8
Broadway
I throw the car into a parking space by the curb outside the building where Noretto holds his auctions. A red carpet leads to the main entrance and two neckless bouncers stand at the door.
I wonder if either of them was there the night Carter, Apollo, and I barreled through the throng of Noretto’s men, shooting left and right while bodies thudded all around.
That night is still, hands down, my favorite moment of working with Carter. The sound of bullets hitting their marks, blood flowing like rivers across wooden floorboards, the groaning of wounded and dying men...
Obscene beauty.
“Call Ryder,” I tell Koby as we step out of the car.
I shove an earpiece into my ear, hearing two rings before Ryder comes through.
“I’m here. Just give me the go-ahead whenever you’re ready,” he says, his fingers tapping against the keyboard in the background.
If I ever call him and he’s not clicking, I’ll know he’s either dying or being held at gunpoint. He doesn’t answer when he’s fucking.
Adjusting my jacket, I double check my gun’s tucked into the holster as I approach the door, Koby in tow. The bouncers look up, then glance around the street, probably checking whether or not we brought backup.
As expected, they grab their guns, pulling them out in sync.
“You think I don’t know who you are?” the one on the left asks, malice coating every word, a sense of superiority shining in his eyes.
He’s delusional if he thinks he stands a chance against me. My gun might be resting comfortably in its holster, but I’d bet my trigger finger I can draw, aim, and fire before his brain issues the command to shoot.
“You do?” My eyebrows purposely meet my hairline, throwing him off track.
“Of course I do. You’re Broadway, Willard’s second.”
“Oh stop, you’re making me blush,” I huff, pulling my Glock out faster than either of them can blink. The atmosphere immediately shifts, roaring with anger and threat. “We’re not here to cause any trouble. I’d appreciate it if you asked your boss to join us.”
The one on the right cocks an eyebrow. “Or what?”
“Or Noretto will be very fucking annoyed that you cost him a chance to reconcile with our boss.”
They look between themselves, clearly at a loss as to whether Blaze even wants to reconcile with Carter, but too scared to face his wrath if they make the wrong decision.
“Go get him.” One motions to the other, gun still drawn, though he’s aiming at my shoulder, not my heart.
Amateur.
I pull out another cigarette, lighting it up and inhaling the mind-numbing nicotine while we wait for Noretto. I expect him to stall, leave us hanging for a while to falter our confidence.
He’s so predictable.
The clock inside my head counts about five minutes before the door opens and Blaze steps out, followed by fifteen men.
Again... so fucking predictable.
I smirk under my nose. This is going great.
“Reconcile?” Blaze scoffs, looking between me and Koby. “Is that the word you used? Why the fuck would I want to reconcile with Willard?”
“Oh, I don’t know...” I muse, tapping my chin. “Maybe because it could very quickly end your life if he put that evidence he’s got into the wrong hands?”
Blaze grinds his teeth before giving a cunning smirk. His finger pirouettes in the air. Men pour out of the building, quick to take their stance, and just like that, fifteen guns are aimed at our heads.
“I think you’ll agree you have no chance of coming out of this alive. I suggest you stop playing games and start singing. Why are you here?”
“Carter wants one of your girls.” I holster my gun—the gesture meant as an olive branch. “And he’s willing to part with a lot of cash.”
Blaze scoffs. “I don’t need cash, Broadway, but there are things it can’t buy that I do want. Is Carter bored with Hailey already? I’ll gladly take that bird off his hands.”
“Careful how you chose your words, Blaze,” I seethe, blood boiling in my veins. “You know how unpredictable Carter gets when Hailey’s involved. Don’t tempt fate. He doesn’t want this girl for himself.”
There’s a twinkle in his eyes saying he’s more than intrigued. “Who’s she for?”
“That’s above your pay grade,” Koby pipes in, lethal tone suggesting Blaze’s comment about Hailey pissed him off as much as it did me.
“And arriving here, demanding access to my auction is above yours. The only way you’re leaving in one piece is if Carter gives up the evidence. I suggest you call your boss. Quickly.”
So, so predictable it’s almost comical. “I figured you’d say that. Do you really think we arrived unprepared? Think again while I pretend you didn’t just try your luck. We’re not asking for preferential treatment, Blaze, just the opportunity to bid.”
“And if I refuse?”
I shrug, making Blaze’s eyes narrow into slits. “You’ll piss off a lot of your men.”
“Oh really? How so?”
“Ryder. Press send,” I instruct.
A single tap in my ear tells me he heard.
At once phones start pinging in the evening air. One text after another, all filled with pictures of Noretto’s men’s loved ones. Mothers, fathers, kids, wives... grandparents. Their details come next. Names, phone numbers, addresses, schools, care homes, hospitals.
The message is clear: we know where you hide the things you hold dearest, and it won’t take us long to get our hands on the precious cargo.
It’s just a threat at this point, but given what Carter achieved a few months ago, how many men he murdered to get what he wanted, it’s a threat that can quickly become reality if they don’t comply.
There’s no way they can jump into action and herd their loved ones to safety before our soldiers round them up. Either they bow out, or they lose.
We don’t have any hostages at the moment, but that hardly matters. Carter, along with Dante, has men stationed throughout the entire country, so we don’t have to hold anyone at gunpoint for the message to hit home.
The possibility of losing someone they love is enough to falter their fragile loyalty. Fragile, because up until the night we rescued Hailey, Blaze considered his men nothing but a pack of brainless tools. He never cared who lived and died as long as they did his bidding.
After that night, he must’ve realized it wasn’t the best course of action and now he has no fucking choice but to comply with our demands.
If he doesn’t stand down, he’ll be on his own.
No one will follow a man who disregards his men and their families. Sure, being a made man comes with risks, but pledging your loyalty to a boss also comes with the expectation of protection.
Noretto looks around, his men holding phones in one hand, guns in the other. His eyes flicker between their faces, assessing their reaction before he snatches the phone of the closest goon, and his nostrils flare.
He masks his emotions quickly, returning to the stoic, uncaring fa?ade he’s adopted since Carter showed him his place in this world.
“Fair play,” he praises, a hint of respect clouding his eyes before he blinks it away. With a flick of his wrist, he orders his men to stand down.
I didn’t expect it to be this easy, but I guess the man’s learned a thing or two over the past six months. And this just now was a calculated and smart move.
Blaze didn’t falter. He didn’t take more than a second to consider his options, because he knew they’d stand down no matter what and allowing them to do so would reflect badly on him.
Instead, he seized control and commanded them to stand down, creating the illusion that he gives a fuck.
It’s a powerful move. One that helps him save face and garner respect.
Ah, the fucking mind games in this business...
Being the boss isn’t easy.
If you treat your men as irrelevant and easily replaceable, they won’t have your back.
Noretto’s making progress... which isn’t a good thing.
It’s easier to manipulate and disarm a stupid man.
I never really considered Blaze all that stupid. Careless, sure, but not stupid. Stupid men fall much faster. Despite his youth and sudden promotion after his father’s death, Blaze is yet to lose his title.
“Let them through,” he tells the bouncers.
They both scramble to open the door, almost fighting over the privilege.
Blaze, however, stays put, eyes jumping between me and Koby. “I assume you’re here for someone in particular. Private acquisition?”
I nod and the gesture makes him move. He tips his head toward the entrance, expecting me to fall into step by his side.
I do.
“Once we have what we came for, we’ll leave,” I add. “No one will get hurt.”
Noretto doesn’t comment but his lips curl ever so slightly at the corners. Summoning a waitress, he points toward a table at the front of the room.
“A bottle of our finest Bourbon,” he tells the girl dressed in a tiny crop-top and skirt so short it fails to cover her ass who materializes before us. “On the house.” He turns to face me and gestures toward the empty stage as we head to the table. “You’re a bit late. Twenty girls are sold already.”
“I trust you saved the best for last.” I follow him—Koby hot on my tail—the eyes of allies and enemies drilling into the back of my scalp.
It’s not until we emerge from the thick crowd that I realize the table Noretto’s taking us to isn’t empty like I initially thought. Someone’s there...
The same someone Koby and I are here to retrieve.
Violet.
Viera.
My step falters and my breath hitches on cue. The fine hairs at the back of my neck rise as if electrified and, just like when I watched the security footage from Scarlett , my muscles bunch. Every inch of my body screams at me to... I don’t really know.
Run?
Kill her?
Kiss her?
I can’t tell, but the closer she is, the more potent that beast within me becomes, clawing its way out, fighting to be set free. Taming that monster, whatever it wants, is mission fucking impossible.
“You have company,” Blaze says, nudging Violet’s shoulder. “Behave.” He flicks his fingers, and a nearby goon adds two more chairs to the table.
Koby plops down as the waitress arrives with a bottle. His shoulders are squared back, and I can tell he hates this as much as I do.
Marshaling the violence quivering inside me, I take a seat between him and Violet.
And it’s as if I’ve been dipped in ice-cold water when the scent of her skin invades my nose. My hands ball into tight fists, spine straightens. I’m ready to pounce and...
Again, I don’t fucking know what but I’d do anything to release an ounce of this madness. Maybe shooting everyone within reach would take the edge off.
I don’t dare inspect her face, too afraid that one look will cement me in place the same way it did the first time I saw her. I’m itching to get up and leave... with Violet flung over my shoulder.
“I’m Viera,” she says, her tense voice amplifying my unease. “Are you friends with Blaze?”
Koby shakes his head, mouth opening to speak, but I kick his shin under the table to shut him up. We’re not here to entertain her and given how her voice makes me feel like she’s sticking needles in my scalp, the less she talks the better. My emotions can’t handle much more.
The auctioneer arrives, inviting the guests to sit down for round two. I stare straight ahead, watching one girl after another walk onto the stage, all coquettish smiles, and revealing clothes. Not one looks uncomfortable with their predicament. Not one cries or begs.
Most of them are sold to brothel owners all over the country for a few grand, usually starting at five and not going much further. A chosen few fetch higher price tags from private buyers whose bids start at twenty-five grand.
“You’re not bidding?” Violet asks.
From the corner of my eye I see her head turning my way. The table is small, so cramped our shoulders are mere inches apart and when she turns, her breath warms my cheek. She smells like expensive perfume, a whiff of champagne and... strawberries.
Goosebumps mushroom over my skin.
Not the pleasant kind, not even the kind you get when you’re chilly, This is different. More intense, and it feels as if my skin’s peeling itself off my fucking bones.
“Not yet.” I push the answer past my teeth, clenched so hard the words sound like a snarl. “Soon.”
“There are only five girls left...” She sinks her white teeth into her lower lip.
“Six,” I counter against my better judgment. Keeping her talking isn’t doing me any good. Her voice burrows under my skin like a fucking disease. “You’re going up, aren’t you?”
She jerks away as if slapped, eyes round and fearful. With a trembling hand she grabs her champagne, no longer willing to entertain me.
“Answer the question,” I seethe, unable to control my voice.
Koby and I are supposed to get her out of here safely. I doubt she’ll make it easy if I keep snapping like this. She’s lived through enough shit over the past six months, but no matter how hard I try, I can’t soften my tone. I feel fucking threatened , and my instincts are going haywire because my brain thinks I’m in danger.
Or it knows she’s in danger and that’s why my temper’s all over the place.
“I am,” she confirms, lowering her voice to a whisper. “Please don’t bid.”
Dread prickles my bones, her plea rubbing me the wrong way. Before I can ask why, her big, teary, violet eyes lock onto mine.
“Please...” she breathes, abusing the already sore-looking lower lip. “Please let Mr. Barbieri win.”
Blood drains from my face, the warmth of Violet’s breath on my skin nothing but a memory.
I must’ve made a hell of an impression if she’d rather go with that dead artist than me.
“You want Cassio to own you?”
“He’s... he’s good to me.”
No, he fucking isn’t. Wasn’t . Which makes me wonder what those other men did if she considers someone who painted pictures using her broken blood vessels to be the lesser evil.
“Do you know him?” she asks, her tone growing hopeful. “Did he send you? Is that why you’re bidding? For him?”
Fuck no .
“Sold!” the auctioneer yells.
Before I answer her questions and assure her she definitely wants me to bid, her bodyguard approaches, eyeing me and Koby, clear warning in his gaze. He looks ready to speak—probably a reprimand for chatting with Blaze’s merch—but traps the words behind his teeth and juts his chin at Violet instead.
She hurries onto her feet without hesitation, her moves laced with fear.
Her dainty fingers immediately sleek her dress and hair before she adopts a confident pose. From here on, every move she makes looks practiced, rehearsed, like she’s done this so many times it’s second nature.
Her back straightens, pushing out her small boobs, chin tilts up, hips sway while she follows her bodyguard toward the red curtain flanking the stage.
Howls and cheers start at the back of the room, continuing long after she disappears behind the curtains.
“Did Carter set a hard limit?” Koby asks, leaning back in his chair to get a better view of the stage.
I shake my head. “Whatever it takes.”
Too bad we had so little time to prepare. Had we known last night, I could’ve gone on a killing spree to eliminate the competition.
It’d save Carter a lot of cash...
Then again, killing everyone else interested in Violet would open a can of worms that’d be impossible to close.
The two-million-dollar price tag was a branch extended to Cassio so he could buy Violet outright before the bidding starts. He said interest in her had been dying down lately, which puts to question the seven figures Malik quoted him. I doubt Violet will fetch that, but still... whatever the price, Carter has to pay.
And I have to bid...
Maybe killing Cassio wasn’t such a good idea. Keeping him alive would’ve saved my boss a lot of cash. It’d also save me from participating in the auction.
Too bad I’m always so fucking smart after the event.
The auctioneer clears his throat and the thought of bidding on a human being twists my insides in the worst way.
Nothing ever made me as nauseous as knowing I’ll be buying this girl.