Chapter Eight
Venezio
Getting asked on a date by Stephanie was something I never saw coming. Least of all some stuffy, lawyer-filled, fancy-ass holiday party.
It wasn’t my kind of thing.
Hell, half the people there might know exactly who I was, if they were in criminal defense. Because what defense attorney worth their salt didn’t know all the different criminal organizations in their area?
But she asked.
So I was going.
Case closed.
Even if she was right; I didn’t have a nice suit.
What I did have was a lot of experience with others who knew all about nice suits. I knew exactly where I needed to go to get what I needed. Even if I knew I’d feel like a damn imposter wearing one.
As if that shit wasn’t enough, catching Steph when she’d almost landed on her ass, then having her look up at me with those big, dark eyes for a second too long to be casual… yeah.
I was thankful for the December cold as I made my way back to the warehouse because it kept my cock from acting on the thoughts swirling around my head.
Thoughts I really needed to not be having about the woman whose organization held my potential promotion in her hands. Even if she had no idea.
I was just about to unlock the warehouse door when I saw something off toward the side where the loading dock was located that just seemed, I dunno, off.
Curiosity piqued, I tucked the key back away and reached for my switchblade instead. I flicked it open, the sound loud to my ears as I moved closer to something on the ground just out of reach of the streetlight.
It wasn’t until I was almost on it that I knew what it was.
A person.
Out cold on the pavement.
A small pool of blood was behind him as I rushed forward to press my fingers into his neck.
He had a pulse.
It was right then that I noticed what he was wearing.
A badge.
For the trucking company I was supposed to be waiting for.
He was the driver.
He’d come early.
And someone had clearly been waiting.
It wouldn’t be that big of a deal if it was just the damn toys. But that truck? That had the Family’s merch in it.
“Fuck,” I growled, jumping back to my feet and running out toward the street.
My head was on a swivel, hoping to spot the damn truck before it got too far away.
“Motherfucker,” I growled.
I broke into a run, heading off with traffic, knowing it would be hard for a truck to turn left with as much traffic as was still on the roads.
My feet slid, my pulse quickened, and my anger grew with each block I passed with no sight of the damn thing.
Until, at an intersection, I caught the taillights of a white truck as it turned into what looked like a lot or alley.
Bingo.
Flexing my fingers on the knife to keep them from going to sleep, I ran harder until I was at the edge of the building, waiting, listening for a second.
When I heard nothing, I peeked around the corner, spying the truck sitting there, engine huffing exhaust up into the air in an endless cloud.
Were they going to stop to empty it here?
I glanced back around, looking for a second truck or car hanging around, waiting to steal the loot.
But there was nothing unusual. Just parked cars. Just people heading home or heading out to holiday parties.
What was my move here?
As if to answer, I heard music spill out of the alley.
I waited a second before glancing, seeing the driver’s door slightly ajar and a jean-clad leg sticking out.
I didn’t stop to think.
I didn’t call for backup.
I was too accustomed to working alone, to making life-or-death and career-changing decisions on the fly.
There was no time to fuck around.
I flew down the alley, knife in hand, and made a beeline for the driver’s side of the truck.
My free hand shot out, grabbing the door, whipping it open, and using it to haul myself up.
If he’d had the common sense to watch his rearview mirror, he’d have seen me coming.
As it was, I heard the intake of his breath, saw the way his whole body jolted.
These guys, though, they weren’t just some opportunists.
Random joes didn’t come prepared for a fight, and that was a gun sitting in one of the fucking cupholders.
The driver’s hand shot outward toward it, fingers closing around it before I could react.
Inwardly, I cursed, knowing this job had just taken a sharp turn sideways.
Because I only had one move here.
I cringed at the shit I was going to get for it, then lifted my hand, and sank my knife into the bastard’s carotid.
I pulled back from the spray, knowing I’d have a big enough mess to clean up already.
As I did so, a movement caught my eye.
Then there was the passenger, wide-eyed, mouth agape, not sure how his payday went from an easy job to murder.
I noted him.
Tall, oval face, a cross tattoo on the side of his neck—cold, brown eyes, and a mole on his right cheek.
Because I knew he was going to get away.
And I wouldn’t have the time I needed to go after him.
As if reading my thoughts, his hand shot out to the side, fumbling with the door until he found the handle, flinging it open, and shooting out.
The driver’s body was limp, slumped, dead.
Making sure his buddy was running for his life first, I shoved the driver over into the passenger side, climbed into the driver’s side, threw the truck into reverse, and backed out of the alley.
There was a chorus of beeps as I pulled into traffic. I ignored them, my mind racing with enough issues as I did the only thing I could: I drove back to the warehouse.
Because if that driver woke up alone, without his truck, he was going to call the cops. Then there’d be a BOLO out on the truck I was in with a dead body.
I couldn’t have that.
I drove into the lot, searching for the driver’s wallet in the glovebox, then grabbed a wad of fast food napkins and used them to wipe down any visible signs of blood on the windows, wheel, and dashboard.
Only then did I pull back into the lot.
Just in time, too.
The guy was just starting to stir as I carefully shut the door then rushed over to his side like a concerned citizen.
“Hey, man, you okay?” I asked, reaching down to help him sit up, facing conveniently away from the damn truck.
“I don’t… I don’t know what happened.”
“Think you must have slipped on the ice, man,” I said, forcing some concern into my voice. “Shit. You hit your head good. You’re bleeding all over.”
His hand rose, feeling for his head, wincing at the comment, then again when he pulled it back and saw the blood on his fingers.
“You should probably go to the hospital.”
“I… my truck.”
“Right behind you,” I told him. “Think this fell out of your hand too,” I said, passing him his wallet so he had his ID, insurance cards, and no excuse to go back into the truck. His phone was in a belt holder. He had everything he needed.
“I… yeah,” he agreed, the small slits of his eyes indicating that while the damage wasn’t bad, the headache must have been.
“Let’s get you a cab, bud.”
I’d never used the word ‘bud’ in my fucking life.
My voice didn’t even sound like me.
I was in full-on Good Samaritan mode.
“I can’t leave…”
“You’re at the warehouse,” I told him, waving back at it. “This is where the truck needed to be unloaded. I’m supposed to be doing the unloading. I will keep an eye on it until you get back. But you need stitches, man. Maybe a scan…”
His eyes widened.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah, think so.”
“My wife is going to freak out.”
“You don’t have to call her until you know more,” I said, helping him to his feet. “That way she doesn’t gotta worry. Or nag you while your head is banging.”
He let out a huff of a laugh at that as he let me lead him out to the street.
I hailed a cab and lowered him in, having to bite back a smile at how fucking easy some people were to manipulate. Especially when they were confused or in pain.
“I’ll be waiting here for you until you return,” I told him, giving the driver directions to take him to the hospital.
It would be fucking packed this time of year. Lots of slips and falls. On the black ice. On the fucking ice skating rink. People hurting themselves falling off ladders putting stars on their Christmas trees.
Hospital waiting rooms in the city were a nightmare on a good day. During the holiday season? I imagined I had six to eight hours to get my fucking mess cleaned up.
I waited twenty minutes to make sure the driver didn’t change his mind about going, then sucked in a deep breath and went inside the warehouse where I knew I’d find some basic cleaning supplies—enough to get me to my next location, at least.
Wearing cleaning gloves I found under the bathroom sink, I came back, lifted the dead guy’s head, and slipped it into a black garbage bag. Then, with some wiggling, his lower half went into another bag.
With that, making sure there was no blood getting tracked, I snuck him into the back of the truck, closed the door, and got to work on cleaning the blood out of the cab, off the door, and anywhere else it sprayed.
The carotid was one efficient way to take someone out, but fuck did that damn artery gush.
I left the doors open afterward, wanting to vent as much of the scent of cleaner out as possible so the driver didn’t suspect anything went down.
Then I cleaned up, emptied the illegal merch into the back of my rented moving truck, carried the body over to it, then made sure I locked that shit down good before making my way back to the other truck to unload the toys as quickly as fucking possible.
Paranoia had me constantly looking out the windows to keep an eye on the moving truck to make sure no one was snooping or fucking hooking it up to bring it to impound.
By the time the toys were sorted for the morning crew—since there was no way, with a body to hide that I would be able to come back to do it—morning had dawned on the city. A gray, bleak one, but morning nonetheless.
I’d just closed up the truck cab when a cab pulled up to deposit the driver, now with a part of his head shaved, and little pointy stitches poking out of his scalp.
He looked as tired as I felt.
“All good, man?”
“Just some stitches and a wife worried enough about me that I will be able to sit on my ass for a week straight when I get home.”
“Gotta look for the silver linings,” I said, nodding.
“That’s what I’m saying. Did you get everything out?” I lifted the back door to show him. “Good, good. Well, thanks for your help…”
“Craig,” I said.
“Craig. Appreciate it.”
“Don’t mention it, man. Get yourself home safe, yeah?” I asked, clapping him on the back of the neck as he reached for his keys and started toward the driver’s side door.
There was a second when he got in that his brows pinched, likely aware of a bit of a lingering bleach scent or the fact that the whole area was cleaner than it had been.
But once he turned it over and the heat blasted old fumes out of the vents, he seemed to forget all about it as he lowered the music, shot me a wave, then pulled out.
“Thank fuck,” I said, rolling the tension out of my neck, then making my way over to my rental truck.
Normally, the Family had someone to deal with bodies for us. But given it was the holiday season—and that I liked cleaning up my own damn messes—I was on my own.
I dropped the goods off at the storage unit, grabbed a large coffee and a few energy drinks, then made my way out of the city.
It was going to be a long fucking day.
Yet, somehow, even with a body to bury and a potential murder charge hanging over my head if someone or some camera caught me, all I could seem to think about was what kind of suit I could get to impress Stephanie.
The fuck was that about?