7. Jaime
Chapter 7
Jaime
C huckling, I loop my straw wrapper around my finger. If only she knew. “You might not like the real me.”
She twists her long, dark hair into a knot before letting it fall again. “Real is always better.”
“Real is subjective.” She frowns, but I switch up before she can continue down that road. “How you been feeling the past couple days? It can be hard to stop when you’ve been using for a while.”
She looks into my eyes for a moment before answering. “You know, before this summer, I’d never done anything worse than smoke a little weed.” Looking down, she takes a sip of water. “You met me at a weird time, Jaime. The coke … that’s not who I am, so stopping wasn’t as hard as you might think.”
“You caught yourself in time,” I muse. “That’s good. A lot of people lose themselves.” Like Callum.
“You’ve never done it?”
“I tried, once. A long time ago. Didn’t like it,” I say. “I don’t like losing control like that.”
She nods slowly, her bottom lip caught between her teeth. She’s got a great mouth.
“You’re sure you’re okay?” I ask, just to make sure. “You’re not fiending or anything?”
“No. Jeez.” She huffs, giving me a dark look. “Can we drop it, please?”
“I like to know what I’m dealing with,” I say, ignoring her glare. “But don’t worry. I’ll keep you on the straight and narrow.”
“How are you gonna do that?” Maeve laughs a little. “If I really wanted to do it—which I don’t—you couldn’t stop me.”
“Not physically, no.”
Sami the Server returns with our food, aiming her big, perky tits at me as she asks what she can do for me. Again. Yes, I noticed her signals the second we walked through the door, and yes, I noticed she was cute. I’m not blind. I just didn’t care because I’m here with someone. Maeve could be my girl for all she knows.
“So, how would you stop me?” Maeve asks once we’re alone again.
“By asking. Nicely.”
“Oh, because that works so well,” she says, shaking ketchup onto her plate.
“I’m not Callum.”
Her eyes fly to mine, wary, but I pick up my burger and take a bite. I said what I said, and I’m hungry.
We don’t talk as much after that, but it’s not bad. It’s more of a companionable silence, punctuated by commentary about the food, the servers on skates, the songs on the jukebox. When Maeve can’t finish her milkshake, she shoves it at me, promising it’s the best thing I’ll have all day. I don’t like sharing stuff like that with people, but I do it just this once. She makes me want to say yes.
The more time I spend with Maeve, the more I understand why Callum’s so obsessed with keeping her around. She’s wickedly smart and snarky as fuck. Down to earth. She’s nothing like the trash he cheats on her with, which makes me wonder why he cheats at all.
But then, it has less to do with her than it does him. My mother used to date guys like him. They’re narcissists, and they’re not known for their impulse control.
Sami drops off the check on her way to another table. I’m looking to see how much we owe when Maeve snatches it from me, wrinkling her nose as she reads the back. Then she balls up the check with a scoff and slides out of the booth.
“Maeve, come on,” I say, holding my hand out. “Let me see.”
But she just rifles through her purse and smacks a stack of crisp twenties onto the table. “Ready to go?”
“I brought you here. I’ll pay.” Swiping her money from the table, I get out of the booth and snatch the bill back, eyeing the phone number printed neatly on the back. Probably should’ve seen that coming. I stuff Maeve’s money into her purse. “You good?”
“Great.” She drops her eyes, her face shuttering. It’s an expression she wore all summer like armor, but I don’t like seeing it now. Why does Sami bug her so much? People do shit like this all the time—guys constantly check Maeve out when she’s with me. I just ignore it because she’s not mine. But then I think of Cal, the way he fucks around and flirts right in front of her face, and I realize maybe she’s just over feeling disrespected.
“Let’s go.” I fall into step with Maeve as she begins toward the front of the diner, and then, on a whim, I slide my arm over her shoulders. She stiffens with a sharp inhale before relaxing against me, and I catch a blush as she ducks her head. That’s new. It kicks off a weird flutter that starts in my chest and radiates to my groin. Well, fuck.
Sami’s chatting with the hostess at the front of the diner. She looks up as we approach, her eyes flitting between Maeve and me. I hand over a hundred dollar bill along with the crumpled check. “Food was good, but we didn’t order this,” I tell her, holding her gaze to make a point. “Have a good one.”
Her eyes widen, but I don’t wait around to hear whatever she’s going to say. I just walk Maeve to the door, open it for her, and escort her down the sidewalk like the gentleman I’m not.
Callum is locked up in his office when we get back to the house around seven. And just like this morning, no one else seems to be around. A little strange, for sure. Mac and Griffin are almost always here, if not the whole entourage. Maeve disappears into her bedroom, and I head to the guest house, looking forward to a shower and some Netflix. Maybe a beer.
But a knock on my door derails that. Pulling my t-shirt back on, I glance through the window before opening up to Callum. “Hey, man. ”
He jerks his chin in response. “You’re not busy right now, are you?”
Even if I was, I doubt I have a choice. “Just about to take a shower. Everything good?”
“Got some news today,” he says, his eyes gleaming in the dark. “I need you to come somewhere.”
My stomach churns, the heavy meal I enjoyed with Maeve an hour ago sitting like a brick.
“Yeah, okay. Right now?”
“We’re leaving in twenty. Meet me out front.” Turning on his heel, he walks toward the patio.
“What about Maeve?” I call.
“Mac’s on his way back to stay with her,” he says over his shoulder.
Dread settles over me as I shut the door. Callum’s never asked me to ride along like this—my place is here, my role as Maeve’s protector. Did I slip up? Did he find the cameras, the unsanctioned ones I hid around the property? If he did, I can probably explain them away. Say I wanted him to have the best surveillance. As far as Callum knows, he’s the only one with access to those feeds.
No one knows why I’m really here except for a small, very select few, so I don’t think anyone’s talked. I pull my jacket on as I rack my brain, trying to think of any slip-ups I may have made over the past few weeks. I’m always careful, meticulous, but stuff like this makes me paranoid, second-guessing every move I’ve made since I got here.
I don’t think I’ve been compromised, but I need to let my unit know something’s up in the event I don’t make it back tonight. Grabbing one of my burners from its hiding place in a cereal box, I send him a quick, coded message— Don’t forget Abuelita’s birthday —and return it to the pantry. Then, asking Our Mother of Perpetual Help to protect me, I tie on my boots and step out into the night.
Twenty minutes later, I’m in the back seat of Griffin’s blacked-out G-wagon, my gaze sweeping over West Oakland’s peaceful, dark streets. Griff and Roman are up front, smoking a blunt, and Callum’s beside me, his fingers drumming rhythmically to the bass-heavy beats filling the vehicle.
He’s been unusually quiet, his jaw set tight, an undercurrent of tension in the car like a fuse waiting to be lit. Roman reaches back, handing Callum the blunt. He hits it and passes it to me. I hit it and pass it back, but it doesn’t do much to settle me.
I still don’t know what this is about.
Eventually, we pull up to a strip mall where everything is closed for the night. Griff drives around to the back, to what looks like a loading dock, and parks next to two other cars. Callum gets out first, typing something into his phone before pocketing it.
Affecting a practiced, loose posture that belies my tightly bound nerves, I follow him and the boys into the building. My stomach plummets as my eyes adjust to the bright, fluorescent lighting. If the workstations, meat hooks, and walkin freezer are any indication, we’re in the back of a butcher shop. The scent of bleach lingers in the air and the floor is damp, as if recently mopped. Every instinct I have screams at me to be ready for anything, but I keep my cool.
A voice echoes from the far side of the room. “Over here, Cal.”
Three of Cal’s crew, guys I’ve seen around the house sometimes and at Quartz & Crystal, are standing guard over another two men sitting on the ground. I glance at their faces, but I don’t recognize them.
“Ignacio,” Callum says, stepping forward. “So glad you could make it. I know what a busy guy you are.”
The younger of the two men shifts uncomfortably, but the other stays still, his eyes trained emotionlessly on Callum. I’m guessing he’s Ignacio, and he’s either a sociopath or has a great poker face. Except for a steady drip coming from one of the sinks, the room is silent. Roman leans against the wall, picking at his nails.
“You know why you’re here, right?” Callum prods after a minute.
Ignacio never breaks his gaze. “Why don’t you tell me?”
“You broke my heart, man. I thought we were good.”
“What you want me to say?”
“I want you to tell me why you tried to kill me,” Callum growls, balling his fists as he drops the happy-go-lucky act.
“It was nothing personal. You know how it goes,” Ignacio says. He looks resigned to his fate here tonight. “Just business.”
He’s right, but to be this blasé about imminent death is wild. Or maybe it’s admirable.
Callum cuts a glance at me, his sudden attention like a knife to the gut. “Know who this is? ”
I shake my head, scanning the men’s faces one more time.
“The night we met,” he prods, gesturing. “Remember what happened in the Pink Room?”
My stomach tightens into a knot. “How could I forget?” Two masked men opened fire that night and I almost died for real.
“We have Ignacio to thank for that,” he says, his dark eyes going flat.
“Look,” the second man says shakily. He tries to stand, but one of Callum’s friends shoves him back down. “It was just a job. They were only supposed to scare you.”
“By hiring someone to shoot up his uncle’s club?” Griffin butts in, stepping closer. “With him in it? You almost killed him. You almost killed me!” He swings, sending the man flying back against the tiled wall as his fist crashes into his cheek.
“What I don’t get,” Cal says, face unreadable as he pulls a pair of brass knuckles from his jacket. Shit, he’s going old school . “Is how you could turn on us when your boss and my uncle go way back.”
Ignacio’s eyes narrow. “Your uncle know you been getting cozy with Feretti?”
Cal falters for a split-second before smoothing his expression, not expecting the callout. Ghost Feretti runs San Francisco’s North Beach neighborhood, but he and Dario De Leon’s rivalry goes back to the eighties, when they fought over territory in the East Bay. When things got too bloody, and the Feds started moving in, a shaky truce was called. Feretti stayed in SF and Dario kept Oakland. It’s an uneasy peace, but it’s held.
So, why would Cal be fraternizing with the enemy? If it’s true, and I think it is, Cedro will definitely want to hear about this. It would back up his suspicions.
“Nobody’s cozying up to anybody.” Callum slips the brass knuckles onto his hand and steps forward. “Sounds like you got some bad info.”
That’s probably bullshit, but it doesn’t matter. What matters is what’s going down right here, right now. As relieved as I am that tonight has nothing to do with me, being involved in these men’s deaths isn’t something I want on my conscience. But I can’t intervene without blowing my cover.
I don’t blame Cal for wanting revenge on the people who tried to kill him, but I could do without the theatrics. If it were me, I’d shoot them and leave. Simple.
Leo used to tease me about my aversion to the interrogation room. He and Cedro knew I had their backs when it counted, but they never asked me to torture anybody. They had people for that. I’m better at intelligence: surveillance and tech, hacking and spying. If the boss needs to know something, I’m the guy that’ll find out every last detail. And if you step to me, I’ll take you out. But it’s a necessary evil, not one I enjoy.
“See this guy?” he asks Ignacio, gesturing to me. “This is who took out your men. I’m still here because he took care of me that night.” He looks at me and it’s like seeing into the abyss, his eyes all-consuming black holes. “You could’ve hidden underneath the table like a pussy and saved your own ass, but you stepped up. I didn’t forget. I never forget.”
Callum whirls and strikes Ignacio without warning, the smack of metal on flesh soon giving way to the duller thud of metal on bone. It’s revolting, but I stay neutral, cold, withdrawing mentally as Callum delivers blow after blow. It’s just an act, a game, another night with the crew. But inside, every hit feels like it’s battering my own soul. It’s a stark reminder of how deep I’ve sunk into this world of shadows and violence, and just how much darker it might get before I find my way out.
We’ve been riding around for a while, smoking and drinking Scotch from a bottle Roman pulled out of the glove compartment. I’d rather go home, take a shower, and pretend tonight didn’t happen, but the boys are hopped up on coke and adrenaline.
Callum told his lackeys to clean up after we left, to dump the bodies where their people would find them. He wants to send a message. I get it. He’s making a name for himself. It’s dog-eat-dog out here, and you can’t claim boss status if nobody takes you seriously. But he needs to be careful. He’s spiteful to the point of being uncontrollable, and he’s too impressed with himself. He doesn’t think he has to answer to anybody, not even his uncle, and that could be his downfall. Cedro Oliveras is already onto him, as are the Feds, and there could be others.
If he really is making deals with enemies behind his uncle’s back, like Ignacio hinted, it’s only a matter of time before someone else tries to kill him. And it might even be the Oliveras family—they’ve been pillars in the underworld longer than any of us has been alive. Cedro is patient, biding his time until the perfect moment to strike. And when he does, not even Cal’s Uncle Dario will be able to stop him.
“I need to unwind,” Callum says, like he hasn’t been doing that for the past hour. He snorts a few bumps from the divots between his knuckles. “Let’s hit the spot, Griff.” I’m half-expecting another night at Quartz & Crystal but we end up at Chateau Lumière, a small, exclusive hotel tucked into the base of the Oakland Hills. I’ve never been, but it’s the kind of place you hear about in certain circles, the kind ultra-wealthy or famous people go to when they want to party in private.
The valet parks Griff’s ride as we head inside. An elevator with an attendant zooms us up to the penthouse, where we’re vetted by a woman in a gold dress and two bouncers. Inside, chitchat and laughter float over breezy house music as pretty girls work the room, serving cocktails, pills, and powders from gold trays while keeping the guests company. It’s a classier version of the Pink Room, minus the negligees. Cal really seems to have a hard-on for this type of scenario.
He plucks two drinks from a passing tray, giving one to me. “You been working hard, Jay. Go relax, get your dick sucked. You deserve it.”
That he thinks he needs to give me permission is amusing. And why is he so appreciative? He hired me to work, so I work. I don’t watch Maeve as a favor. As for saving him that night at the Pink Room, it was instinct. I was protecting myself, but who sits around and lets somebody they’re with get their face blown off by an assault rifle? Whatever. Callum’s as mercurial as they come, so if he’s feeling charitable, I’ll take it.
Squeezing my shoulder, he saunters off to talk to a brunette in a long, nearly sheer dress. I stifle a yawn and drop onto the couch. Now that THC has taken the place of adrenaline in my bloodstream, I’m so tired I could fall asleep right here. Probably not what Cal had in mind when he told me to relax, but it’s my call.
Then the couch cushion beside me dips. “Mind if I join you?” a female voice asks. She’s wearing a long, gauzy dress that plunges to her belly button, her long, dark hair wound into a thick braid that hangs over one shoulder. She’s beautiful, but they all are .
I shrug, giving her a slow, sleepy grin. I’m high, and my defenses are down. If she wants to flirt with me, I’m not gonna stop her. “Looks like you just did.”
Maybe she senses that I’m a tough nut to crack because we talk for a long time. She’s from San Jose, working on an MBA at Berkeley, loves early mornings and running the trails near the university with her dog. But all of that fades when she casually rests her hand on my thigh, her light brown eyes twinkling with interest. My body reacts immediately, stiffening. It’s been a while since I hooked up, and suddenly I can’t think of a reason not to. She’s pretty, she’s sweet, and she’s down to fuck. Leaning closer, she kisses my neck, her hand sliding to my zipper.
That’s when I spot Callum across the room. It’s hard to see, because the lighting is intentionally dim, but there’s a girl on her knees in front of him. Public blow jobs must be his kink. The thing is, the girl looks just like Maeve from behind, from the dark, curly mane to the slender build and pale skin. I know it isn’t her, obviously, but the illusion is deeply unsettling. It also sends a surge of desire crackling through me.
I shut my eyes and lean my head back, wishing I could unsee what I just saw. Maeve Kelly is the one girl I cannot and will not fantasize about. She’s off-limits for a lot of reasons, not the least of which is the mission. Cedro’s words flash like neon in the haze of lust. This is a big job I’m trusting you with, Jaime. Stay focused.
Yeah, I need to stay focused, not just on his assignment but my actual job . I doubt Lewis would approve of me getting caught up in female drama.
The girl I’m with unzips my jeans. I catch her hand before she goes any further, looking at her. “What’s your name?”
“Raya.” She conceals her startled expression with a sultry smile, but I know she’s on guard. Guys like me can get away with anything at parties like this. “What’s yours?”
“Jaime.” I rise from the couch, zipping my pants. “It was nice talking to you, Raya.”