Chapter 33 Cord
MY PHONE RINGS as soon as I get back from my run. Thinking it’s Asher, I grab it out of my pocket and answer without looking at the screen.
“I said to just text me.”
“Fuck that,” Dante’s gruff voice barks.
“Oh. I didn’t know it was you. What’s up?”
“I got a job for you. When can you get here?”
Fuck. I was hoping to have a day to myself. I glance down at my sweaty clothes. “Give me thirty minutes.”
The call ends without a word.
“Yeah, goodbye to you too, asshole,” I mutter.
Would I have preferred it to be Asher on the phone, despite the fact that I told him to text me?
I told him that so I wouldn’t get distracted by his voice, especially after what happened this morning in his bed.
He was in the throes of what had to be a wet dream, and part of me was jealous about the subject of whatever fantasy had him in its clutches.
Who was he thinking about, and why would it matter to me? Just listening to it got my dick so hard I had to get up to get away from him, though part of me wondered what he would’ve done if I’d reached over and touched him. Maybe make some of those noises mean something real.
Probably a good thing I didn’t since he claimed he didn’t remember it. I honestly don’t know what our dynamic is any more. I know he says he wants us to be together, but does that mean waking him up with his cock in my mouth?
Because that’s what I wanted to do, against my better judgment. When he asked me to spend the night, he didn’t press anything physical on me, despite what happened in his livingroom earlier. He told me he would respect my boundaries and rolled over and went to sleep.
So am I having an identity crisis, or was he just doing what he said he’d do? I don’t know how to react when he isn’t pursuing me. I’m so used to him being the aggressor.
And why am I even tying myself in knots over this? Didn’t I tell him I need time?
Since when does Asher pay attention to boundaries?
Exactly.
Whoever he was dreaming about didn’t mind getting physical. I couldn’t help noticing that his cock was rock hard when he woke up, despite him trying to hide it. Was he embarrassed, or just didn’t want me to know he was thinking of someone else?
And was he actually thinking of someone else? Or could he have been thinking about me? If he was, he sure was quick to dismiss it.
I’m driving myself crazy over something that doesn’t even matter. It was just a stupid dream. It obviously didn’t mean anything to him, so why am I obsessing over it?
I grab a change of clothes from my closet and head into the bathroom to shower, trying not to think about the fact that I have to jerk myself off because my dick is leaking so bad.
Fucking Asher.
I pull up to the warehouse just before ten, having put my internal demons to rest, and head inside to see what fresh hell Dante has in store for me.
“Missed a couple of good fights last night,” Zeke greets as I enter the building.
“Oh yeah? Did you fight?”
“Nah, though I’m thinking about going back tonight. More variety on a Friday.”
“True.” I look around. “Dante in his office?”
“Last I seen.”
“Thanks.”
Roland reaches over to open the door for me when I approach the office. I walk inside, not knowing what to expect.
Gio is sitting on the couch, content, as always, to remain in the background while Dante talks to someone from behind his desk. I see now there’s a woman perched on the chair in front of him, and from the vibe I’m getting, she’s pretty upset.
Dante looks up and waves me over, indicating for me to take a seat next to Gio while he finishes up with the woman.
She’s Clan, pretty in a frail way, and dressed like she walked out of the last century, which makes me wonder how old she really is.
Some vamps tend to stay stuck in the decade of their transition, unable to move forward or embrace the changing times.
“I want you to go home and not say anything about coming here,” he tells her as he stands and comes around the desk.
The woman rises and dabs at her eyes. “What will you do?”
“Don’t worry about that. I’ll take care of everything.”
“I just want things to go back to the way they were.”
He pats her arm and leads her toward the door. “That’s all any of us want.”
She stops at the door and turns to him. “You won’t hurt him, will you? He’s all I have.”
“That will depend on him.”
She seems to consider that, then nods. “Thank you, Mr. Fantini.”
“Please, call me Dante.”
After she walks out and he closes the door, Dante flips the switch on his composure. “Fucking Cosgrove. One thing I cannot stomach is betrayal.”
I remain silent as he paces the office, allowing him time to purge his rage. It wouldn’t do to get in the way of that right now.
After a few minutes he stops and looks at Gio. “What do we know about Alvin Cosgrove?”
The name sounds familiar; I think he’s one of the crew who works the den down by the docks. Haven’t had much interaction with him myself, though I’ve seen him around once or twice. What has he done to incur Dante’s wrath?
“He’s a gambler,” Gio says. “Frequents a poker game in Chinatown. He’s also fifty-large into a bookie up in East Harlem.”
“How do you know that?” I ask before thinking.
He offers me a shrewd smile. “It’s my job to know.”
The way he says it tells me he knows things about me, too. I don’t know what that would be, and that fact alone makes it unsettling.
“That must be how he got pulled away from us, but why is he hiding?” Dante asks. “You think the bookie sent someone after him?”
“If he did he would’ve made an example of him. I think this is Cosgrove’s own doing.”
Dante turns to me. “I want you to find him and bring him to me.”
“What’s he done, other than run up debt?”
“He’s a traitor. According to his mate, he’s running with the Python’s crew.”
“He told her that?”
“Not in so many words. But he told her he’s got a new crew, and they’re going to make a big splash in the city. Then he disappeared. She hasn’t seen or heard from him in over a week.”
No wonder Dante’s pissed. Betrayal is like the number one sin in his eyes. If this Cosgrove has defected to the dark side, he could be giving intel on Dante’s whole operation.
“You got an address on the bookie?” I ask Gio.
“I’ll text it to you.”
“Grab fifty-five from the safe,” Dante tells Gio then turns to me. “I want you to buy his marker.”
Gio opens the safe and counts out the money, rolling it up and slapping a rubber band around it before handing it to me. I shove it in my pocket and stand up. “Anything else?”
“Yeah,” Dante says. “I want this done quick and quiet. No one knows.”
“You got it.”
? ? ?
If Alvin Cosgrove is hiding, he’s doing a piss poor job of it. I pay a visit to his bookie and learn his men have been sitting on him all week, waiting for payment. He came by two days ago and promised he’d have half the money by Friday.
Today.
“He’s got till midnight,” the bookie tells me, leaving the ‘or else’ to my imagination.
He’s a short, balding man with a stained yellow button-down straining over an ample beer gut.
Human. Middle-aged. Probably got a couple of leg breakers doing his dirty work.
His office is a storage room behind a laundromat, so this isn’t a big operation.
I figure he’ll jump at the chance to get paid and not care where it comes from.
“What if I buy his paper?”
The bookie narrows his eyes and looks me up and down. “What’s in it for you?”
“What do you care? You’re getting paid.”
He shakes his head and pulls out a worn ledger. “You know he’ll just be back next week.”
“I don’t give a shit about next week.”
He tears off a pink IOU slip and slides it across the desk. “Fifty K, plus interest.”
I pull the roll of bills out of my pocket and toss it down on the desk. “Fifty-five. That enough interest for you?”
“You don’t mind if I count it, do you?” He reaches out to grab the roll and I slam my hand down on his.
“Not till I get the address.”
“Okay, okay. He’s at the Cloud Nine, seedy motel over on Lexington. Registered under the name Alvin Smith.” He scribbles the address on a piece of paper and hands it to me. “Pleasure doing business with you.”
Fucking snake.
I pocket the address and walk back through the laundromat, pulling out my phone.
“He’s at a motel in East Harlem,” I tell Dante when he answers.
“Need any help?”
“No, I got this.”
The motel in question is a shithole. I spot the bookie’s men sitting in a beat up van at the end of the block. Nothing too obvious about that, though I’m guessing Cosgrove is probably already aware of them. And since they’re still here, he’s no doubt in the apartment.
Which makes things easier for me. When I park farther down the block, I notice a kid hanging out on the corner. I approach him and pull out a twenty, dangling it in front of him.
“See that car?” I ask, pointing. He follows my finger and nods. “Anyone comes near it, you tell me about it. Okay?”
“You got it.”
I hand him the twenty. “There’s another one for you when I get back.”
I don’t trust leaving my car on this street, but I can’t exactly take it inside with me.
The lobby is a depressing shade of roach motel gray. I walk up to the cage where the greasy-haired clerk is fucking off watching TV.
“Hey,” I call to him. When he ignores me, I smash the bell on the counter until he looks my way.
“Coming, Jesus, what the fuck.”
“I need a room number for Alvin Smith,” I tell him.
“You a cop?”
“No. Concerned citizen.”
“Well, we don’t give out that–”
I don’t have time for this. I reach through the opening and grab him by the collar, yanking his head close to the cage. “I wasn’t asking.”
The clerk sputters and tries to wrestle free. “Okay, okay. He’s in room twenty-three.”
I shove him away from me and head for the stairs, stepping around the trash littering the steps and hallway. When I get to the room, I take a minute to pause and press my ear to the door, listening. It’s quiet inside. Maybe he’s sleeping.