Chapter 3
3
SCOTT
This wasn’t the first time I’d seen one of the Italians from Australia in New York City, and while it wasn’t exactly surprising because they often dealt with the Five Families here, the chances of running into them were slim. Yet, this was the second occurrence.
The moment I’d spotted Frank LaMalfa sneaking onto the train, I’d known he’d seen me, and I couldn’t let him go. If he called Valussi to tell him where I was, Valussi would send an army over to finish me off before tearing the country apart to look for Avery. The threat to me was fine, I’d dealt with worse, but I had to protect Avery at all costs. I’d worked too hard to keep him safe from his ex-husband.
What I hadn’t expected in the fuss of chasing LaMalfa onto the busy train was for him to yank out a small gray Smith & Wesson and fucking shoot at me. The first bullet caught me by surprise and pierced my right shoulder.
Then, the screaming began.
People knocked into me as they rushed to get past, and I winced as some of them bumped the shoulder LaMalfa had shot. I ignored them, shoving forward as LaMalfa stumbled to get off the train. He wasn’t the fastest man, with a bum leg from a car accident about twenty years ago, and it gave me the advantage to catch up with him, despite the agony that had begun to throb in my shoulder.
There were cameras everywhere. If I wanted to get to LaMalfa, it needed to be now, while people clamored to get off the train. He fought against the crowd, but I got to him before he could escape. He raised his gun again, but his hesitation was the break I needed to snatch it from him. With a grimace, I pulled out the knife I kept in a sheath at the back of my belt. I jabbed all six inches of steel straight into his gut and twisted.
He coughed, blood falling from between his lips and spattering across his chin. He tilted his head up to stare at me.
I smirked. “You always hesitated on the second shot, LaMalfa. I told you it’d get you killed one day, mate.”
I yanked the knife out as he choked before I joined the rest of the crowd rushing to flee the train. There was no time to check if he would stay dead, considering I’d seen cops outside on the way here. I shoved the gun into my belt and slipped past the doors while placing the knife back into its sheath—hidden by my suit jacket. The cops came struggling down the stairs against the stream of escaping people, running toward the train with their weapons raised.
I kept my head down as I stuck with everyone else until I was outside the station on the sidewalk. The darkness of my suit kept anyone from seeing the blood that spread and soaked the material—for the most part—which gave me a chance to walk down the street as fast as I could.
I grabbed my phone out of my pocket and brought up the app for the tracker I had in the bag of money. It was obvious little Deer Marshall—I’d heard him when he’d shouted his name—knew nothing about what he was getting himself into, but it also looked as if he wasn’t going to complain, either, especially when there was a decent bit of money involved.
I smirked when the tracker showed that he was back at the bar, which told me he wasn’t going to run. He was waiting for me. Adorable. I had to appreciate the obvious obedience he possessed. While I’d been with brats , I didn’t have the time or energy to handle one right now. I preferred my men respectful.
I grunted and pressed a hand to my shoulder to stem the bleeding. When I finally got to A Class Above the Rest, I entered and spotted Deer at the bar, the bag held tightly in his lap as he peered around the room. The moment his gaze landed on me, he was on his feet and eating up the distance between us.
“You’re here.” He paused in front of me, assessing me carefully until his attention strayed to where I held my shoulder. “Are you hurt?”
“Come with me, boy.” I slid my left arm around his waist, and despite the fact that he didn’t know jack shit about me, he still let me lead him outside and down the footpath. I’d need to have a chat with him about trusting strangers. Still, his obedience made it easier to guide him toward my apartment building. When we reached the tower, his eyes grew as wide as dinner plates.
“You live here ? In Sky High Tower? Fucking hell.” He grinned wide. “You must be a millionaire.”
I snorted. Millionaire? No. Between the revenue coming in from my late father’s mining business back in Australia and my own independent investments, I was a billionaire. I didn’t tell him that, though. He wasn’t staying around long enough for any personal info to matter. If Avery wanted me to get laid, I would, until Christmas was over. This situation was better than wasting time at a whorehouse.
I nodded at the doormen as they opened the glass doors for us and escorted Deer toward the set of lifts. He stared around in awe, mouth agape, and I smirked as I pulled out my key card and tapped it before selecting my floor.
When we reached my level, I leaned in for the retina scan.
“Holy shit. This is out of a dream,” Deer murmured.
The doors of the elevator opened, and I inclined my head, gesturing for him to get out, and he did as I wordlessly instructed. He followed behind me as I led him into the grand salon , as the floor plan called it. To me, it was nothing more than the lounge room and a dining room combined into one.
The walls were glass, giving us a striking view of New York City at night, full of sparkling lights that went on forever. If it’d been during the day, we would’ve had the perfect sight of Central Park.
Deer shot straight past me and rushed toward the windows, staring out at the expanse of the city. He dropped the bag of cash onto the floor and whistled. “I think I’m hard right now. This is the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.”
I snorted out a laugh, and he turned to grin at me, which quickly disappeared when he saw me pressing my hand into my right shoulder again. Now that we were in better light, I had no doubt he could see the blood staining my hand because I could feel it sliding down my arm.
He closed the distance between us and raised his hand before pausing in hesitation. Questions filled his gaze, but he didn’t ask any of them, which I was grateful for because I wasn’t going to tell him a bloody thing.
“How do I help?” he asked.
I chuckled and nodded in the direction of a door on the other side of the dining room. “The kitchen’s through there. There’s an island in the middle of the room with a sink and stools. There are glass cabinets nearby, you’ll see them. There’s vodka in there. Get me a bottle. Then, the kitchen leads toward a bathroom. You’ll find the first aid kit in the cabinet above the sink. Bring them both here.”
He raised his chin, a man on a mission, and shot off.
I chuckled and moved to a white leather couch in the middle of the lounge room section. I fell onto the seat and huffed, unconcerned about the mess. I used my bloody hand to tug my phone from my pocket.
Pulling up my contacts, I contemplated who to call. Hashtag was a dobber, and knowing him, he’d call Avery straight away to tell him what happened, but he was also the best at cleaning up gunshot wounds. Zombie had the finesse of a dump truck, and while he was deadly, he also had little empathy, especially when it came to injuries. The crazy fucker stitched himself up without any pain relief.
Groaning, I found Hashtag’s name and tapped it, smearing blood across my screen in the process. I raised the mobile to my ear, and after a few rings, Hashtag answered.
“You okay, Boss?” He sounded half asleep, his Texas drawl stronger than ever, which was fucking amusing considering it was still early on a Friday night. He was much younger than me, which meant he should’ve been out partying, but he always stayed home the weekend after we flew somewhere for work.
“Depends, mate. Is a bullet in my shoulder okay?” I grunted out a laugh. “Ran into an Aussie Italian again. Probably here to meet up with one of the Five Families. Copped a shot to the shoulder after he caught sight of me. You reckon you can come round and sort me out?”
“ Christ. ” There was shuffling on the other end of the line and a dog yelped. “Shit, sorry, Baxter. You okay, sweetheart?”
“You did not step on Baxter. That’s a mortal sin as far as I’m concerned, mate.”
Hashtag’s rottweiler was a big baby. He was all wide eyes and sad pouts that could make even the strongest men bend to his will, me included. I’d always been a sucker for dogs but never had the time for one. I led a busy life. Baxter, however, was as much of a dog as I was going to get. I visited when I could just for the puppy kisses.
Hashtag chuckled. “Yeah. We were both napping on the couch.” There was a pause and some smoochy sounds. “Sorry, sweetheart. Daddy will make it up to you later, I promise.” Then, he focused on me again. “I’m just grabbing some things. I’ll be over. See you soon, Boss.”
The line went dead.
I threw my phone on the couch beside me and leaned forward so I could take off my suit jacket. It wasn’t easy, the pain reminding me of the injury every time I moved my right shoulder, but I finally managed to get the jacket off before I dumped it on the hardwood floor. I worked the buttons of my shirt next, and it took a lot longer than I’d wanted, so by the time Deer had come back, I’d only made it halfway down.
Deer plopped the bottle of vodka, two tumblers, and the first aid kit on the couch beside me before he shifted to stand in front of me. He raised his hands and hesitated. “Can I...?”
I inhaled, then nodded. I wasn’t particularly a fan of having another person help me, but I was losing the battle.
He worked with ease, getting the rest of the buttons through their holes before he slowly slid the shirt off my good shoulder, then the bad one, taking particular care of my injury.
“I don’t know your name,” he whispered as he grabbed the vodka bottle and opened it. He placed the two tumblers on the coffee table and poured a drink each, filling mine with more than his. While I hadn’t planned for him to have some, I didn’t comment as he passed me the tumbler and sat down beside me. I swallowed the vodka, the straight liquor sliding its way down my throat.
“Scott. My name’s Scott.”
Deer nodded. “I told you mine. Deer. It’s short for Diarmuid.” He laughed, then, and shook his head. “Try having that name. No one can spell it unless they’re Irish.”
I raised my eyebrows. “You don’t sound Irish.”
“I am, kind of. Third generation. Second generation? I’m not sure how it works. My granddad was born in Ireland, but he moved over here with his dad, my great-granddad. My father and his brother were born in New York. So, that’d make me and my brothers second generation, right?” He was blabbering and must’ve realized because he winced and downed his vodka. This time when he cringed, it was from the grog. “Fuck, that’s smooth.”
I snorted. “It’s the kind you need to drink slowly and savor.”
“You didn’t,” he pointed out with a particularly snarky stare. Perhaps he was a bit of a brat.
“I’m in pain.” I placed the tumbler on the coffee table and grabbed the bottle of vodka. Leaning back, I took another sip from the bottle.
“Are you going to pour some on your wound?” He stared at me with the kind of innocence that a man like me could easily destroy. I had no plans to hurt him, but he still trusted too easily.
“Nah,” I said with a chuckle. “This shit is too expensive to waste as disinfectant. That’s what we got the first aid kit for.”
“Oh.” He sounded sorely disappointed, as if he’d imagined we’d do something out of the movies. I held in a grunt of laughter and straightened. “There’s alcohol wipes in there. We need to start by cleaning the injury. I reckon the bullet’s still in there.”
His eyes widened as he glanced from the kit to my shoulder. “Do I have to get the bullet out? Because I’ve never done that.”
I seriously doubted this sweetheart had anything to do with cleaning wounds. Maybe a boo-boo from his bicycle when he was a kid. He looked the type who’d once been pampered with his clean, flawless skin. He certainly hadn’t come from the streets, and he’d clearly survived until now on some kind of dough.
“I’ve got a mate coming over. I just need you to clean it until he gets here. Can you do that?” I raised my eyebrows at him.
He nodded quickly and grabbed out some alcohol wipes. Hesitating, he wriggled closer to me on the couch. His gaze wandered across my chest over my hair-dusted pecs to my muscled belly. Swallowing, he blinked a few times, as if dragging himself out of a daze, and began to work. For a young man who’d probably never done anything like this, he wasn’t doing a bad job. The scrape of the alcohol wipes wasn’t nice and added to the pain that throbbed through me, but he was gentle.
Being this close and in brighter light meant I could study him better, and I enjoyed what I saw. He had a small mole above his top lip and his teeth were adorably crooked, not enough to be noticeable unless at the proximity I was. His eyebrows were thick and defined, and he had the longest lashes I’d ever seen on a man. My cock twitched in interest, which was the last thing I needed right now.
“So, Deer, what do you study?” The silence was too much, and I needed something to distract me from the way his nimble fingers moved while cleaning my injury.
He peeked at me and pressed his mouth together in displeasure, and I guessed it was at whatever circumstances led him here. “Pharmaceutical sciences. I want to be a pharmacist. I’ll finish with what most people would consider the undergrad part this year, then I’ll be going out into the real world for kind of like an internship.”
“Why?” I asked before I could stop myself. “You interested in drugs? Why not be a doctor if you want to save people and shit.”
He snorted. “I don’t have a hero complex. Saving people isn’t my goal.” He began to cleanse around the wound. “I’m interested in the chemical structure of drugs.” His eyes flashed, and there was an underlying resentment there, lingering just below the surface. I’d seen that expression in Avery’s eyes when he’d realized his husband was finally sending him to his death.
“You plan on making them for anything else other than helping people?” I cocked my head and grinned when he spluttered.
“No!” His cheeks turned a ruddy red, and I laughed.
“Mm-hmm. None of my business.” I shrugged. “But you need the cash. Who cut you off?”
“Does it matter?” he muttered, focusing more intensely on cleaning my bullet wound. The boy didn’t want to look me in the eye.
“It does if I’m going to have your ex-sugar daddy sniffing around.” I leaned farther into the couch and took another deep swallow of the vodka. The gun poked my back, but I left it there for the time being. Fuck, that was good. One thing I could say about the States—they imported the good vodka. I could handle that side of their alcohol, even if their beer was shit.
“No ex-sugar daddy.” He scrunched up his nose and sighed, dropping the used wipes into a small plastic bag that he’d pulled out of the first aid kit. I didn’t comment on the fact that he didn’t wear gloves, which was really fucking stupid. This kid didn’t know the first thing about surviving out here on his own, that much was evident. “Uncle.”
“You fuck your uncle?” I teased.
He glared. “No. Ew. Fuck no.”
I grunted out a loud laugh. “That’s good to know.”
He rolled his eyes and leaned his elbow on the back of the couch. “My dad’s dead and my mom never had a job. My uncle and brother have always taken care of us. They cut us off. Don’t know why.”
“Perhaps he was fucking your mum.”
He gave me an incredulous stare. “Do you only think about who’s fucking who or something?”
“Yup.” I chuckled, then took another large sip from the bottle before I offered it to him. He grabbed the vodka with a crooked smile and downed a swallow of his own. That was followed by a big wince as he pulled a face, making my laughter grow.
There was a beep behind us and the lift door opened and closed.
I shut my eyes, humming. “That’ll be my mate, Hashtag. He’s not as rich as me, just so you know. So, if you think he’s hotter than I am and want to root him, I’m the one with the dough to spend.”
Deer made a sound. “No one can possibly be hotter than you.”
I peeked at him from one eye while keeping the other closed. “That’s a bloody awesome compliment. I’ll take it.”
His grin widened as Hashtag strode into the lounge room as if he owned the place. He was one of the few who had access, though, so he knew he was always welcome. I trusted him with my life.
Pausing when he caught sight of Deer, Hashtag offered a hesitant smile. “Oh. Hi. I didn’t realize you have a guest.”
Hashtag was a good-looking bloke. Being around someone like Hashtag meant the men preferred his company to mine. He was in his late twenties, while I was in my early forties, so I didn’t blame anyone for their choices.
Hashtag smiled flirtatiously and stepped forward. He dropped his bag on the floor and held out his hand to Deer. “I’m Hashtag, but you can call me whatever you want, sweet flower with your sweet, sweet nectar.”
I rolled my eyes and huffed.
Deer stared at Hashtag’s hand carefully, not reaching for it.
I gestured at him. “This is Deer.”
Hashtag seemed to deflate. “Your dear, huh?”
“No, not my dear . Deer.”
Hashtag raised his palms. “Okay, I get it. He’s your dear. I’ll stay away.”
I heaved a sigh and rubbed my forehead. “Deer. Short for Diarmuid. He goes by Deer.”
“Oh.” Hashtag laughed and made two horns on his head with his fingers. “Like baaaa .”
Deer and I stared at him.
He frowned. “What?”
“That’s a sheep sound,” I deadpanned.
“Yeah, whatever. I don’t know what sounds deer make. They could bark for all I know.” He swooped down to grab his bag again and made his way around the couch to stand in front of me. Staring at the bullet wound, he whistled. “An Italian finally hit you, huh?”
I cleared my throat and pointedly flicked my attention toward Deer. “No shop talk while I have a guest. The bullet’s still lodged in there. Think what got me was a Smith & Wesson.” I dragged the gun out and set it on the coffee table. “Yeah. Nine millimeter. Reckon you can get it out?”
Deer stared at the weapon with big eyes.
Hashtag waved at himself. “This is me we’re talking about. Of course I can. You’ll need antibiotics after, but you know I’m good for it.” He glanced at Deer again and grinned, obviously intrigued. There was no way I was getting out of this questioning, not when Hashtag was gossiping to Avery about getting me laid. “Soooo, you two...?”
“Are none of your business,” I bit out with a glare. “How about you get this bloody fucking bullet out of me, ay, mate?”
“Deer. Like the animal,” Hashtag continued, ignoring me.
I groaned and held out my hand for the vodka again. Deer passed the bottle over, and I took another big swallow.
“You two doing the pet play thing?” Hashtag flashed white teeth at Deer and went to his knees between us, leaning on the couch with his elbows. “Makes sense, doesn’t it? Scotty here has had pets. A cat, and a pup once, too. That was about a thousand years ago when he lived in Australia, though.”
“Hashtag.” I rocked the bottle toward him and the alcohol sloshed inside the glass. “Stop.”
“It is almost December. Perfect time to be a deer. Reindeer!” Hashtag laughed and made a sound of triumph. “Fuck, I’m good. I know a place you can get the ears, antlers, and tail, too. They have lots of human pet gear.”
“Oi!” I dropped the bottle on the coffee table and slapped him over the back of the head.
He pouted and rubbed where I’d smacked him. “What was that for?”
“Bullet.” I slid my gaze over to Deer and raised my chin. “How about you go to a bedroom?” I nodded down the hallway behind me. “The apartment has four guest rooms, all with a bathroom. Choose one. I’ll come get you after this is done. You can help me shower.”
Deer’s eyes widened, but he slid off the couch and went to the window where he’d dropped his bag. Once he had a hold of his money, he left in the direction I’d gestured, leaving me alone with Hashtag.
“I can’t wait to tell Avery,” he muttered.
“Dibber dobber.”
“If you’re going to call me names, do it like an adult. Asshole.” He grinned. “Or I’ll take that cute man off your hands.”
“Go near him and you won’t have hands.” I kicked at him, but he managed to avoid the attack. Instead, he sat at my side on the couch and yanked his bag of goodies closer.
“Let’s get this bullet out of you so you can see your dear naked.”
I chose to ignore him, even as he cackled at his own joke. “I need you to get rid of the gun,” I said.
“The Italian’s?” He raised his eyebrows when I gave a sharp nod.
“Yeah.” I gestured at the coffee table, where the weapon lay. “Destroy it.”
“I got you, Boss.” There were only a few people I truly trusted, and Hashtag was one of them.