves his lungs in an exasperated huff. “I had her. Multiple times over the past six months.”
That unscratchable itch at the back of my brain starts again, sending ripples of unease through my veins. I fucking loathe this feeling.
“You’re stepping on thin ice as it is,” I grit out, cracking my neck left and right. “Don’t piss me off further. Start explaining.”
Cassio’s spine straightens, a rigid pole holding him upright, chin angled toward the sky. There’s an aura of aristocracy droning around him that wavers whenever his beady eyes glance at my gun.
“Noretto leases Viera out for twenty-four hours at a time.” He moves his weight from one foot to the other, grinding his teeth. “Only once a week so she can heal between the... engagements.”
Viera.
So that’s her name...
No. I’m not having that. It doesn’t suit her. Too harsh.
She’s delicate, like a Violet , end of story.
“Every week?” I echo, a cold chill zapping my spine, my heart picking up rhythm. “You’re saying she ends up with a different motherfucker every week?”
He nods, holding on to his courage for dear life, but his hands shake as he shoves them into his jacket pockets, fetching cigarettes and a lighter.
“Every month, Blaze auctions four days with her,” he confirms, inhaling a lungful of smoke. “He wanted to sell her like the others, but quickly realized how desirable she is. The bidding reached three hundred thousand dollars, shots were fired, and Noretto changed the rules.”
I lean against my car, my imagination taking a dark turn. Violet’s a one-girl brothel...
I bet she’s the girl behind those six-figure sums. She’s single-handedly made Noretto most of his newfound fortune.
Now I understand how he’s done it.
“You said ‘give her time to heal.’ Why does she need time to heal?”
“There are no rules for those twenty-four hours. Well, one—don’t kill her. She has a personal bodyguard and a safe word she uses when her life is threatened but other than that, anything goes.”
My right hand, the one tightly grasping my Glock, unilaterally chooses to aim between Cassio’s eyes.
Fuck, holding him at gunpoint injects me with invincibility unlike anything else. Adrenaline floods my system, reaching dangerous levels and that wrath burning me from the inside channels itself without my input.
And it still doesn’t make a lick of sense.
The power igniting my mind while a primal, uncontrollable part of me takes the reins is fucking staggering.
It’s like finding my purpose.
I’ve killed before. So many people. Taking a life has never made me flinch. Never induced guilt. I haven’t lost a wink of sleep over the years. I’m not plagued by nightmares forcing me to relive the screams and deaths of those who’ve died at my hands.
I don’t care about it and I don’t care about them.
It’s a job like any other... but tonight, killing is far more than just a job.
It’s a need.
The bloodthirst running rampant inside me is new. Exciting. Fucking addictive. It’s as if something clicked, something I can’t place, and now killing...
No, not just any old killing.
Killing Cassio is the one thing I need to do in life. My newfound purpose.
Staring at him over the barrel, knowing one pull of my index finger will end his existence, is euphoric.
I want to watch him take his last breath.
I want his blood on my hands, his bones crunching under my boot, and his heart in my clenched fist.
“What did you do to her?” I seethe, imagining the worst. “You said you rented her several times. Why?”
His natural pink undertone is nowhere in sight. He’s paler than pale, ghostlike as he slowly shakes his head, hands up in surrender. “I don’t know. There’s something about her... She’s a human canvas with that pale skin, and I’m a bit of an artist. Bruises have a completely different aspect against skin as white as Viera’s—”
“ Bruises ?” The word comes out like a growl, my trigger finger twitching.
Cold sweat coats my back and the chaos Violet’s triggered inside me coalesces into wrath like no other. I think Cassio can see I’m practically fucking glowing with anger because he swallows hard and vomits the next words on an exhale.
“I treat Viera right, I really do. She’s well fed, rested, and drowning in gifts. She becomes art when she’s with me. Unique, beautiful. One of a kind. Different every time. A piece everyone wants but few can afford...” He trails off, a fond look softening his features, and I imagine wiping that expression off his face with a sledgehammer. “I was there the first night she was up for offer. Once I saw how many men were willing to pay through the nose for her, I was hooked.”
My teeth gnash between my lips, the next question harder to voice than it should be. I settle for a milder version because did you fuck her? doesn’t want to leave my lips.
Just thinking about him touching Violet makes me sick.
Fuck... the stars all point one way. I know what that turmoil whipping me into a frenzy is. The idea’s been sprouting roots for days, but it’s too fucking ridiculous and I’m in denial.
I’ve seen Violet once but this... this jealousy pales in comparison to anything I’ve ever felt before. It’s so potent my hands shake.
“Did you use her?”
Cassio swallows again, louder this time. If not for the wind howling in my ears, I bet I’d hear his heart colliding with his ribs.
His gaze flickers from my eyes to the gun aimed between his. “Like I said, I was good to her. Unlike some of the others, I took her out, fed her, made sure she was comfortable. I’m a connoisseur, Mr...?” He pauses for a beat and waits, probably hoping I’ll volunteer my name. It’s a long time before he realizes I won’t, but he picks up right where he left off. “I love art and rare pieces must be cherished. You wouldn’t harm a Picasso—”
“She’s not a fucking painting.” I lower the gun, aiming at his heart. The one I’ll rip right out of his chest.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Cassio denotes, shaking his head, newfound confidence bleeding onto his features as he checks his wristwatch. “The auction starts in twenty minutes. Blaze always leaves Viera for last, so she’ll be up for grabs around midnight. This time, forever. Interest has been dying down lately. I secured six out of the last eight spots and haven’t paid half as much for those six as I did for the first one.”
Cranking my neck I give myself a moment to process everything he’s said. Violet’s been living a nightmare. I knew that much from the start. I knew she’d been sold to a private buyer and used like a blow-up doll.
What I didn’t know was that she’d been sold multiple times to different men and the only boundary Blaze drew was her life. My stomach churns, nausea climbing my throat, my mind going wild and imagining Hailey in the same situation. If we hadn’t rescued her that night... would Blaze have sold her to the highest bidder once he got his hands on the evidence?
A new wave of blinding wrath gushes through me, this time on Carter’s behalf. He’d rain hellfire on the entire goddamn state if Hailey was in Violet’s shoes. And I’d be there, alongside him, gutting every fucker who dared to get within breathing distance of my boss’s girl.
Men of many tastes work with or for Blaze Noretto. Ryder found a few names—regulars who turn up at every auction. There’s no official guest list, but gossip in our line of work is bread and butter so I know about a few sick old fucks who attend with kinks darker than the sky over my head.
If any of them bought Violet...
I swear under my breath, my heart doing its best to tear out of my chest. This is so much worse than I anticipated.
“You think I’ll let you buy her?” I scoff, my gun refusing to aim away from his heart. “Think again.”
“Do you even know where the auction takes place?”
A dying man’s attempt to grasp at straws. Cassio firmly believes I won’t shoot, otherwise, he’d be spewing bullshit threats and cowering behind his social status. Instead, he takes me for a fool.
He obviously doesn’t often deal with the likes of me. Too bad. If he did, he’d religiously abide by the sacred rule that’s kept me alive since I joined Carter’s team: never underestimate your opponent.
“You can’t just waltz in there and demand Blaze hand Viera over. And believe me, with his security, you won’t get much accomplished if you go in guns blazing. He has at least thirty men accompanying him wherever he goes.”
Again with the underestimation.
It took just five men—two of whom died mid-combat, so in all honesty just three—to get Hailey out of Noretto’s mansion. I expect he’s tightened the security but there’s not a system on this planet Ryder can’t crack.
We got one girl out and we’ll get another one out too.
“You need me,” Cassio denotes, a shadow of a smirk making an appearance.
“You’re kind of arrogant. I’d tone it down if I were you. It’ll get you killed one day.”
He breathes out a lungful of air. I guess he was worried a little somewhere deep inside. Good.
“That day is today.”
I pull the trigger.
The world slows to a crawl as it always does when I release a bullet. It takes a second to bury itself exactly where I aimed. A second that’s long enough for my eyes to follow the shot’s trajectory. I see the bullet whoosh through the air and tear into his chest.
Blood seeps from the wound immediately. Even before Cassio’s limp, lifeless body thuds to the ground I see a crimson river stain his white tux. The contrast is jarring.
It’s also beautiful.
White and red go well together.
Carter has a point when he says there’s beauty in chaos. Beauty in carnage. I’ve never seen it before. Killing was never anything to revel in, but for some reason, watching Cassio bleed out onto the ground isn’t just satisfying.
It’s fucking breathtaking.
Holstering my gun, I whip myself left and right, gearing myself up for Carter’s inevitable wrath. He can let many things slide, but insubordination isn’t one of them.
And the worst part? I have no line of defense. Not a single rational reason for butchering a man of Cassio’s stature. Covering up his death won’t be as easy as covering up the deaths of the lowlifes I kill daily.
Cassio is— was —known. Rich. And rich people don’t disappear out of the blue.
Oh well, there’s a first time for everything.
Grabbing my phone, I dial Carter’s number but not before noticing twenty-two missed calls on the screen. Not just from my boss but also Ryder and Koby.
The cell vibrates again as I open the contact list, scrolling down to C. Koby’s name pops up, but he can wait, so I send his call to voicemail.
One ring is all it takes before Carter’s biting, though eerily composed, voice fills my ear.
That’s not good.
I know this tone—the calm before the storm.
“Where are you?”
“Outside Rhett’s warehouse.” I glance at Cassio and the expanding puddle of blood around him. “I need a clean-up crew.”
“Fucking hell, Broadway. You killed Barbieri?” I can hear his teeth grinding. “He is— was —a fucking civilian. You better have a good reason.”
Yeah... I’m seriously short on those.
Carter pauses to compose himself, probably pinching the bridge of his nose in the process. “Hold on.”
Another pause, accompanied by a crackling sound on the line, and then his voice comes back, distant and muffled. “He’s outside Rhett’s warehouse. Go over there and take the clean-up guys.” A small thud , and his voice booms louder again. “What the fuck were you thinking, Broadway? You were supposed to wait for orders!”
“He deserved it.” It’s a lousy explanation, but I don’t have a better one. Or rather, the explanation I do have is ridiculous, given I’ve never met Violet in real life.
So why did killing the man who hurt her feel better than an orgasm?
“We don’t have time for my remorse right now, Boss. Violet’s with Noretto and tonight might be our only window to get her back.”
“Tonight? That’s too soon. We don’t have a plan.”
I fill him in about the auction and Blaze’s willingness to offload the girl. For the right price.
“He told Cassio three big ones should do it.”
“Three million? Three million for one girl? You should’ve let him buy her. It would’ve been easier to steal her from Cassio than Noretto.”
My mind soars, anger gunning through me like something all-seeing and demonic.
“We got Hailey back without a hiccup.”
“That was different, and you know it. Violet will be surrounded by Noretto’s goons. He’s smarter now; we won’t be able to pull the same stunt twice. Wait there. I’ll be over in ten minutes. Don’t kill anyone else, will you?”
“Fine,” I huff, feigning annoyance to dissolve some of the tension. “But I’m not happy about it.”
“Of course you’re not.”