Chapter 3
CHAPTER
THREE
brODI
Six months ago…
It’s just after midnight, and I’m still at the shop.
I’ve been a mechanic at Rick’s Rides for damn near four years, but it didn’t pay worth shit.
Not like being a bookie for the Murray’s.
Sure, they were a bunch of seedy assholes, but I knew an opportunity when I saw one.
As long as they stayed in the dark about what I was doing, things were going swell.
I’ve been busting my ass for too long and I deserve to eat better than a steady diet of microwaved noodles with saltines.
Plus, I like boxing in my free time, keeps my mind sharp.
Especially when I become so bored of the same remedial tasks.
Bike comes in; replace the filter, empty the old engine oil, refresh fluids, and inspect the rear drive belts.
Same shit day in and day out. Don’t get me wrong, I’m good at what I do, but I know I’m destined for better things.
Rick was a good guy and that’s why I stayed loyal to him for so many years.
Rick tossed me the keys an hour ago, after he threw an arm around his old lady and headed home.
I sit behind my boss's wooden desk, lounging in a worn, ripped leather seat.
Between my legs bobs a raven-haired vixen that smells of cheap perfume and cloves.
She has wicked curves in all the right places and an even more wicked mouth.
My phone buzzes with a text; Doe-eyes looks up at me.
“Everything okay?” she coos.
I suck in a short breath through my teeth from the sudden loss of her warm mouth around my dick. “Everything’s fine. Fuck, don’t stop.”
I collect her hair in my hand and force her back down, encouraging her to work me faster this time.
Her cheeks hollow out, allowing my cock to slip deeper into her throat and she attempts to swallow, tugging on the head of my dick, while her hand fondles my balls.
I firmly press the back of her head down, as she starts making a gurgling sound.
Knowing this bitch is choking on my cock causes a tingling sensation to start at the base of my spine.
She hums, knowing exactly how I need it, vibrating the sensitive tip.
“Fuck. Right there.”
I can feel my balls draw up and I close my eyes, lost in the feeling.
With a final wet gag from her, I unload down the bitch’s gullet.
I hold her head in place as the once forceful jabs become slow, shallow pumps until she’s consumed every drop of me.
She pops off and leans back onto her bargain heels.
“Damn, woman… do you always have to tag my dick with your hooker paint?”
She giggles in response before she retrieves a tissue from her purse, and hands it to me.
Like this could possibly help.
I fervently rubbed the traces of her lipstick off my cock, as I watched the little minx reapply her crimson stain.
This one came with me to one of the fights this past week but bailed early. I told her she owed me a blowjob for it, so she showed up at Rick’s to deliver. If I couldn’t get my dick wet in an alley behind The Bay Boxing Club, I had to wait until my boss had me close the shop.
Cindel was in my bed currently, so going back to my place was out of the question.
I tuck myself back into my pants before I fasten them and lean back in the chair, propping my boots up onto Rick’s desk. It’s such a relic; he won't even notice any wear to its surface.
“Don’t wait too long to call me this time, sugar.”
I don’t bother to respond. Destiny has never held power over me.
Lacing my fingers behind my head, I enjoy the view of her skin-tight, cheetah print ass, as it bounces toward the exit.
She turns and blows a kiss before disappearing through a side door, into the night.
My eyelids lower once again, relishing in the fact I get to go home and sink into another warm hole.
I hear the heavy door swing open, then slam shut abruptly. I opened one eye.
“You forget something?”
I sit up, surprised, to find a broad-shouldered man in a form-fitted suit. I knew I should have locked that damned door. Lucky for me, I recognized the brooding guy from the club.
“Daxton! This fuckin’ guy! How the hell are ya?!”
I spring from my seat, round the desk, and smack him on the back. Like a wall of muscle, he hardly flinches.
“You’ve been… busy this evening,” he states dryly, smoothing the front of his jacket.
“You know how it is! Women can’t keep their hands off me. Hard to choose just one, right? Come, sit.”
My unannounced guest ignores my invitation to sit in one of the smaller wooden chairs, instead taking a seat at the end of the desk, where I resided moments ago.
“Soooooo, how’s business? I understand one of the bars is doing well now.”
His expression remains unreadable, but I did catch a tick along his jawline. Shit. Not one for small talk, I see. I rub the back of my neck, feeling the room becoming increasingly hot. Did they know?
“Cut the crap, Brodi. You know why I had to come all the way out here. Where’s the rest of the money?”
Fuck. I look at the hardened man, trying to gauge if this is a warning visit or something else entirely. Is he here alone?
I lean forward, placing an elbow on each knee, fisting my hands together, all while mirroring his steely glare. If I lie, I know I won’t be walking out of here. I need to be smart. Use what I know and get the hell out of here.
“Look man, I’ve come across some information… something that will make the Murrays very happy.” I say sitting back, casually throwing an arm over the neighboring chair and resting one foot on the opposite knee. “Let’s just say, this information has been under wraps for a loooong time.”
He crosses his arms over his muscular chest and lifts an eyebrow.
He’s biting, so I continue, “It’s the kind of intel that could make everyone forget about any misplaced funds.”
His jaw moves side to side, as if his teeth are grinding.
I pushed on. “The Lombardis were more involved than the Murrays suspected,” I state firmly.
“How so?” His mouth barely moves as he asks, speaking through gritted teeth.
“My source…” I almost say the poor sap’s name before catching myself. “Someone has told me that a Lombardi is responsible for Mary Murray’s death.”
His face is unreadable; he looks past me.
I turn slightly to find nothing in particular before I turn back to his unsettling stare.
“The rat responsible for that, has already been dealt with.” He looks bored, like this information wasn’t as important as I initially thought. “Who’s your informant?” He asks pointedly, leaning back in the worn chair causing it to emit a high-pitched screech.
Shit. Maybe they already know. I need something more substantial if I don’t want to wind up in an underwater grave. That’s what I heard about these goons. You do them wrong, and they’ll fillet you before sinking you to the bottom of the bay, like the rest of the idiots dumb enough to.
“I’m an asset, you know! How about this?! You tell your boss to wipe my slate clean, and I’ll tell you where to find a Lombardi. There’s one still here in the city, right under your noses.”
The man’s once indecipherable features become calculated. His eyes narrow to slits, pinning me in place. “Which one?” He all but growls.
I didn’t plan on ever using this knowledge, but desperate times call for desperate measures. I’m out of options to save my own ass.
“The young, pretty kind,” I divulge, feeling a small pang of regret that I’ve just royally fucked up her life, all because I can’t handle my own shit.
His eyes automatically darken. I can no longer tell if I’m digging myself an escape route, or my own grave.
I should pack a bag and leave tonight. Tell Cindel to go back to her parents in New York. My legs begin to bounce, so I decide to stand instead. I roll my shoulders, as if it might make me appear bigger against this manslayer.
“Wow! Would you look at the time! I need to close up the shop. So… if you don’t mind? Ya know… Fucking off?” I train my eyes to remain on the pin-up girl in the center of the clock, but I can still feel his eyes watching me. His stare boring into the side of my head.
The chair groans when he stands.
Can I grab my knife in time?
He slowly rounds the desk, and I listen to his footsteps as he makes his way past me.
I dare not look away from the clock as I watch the seconds lazily go by.
Only once I hear the scrape of metal against metal, followed by a thundering slam does time return to normal.
I blink. The hand is once again, moving at a normal pace around the face of the clock.
Voices outside carry past the thin bay doors.
Perhaps he wasn’t alone, the idea of taking on more than one of him unsettles me.
Tires crunch over gravel, just as I crack the door and see a dark colored Audi pulling onto the roadway. I stand there watching as the taillights disappear down the darkened road.
Fuck me; I thought for sure I was a dead man when he brought up the money. I know an opportunity when I see one, and right now I see the moment to leave.
I knew my fate was sealed when I started skimming from the bets placed at the club.
Eamon asked me to be the new bookie a few months back, I never intended to do it this long, but when I saw my stash growing, I naturally became greedy.
I had shit parents and couldn’t depend on anyone but myself.
The way the Murrays throw money around is fucked up.
I deserve more than the table scraps they throw me.
My plan had always been to save enough to leave; build a cabin in the mountains, maybe even bring my girl. Live an honest life.
I guess I shouldn’t be too surprised the money started burning a hole in my pocket, and I found myself at Cha-Cha’s three times a week with enough coke up my nose to put down an elephant.
I’m cut from the same cloth as my folks, I suppose.
Shit human beings through and through. What I squirreled away would have to suffice.
I wasn’t about to stick around and see what the Murrays had in store for me once they learned my hand was in their cookie jar.
Grabbing my keys and phone off the desk, I throw on my leather jacket, lock the door, and make my way to the Harley out-front. I straddle the bike, briefly checking my phone notification from earlier, when I was preoccupied.
Cindel: I saw another Harley today! I think it was a “Fat Bob.” I could actually hear it coming! I’m at your place. Waiting in bed for you.
Chewing on the inside of my cheek, I steel my spine and text back.
Brodi: Hey, sunshine. I figure you’d be sleeping by now. I’m going to be later than usual. You should go home.
She sends back a sad face emoji.
Brodi: I’ll meet you at Benny’s tomorrow.
I add, knowing by then I’ll be halfway to Ohio.
I tuck the phone inside the inner pocket of my jacket, pull my helmet on, and secure the strap beneath my chin.
Sticking the key into the ignition, I check for neutral before I turn the fuel tap on. Engaging the choke, I use my right foot to kickstart the bike. It roars to life, instantly shaking away my swirling thoughts.
I love this bike, even though the solo headlamp has become foggy as of late.
It’s overdue for a cleaning, it’s barely bright enough to light my way on these winding roads.
Though I know each turn like the back of my hand, you still have to be cautious for the occasional opossum hanging out in the middle of the road.
Those little fuckers could definitely throw you from your ride.
My feet rest on the pegs, as I add just enough throttle to bring me through the first of many turns. My cares fall away as I ride past darkened warehouses and empty side streets. It’s late. Businesses are closed and most people are asleep at this hour; it’s just me and the open road.
Just as I emerge from a banked corner, a blinding set of lights comes on from down one of the side streets. The unforeseen vehicle peels out from its current position and comes straight for me!
I straighten my front, while attempting to add enough throttle to get out of the way but not lose traction.
The mystery vehicle barrels toward me, and I know I can’t get out of the way.
The car hits me from the back; my bike ejects me onto the hood of their ride.
They slam on the brakes, and I slide from the vehicle’s dented hood, and onto the road in front of it.
My body screams at me from every joint, and I can’t feel my left arm. A succession of car doors slam, while orbs of light dance across my vision. Where’s my bike? Is it salvageable? Who the fuck hit me?
Fuck my arm! It’s definitely dislocated.
Footsteps approach, scraping along the grooved road edges, where I apparently lie. The assholes stop on either side of me, as I attempt to blink away the starry light show. I heard a shutter sound, as if a phone was taking a picture.
Two silhouettes stand over me, outlined by the car’s headlights. One figure walks away, with a phone held to their ear. I can barely make out a masculine voice say, “we have it handled.”
“Hey!” I try to yell, only to be met with debilitating pain. Feels like I cracked at least one rib. “What the fuck, man?!”
The shadowed kneels, over my broken body, but I can’t make out a face. Using my good arm, I discreetly reach for the switchblade that I always have strapped to my ankle. I get the feeling they are not going to be calling an ambulance for me.
A deep, menacing voice comes from above me. “You’re not an asset, Brodi, you’re a liability.”
Fuck. They are going to kill me!
I lie perfectly still, letting them think they rendered me immobile.
With all the strength I can muster, I grit my teeth and push up slightly.
I whip my working arm across the man’s form, making contact with his neck.
My blade opens his throat, and a crimson waterfall begins flowing onto me and the street.
The man finally comes into focus, and I watch him desperately grasp at the hanging flesh, trying to put himself back together.
I pull back again, ready to stab him in his fucking eye, when I hear a metallic scrape. I look up, just in time to see the other guy swinging a bat, straight for my head.