7
Broadway
C assio’s pink undertone that paled drastically while we talked is now well and truly gone, replaced by an ashen, dead tint.
He’s already cold. Because I don’t take any chances. Despite the pool of blood around him and the hole where his heart should be, I bent down to check his pulse twenty minutes ago.
As expected, there wasn’t one.
His eyes stare up at the starless, dark canvas above, nothing but moonlight reflecting in his black pupils.
That’s until Carter’s Pontiac cruises into the yard between the abandoned warehouses. The V8 engine roars with the slightest touch of the gas pedal, splitting the silence, while a flicker of the headlights can be seen in Cassio’s vacant stare when the car pulls up close by.
The last thing I expected when my fingers connected with the pulse point on his neck was the primal urge to take more from him. He had plenty to give alive, plenty he could’ve offered or bribed me with, but his riches weren’t what every cell in my body craved.
I have more money than I know what to do with. More bling than any man should, more pussy than A-list celebrities. What I don’t have and didn’t get were Cassio’s screams.
His pleas.
His fear.
There was no time for him to truly process that he was about to die before I pulled the trigger. I took his life, but I didn’t get to bask in the execution.
So I wanted more.
Not carving his dead heart right out of his chest proved too fucking hard to consider me mentally stable.
I’d have no use for the punctured organ, but while I waited for Carter, I had to physically restrain myself from carving it right out of his chest. Veering on the side of caution, I sat behind the limo’s wheel, doors locked, music blasting as loud as the shitty audio system allowed.
Unfortunately, the self-imposed prison and the distracting music didn’t work for shit. I stormed out, swearing under my breath at how fucking dumb this is, and now I’m leaning against the limo, Cassio’s heart in my palm, then in the air, then back in my palm, in the air again.
I should probably see a specialist at some point...
With my left hand otherwise occupied and bloody, I use my right to pull out the pack of cigarettes I stole from the corpse, and light one up.
I don’t smoke. Never have, unless you count cigars, but right now, as I light the tip and inhale, filling my lungs with poison, I have no idea why I don’t smoke.
It tastes vile, sure, smells even worse, but God does it help relax my cinched muscles. Every knot in my shoulders unwinds and that overpowering bloodthirst subsides.
It’s still there, chewing at the back of my mind, writhing and hungry, but milder now. Easier to control while I’m playing catch with Cassio’s heart.
The driver’s side door of the Pontiac opens slowly, and Carter’s black boot crunches the gravel as he hauls himself out of the piece of art he drives.
I never pegged him for a man who’d have a soft spot for a piece of American motor history. Never pegged myself for it either, but here we are, both marveling in the sound of the Pontiac’s purr whenever Carter turns the key.
He closes the door, eyes on the deceased connoisseur with a hole in his chest big enough to squeeze my fist inside. There’s no emotion on his face. Not a single snarl or a furrow of his brow, not a trace of the anger I thought would rain down on me like a fucking hailstorm.
Instead of furious, Carter’s composed, maybe a little curious, as he surveys my handiwork.
Just another day at the office, it seems.
The approaching vehicle doesn’t startle either of us. We both know from the sound of the engine that it’s Koby and Ryder rolling in my G Wagon.
Carter crouches beside Cassio, studying him a little closer, but still, his face remains stoic... until his black eyes swing to me and a deep eleven dents his forehead.
“Do you need a gift bag for that?” he asks, pointing at the heart. “I prefer jewelry, but this should show your girl how much you care.”
I pause, eyes widening, pulse skyrocketing. Cassio’s heart lands in my fist with a squelch and I squeeze hard, squirting blood everywhere. “What—”
“I know, it kind of hits you over the head, doesn’t it? Took me a while to realize how deep I was with Hailey.” His gaze zeroes in on the gray cloud I’m exhaling.
He doesn’t smoke. Not since he found Hailey, but every now and then, when the day has been particularly stressful, he’ll indulge the habit.
I pull the pack out with shaking hands and toss it over for him to catch. The lighter follows once he has a cigarette between his lips, eyes drilling holes in my face waiting for... who the fuck knows? Admission? Confession? Arguments? I have none. This whole thing with Violet is impossible to navigate.
“I didn’t do it for her,” I finally say, opting for denial-land once more. Whatever’s happening isn’t normal, and I’m not ready to face it just yet. “I don’t even know her.”
Carter stares me down for a beat, processing, or maybe scrutinizing my face and reading my mind. He obviously can’t do that, but he knows me well enough to read between the lines and, as the good friend he is, he doesn’t push me.
He also doesn’t say another word until Koby and Ryder join us.
Koby does the same tennis-motion with his eyes Carter did, a smirk playing across his lips as he glares at the heart in my palm. “That teddy bear in you morphed into a grizzly bear there for a minute, didn’t it?”
I don’t comment, inhaling the smoke to keep my hands and mouth busy. The two clean-up guys they brought get to work, shoving Cassio into a large black bag for transport.
He’ll be promptly disposed of. Owning the guy at the crematorium is a huge plus in this business. It means disposing of evidence is even easier than when we worked for Dante in Chicago.
We have Rhett Willard to thank. It’s one of the few useful things the bastard set up during his long career as the boss in Ohio.
Still, covering up the sudden disappearance of a luxury goods magnate won’t be a walk in the park. Ryder will have his hands full tonight, fabricating evidence of a kidnapping or whatever Carter decides to go with.
“You’re such a fucking selfish asshole,” Koby mutters, purposely shouldering me as he leans against the limo. “You could’ve said something. Anything .”
I smirk under my nose. Broadway might be my nickname, thanks to my brief acting stint, but Koby’s the one with a flair for entertainment.
His own entertainment.
If there’s too long a break between torturing, killing, and using his fists, Koby gets restless. A ball of energy looking for a way out. He’s addicted to the thrill of a brawl, to the screams of the men he tortures, to the light flickering out in the eyes of those we’re ordered to murder.
He craves that thrill the same way an alcoholic craves another shot, and it’s been a few weeks since anything remotely exciting happened within our ranks. We focused on preparing Scarlett once all Rhett’s loose ends were tied.
Now, looking at the envy painting Koby’s face, I know it’ll take a while before he forgives me for robbing him of the fun that transpired here tonight. He’d be content to let me pull the trigger as long as he could watch.
“I didn’t plan this,” I say, the thirst for blood roaring louder in my veins when I get a lungful of burning filter.
I toss the now-useless tube onto the ground and stomp it out with my boot, bending my fingers at Carter so he’ll toss the pack back.
As soon as I move my foot, the clean-up guy, who’s on his knees, arranging Cassio’s limbs along his body, snatches the cigarette butt. He throws it into the bag without a word, but with a look that paints a thousand thrown my way.
Ah, that’s right. Evidence, DNA, and all that crap.
Ignoring the scowl from a man almost kneeling at my feet, I turn to Carter, waiting for an outburst.
By the look of him, I’ll be waiting a while. Odd...
“So?” Ryder starts, breaking the silence. “Did he say anything useful before you shot him?”
“That depends on what you consider useful.” I relay my chit-chat with Cassio again, glancing at my wristwatch every so often. We’re running out of time and that gut-wrenching feeling is rearing its head once more. “Either we get her out of there tonight, or fuck knows who we’ll upset getting her out later. Anyone can buy her. She could get sold to a brothel or end up as a slave for one of Blaze’s regulars.”
“They might take her abroad,” Ryder pipes in, siding with me. Well, technically, in a roundabout way, siding with Carter, even if our boss doesn’t see it that way.
The hierarchy is different this time around. We’re doing Carter’s bidding, sure, but Hailey’s the one who wants Violet back as soon as possible.
Pleasing her means enjoying a happy Carter.
“If you really want that girl, we don’t have a choice,” Ryder confirms.
“It’s not far off a suicide mission, though,” Koby adds. “Blaze has tripled his security and the auction house is a fortress. Once we’re in, if they want us dead, we’re dead, so I’d suggest a different approach.”
“Such as?” Carter asks, eyes drilling into mine, though for the life of me I have no idea why.
“It’s an auction, right? I say we just buy the girl. Noretto’s a greedy bastard. If he realizes you want her, he’ll know you’ll pay premium.”
Carter takes a while to ponder the idea, muscles in his jaw ticking, eyes raking over the dead body before returning to my face. Left and right, left and right, he’s assessing.
Processing the scene like he’s looking for clues.
Fuck knows what he’s thinking, but after another tense moment he releases an exasperated huff. “Fine. Buying her outright might be the only peaceful way to get this done.”
“It also gives us a chance to check what kind of clientele Blaze is attracting these days. How many people we’ll piss off if we take him down,” Koby adds in a bitter tone.
He’s not keen on closing Noretto’s business. While he hates his business model, he also knows the girls are volunteers. He’s the kind of guy who doesn’t shit on anyone’s parade or condemn their choices just because they don’t align with his extremely flexible moral code.
I can relate, but given how often Noretto alters the format, I doubt the girls are kept in the loop. It’s one thing working in a brothel with clearly defined rules of conduct and another thing entirely being sold to a private buyer who can do as he pleases.
Most brothels take care of their girls. After all, they’re the ones making them money. They’re paid for their services and kept safe.
Fucked into oblivion, but safe.
No one can guarantee the safety of a girl sold to a private bidder. They could be anyone, demand anything, and get away with it without so much as a lick of consequences.
“How do you expect us to get in?” Ryder asks, folding his arms over his chest. “Noretto’s men know us so it’s not like I could add us to the guest list even if I could find it. It’s not anywhere online. He’s taking no chances.”
Carter leans against the side of his Pontiac, flexing his fingers. “They won’t shoot you unless Blaze approves.”
“He may be greedy,” I say, pinching another cigarette between my lips. At this rate, I might cough up my lungs before dawn. “But does he really want cash more than your head?”
“Blaze can’t kill me, Broadway. He wants the evidence.”
“You’re not considering using it, are you?” Koby asks, his brows meeting his hairline.
“Of course not. I’m not wasting it on Noretto. But if I were to, I’d use it to get Grey onside. Grey controls Noretto. Without Octavius, Blaze doesn’t have access to the port, he can’t smuggle in girls, and his entire business falls.”
“So you’re considering making friends with Grey?” I ask slowly, making sure he understands what he’s saying. “ Octavius Grey ? The guy directly responsible for Hailey ending up at Blaze’s?”
“Friends is a big word, Broadway. And I scrapped the idea. The evidence has much more value while it’s a threat to everyone involved.”
“Damn right it does,” Ryder says. “I think I know how to convince Blaze not to give the kill order.” His eyebrows draw together, eyes misting over, while he ponders whatever idea struck him. “Yeah, I think it’ll work.”
I run a hand down my face, exhaling a cloud of smoke. “I don’t like it when you say I think . It never ends well.”
“I’ve got this,” he emphasizes, rolling his eyes.
“You spend way too much time with Hailey.”
“Stop bickering,” Carter says. “Whatever you have, make it work, Ryder.” He doesn’t need the details, always taking our word as a given. “It’ll be best if Blaze doesn’t see me.” A lazy smirk plays across his lips. “So you’re going in my place, Broadway. You and Koby.”
Fuck.
That’s not the outcome I’d hoped for. It’s one thing getting Violet back to keep Hailey happy, but another thing entirely to expect I’ll stoop to the lowest level and actively participate in the auction.
He wouldn’t have to ask me twice to go shoot everyone and bring her back . I’d do it, no questions asked. But this... this doesn’t sit well with me. Not in the slightest.
I get why it’s the best course of action. While we’re searching for an angle on Noretto, plotting how to take him down without starting a war, retrieving Violet peacefully is the smartest move... but I don’t like it.
Carter has enough evidence against Octavius Grey to make the man bow and dance to every tune he plays. Unfortunately, establishing himself as the boss in Ohio by blackmailing people into cooperation wouldn’t be well received. It’s more lucrative in the long run to earn respect.
People know Carter has the evidence. They know he can use it and the fact he doesn’t makes a lot of bosses reconsider what they thought about him.
“Don’t pout,” he tells me. “When the time comes to shoot Blaze, I’ll hand you the gun. Grey’s mine, though, so don’t get greedy.” He moves his attention to Ryder. “Noretto’s men will need a compelling reason not to shoot if Blaze decides killing Broadway and Koby is on the agenda tonight.”
“That’s what I’ve been thinking about,” Ryder interjects with a devious smile stretching his lips. “I know how to make them stand down.”
“How?” I ask, but instead of answering, he steps toward the G Wagon and grabs his laptop from the back seat. “You better get going. It’s getting late. I’ll call you with instructions later.”
It’s a good job Koby and I are both in tuxes already: we don’t have to stop and change. I probably should, given the red splatter across my chest, but I’m pretty sure the blood will work in our favor.
“Don’t even think about it,” I tell Koby when he tries taking the wheel. He’s been driving my car all night, but right now I need to feel the gas pedal sinking into the floor.
It might be the only thing that’ll loosen my knotted muscles. I’ve worked under Carter for five years, but tonight’s the first time I’ve had the urge to refuse his order.