Chapter 91 Anson
NINETY-ONE
ANSON
My phone rang.
I stepped away from the prick I was beating on and let Drake take over. My knuckles were busted to hell and ached, but this newest Russian cunt said he paid to fuck Rosalie.
Now, we were beating the shit out of him to get details. Of course, he’d gone back on his word and said he only said it to piss us off. Seemed a stupid fucking plan if you asked me, but he was beaten harder for his shitty ideas.
I prayed they weren’t true. I’d rather beat a liar to death than a man fucking my LeeLee.
“What?” I snapped as I answered the phone.
“Anson, it’s Enzo.”
“Did you find her?” I backed away further as the man let out a scream.
“No, but we got word Dante Church was spotted near the club the night she was taken.”
My mouth went dry at his words.
“Anson? You there?”
“Yes,” I growled into the phone. “Where did you get this information?”
“My men got it. Is there any way you can reach out to him—”
“Do you fucking think I just have his number on speed dial?” I demanded. “We’re not on a first-name basis. I don’t fuck with that guy. He’s insane. I’ve never even spoken to him. He’s not the sort of guy you chum around with. He’d likely kill you and serve you with a fucking side of potatoes.”
“You have no way to reach out to him? Nothing?” Enzo’s voice shook.
I sighed and licked my lips. “I-I might. I don’t know. He’s not someone I want to fuck with. If you think Everett Church is bad, then you don’t want to meet Dante.”
“If he has Rosalie, I want to meet him,” Enzo said fiercely.
The man screamed behind me again as Drake broke his other arm. I walked out of the room and blew out a breath.
“Why do you care so much if you’re married and having a kid now?”
“Because she will always be my girl,” he answered softly.
“But she’s not.”
“Listen, just because I let her go doesn’t mean I don’t love her,” Enzo said, his voice holding a tremor to it that didn’t make sense considering he’d cheated on her, knocked the girl up, and then married her.
“Why do you even want her? You’re the head of Rustic Rifles. A don. Now one of the richest men on the planet. You have the kind of woman who fits into that lifestyle. Why do you want to drag Rosalie into it? Again?”
“Because I love her. I fucked up, and I miss her. I don’t need to explain myself to you. I’m asking for help finding the woman we both love.”
I swallowed, not saying anything.
“I know you love her. If you do, find this prick and contact me. I want to speak with him. Can you do that? Not for me. For her.”
“Yes,” I said, closing my eyes. “You fucking know I’d do anything for her, but if he has her, I’ll kill him, take her away, and you’ll never fucking see her again.”
“I would do the same,” he replied. “Find him.”
I disconnected the call and closed my eyes.
Fucking damnit. The last person I wanted to meet up with was Dante Church. I wasn’t even sure if I could reach him, but I’d damn well try.
I opened my eyes and pulled Sylar’s number up.
“Meet me at Twisty Cone,” he answered.
“Do you know what I want?” I asked softly.
“You know I do. Four PM. Come alone.” The line clicked off, and the man screamed in the distance again.
Looked like I was going to get ice cream.
I walked into Twisty Cone at exactly four PM and found Sylar sitting in a booth, eating a hot fudge sundae with a fork.
I slid into the seat across from him.
“Hello, Archangel,” he greeted me, eating another forkful. “Aren’t you going to order anything?”
“Sylar, I’m not in the mood for your shit today. Just tell me what I want to know.”
He stabbed his fork into his sundae. The weirdo always had his damn fork.
“Dante has a message for you,” he said, his blue eyes locked on mine.
I sat forward. “What is it?”
“He said, and I quote, fuck you.” Sylar sat back in his seat and resumed eating his ice cream.
I ground my teeth together. “You’ve actually spoken to him? Where is he? Is he at Chapel Crest? Where is Everett?”
He waved me off. “Of course, I’ve spoken to him.
We’re besties. I suspect he’s just hanging out, pissing people off right now.
No, he’s not at Chapel Crest. And I don’t know where that fucking prick Everett is.
Hopefully dead in a ditch somewhere. He escaped when the underground caught fire.
Grabbed his favorites and skedaddled out of there.
He has a few people we need, and are looking for him as well. ”
“So he and Dante aren’t working together?”
“Fuck no. Dante hates him probably more than you do, and that’s saying something. Besides, who do you think set the fire? Sure as hell wasn’t Everett’s men. Dante employs a pyromaniac and hell of a lot of animosity.”
“I want to speak to Dante,” I said, taking in the information on Everett, my throat tight. “No fucking games. Face to face. He and I need to have a chat.”
“You want to arrange a meeting with a man more dangerous than Everett Church?” Sylar raised a brow at me.
“Yes.”
“A man who could take over this city with the snap of his fingers? A man who eats all he kills?” He licked his lips and cocked his head to the left at me. “A man who will rule the underbelly of this city in only weeks?”
“Yes,” I snarled.
Sylar ate more ice cream, nodding his head as he swallowed. “Damn. This shit is good. Have you tried it—”
I swatted his sundae away. It landed on the floor, sending the remaining ice cream, chocolate sauce, and whipped cream exploding across the tiles.
He sighed, and I watched as he reached onto the seat next to him and brought another sundae onto the table.
“I knew you were going to do that. By the way, prick move.” Sylar stabbed his fork into his sundae and resumed eating.
“Sylar—”
He held his finger up and pulled his phone out. I watched as he messed around with it for a moment before putting it on speakerphone. It rang, and a deep voice picked up.
“He’s busy.”
“Malachi,” Sylar greeted him. “It’s urgent. Put him on.”
“It’s your funeral,” the guy named Malachi muttered.
I knew him. He was Church’s adopted brother.
I’d never spoken to him before, but I knew he was exceptionally close to Church.
Everett considered him a prized possession.
Rumor had it that Everett had hurt him just like he’d hurt E. Some fucking father.
Piece of shit.
I’d been over it on repeat in my head on how I should have killed Everett when I had the chance. How all of this may have been avoided had I just killed the asshole. Now Fox was gone, E had been hurt, and LeeLee was missing.
It was a demon I was currently battling.
The sound of movement preceded muffled voices.
“What is it?” a voice demanded.
“Dante. I’m here with the Archangel. He wants to speak to you. You’re on speaker, by the way.”
“What the fuck do you want?” Dante demanded.
“I want Rosalie,” I said, deciding to forgo asking if he had her and act like I already knew he did.
He let out a soft, sinister laugh. “Why do you think I have her?”
“Because you fucking do, you nightmare. I want her back.”
He was quiet. “Does she want you? Archangel. Does she want a man who would throw her aside to marry another? Because it seems to me that would make her not want you. Just ask Lorenzo De Luca.”
“Listen, you fucking psycho, I want her. She needs to come home. People are looking for her—”
“The same people who vowed to keep her safe? The ones who said they loved her?” He let out a wild laugh that sent chills down my spine. He’d clearly been watching her to know this information.
“I know she’s the sort of girl you and Everett collect. Please. I will do anything to bring her back. Name your price. It’s yours.”
He was quiet for a moment as I held my breath.
“I cannot help you, Archangel. I do not have what you need.”
“Don’t fucking lie to me.” I slammed my hands on the table. “Please. Meet with me. I just… please. Meet me. I will give you anything you want. Think it over. What you want. What you need. I-I will deliver.”
He was quiet again.
“I do not have what you need.”
“Please. Don’t hurt her—”
“Goodbye, Archangel.” The call disconnected.
“Fuck!” I fisted my hair. “Fuck!”
The entire time Sylar was eating his fucking sundae. I looked at him, my throat tight.
“I thought we were friends. Family,” I whispered. “Sylar. Please. I love her.”
He finished his sundae and pushed it away before licking his fork. “Oh, Alessandro, what a mess, am I right?”
“Please…”
“What will you do once you have her again?” He cocked his head to the left at me. “Will you leave Bianca?”
“I-I have to protect her and the babies—”
“From who? Matteo?” He snorted. “Matteo loves her. You know that, right?”
I frowned. “What?”
“Those nights you weren’t there? All those times he said he didn’t care? He loves what you strive to save. A master. A slave. He is bound to the thing he took from the underground. You’re just not paying attention. All the pieces are in play, now you need to not… stay.”
“What?” I repeated.
He shrugged. “I’m high.”
I closed my eyes, frustrated out of my mind.
“Sylar—”
“Why do I need to spell things out for everyone?” He shook his head as I stared back at him.
“No one ever just sits back and thinks, hey, Sylar has his shit together. Maybe I should sit the fuck down and trust the goddam process. Nope. Instead, they bitch my ass out all the fucking time. Boo hoo. I don’t have all the answers.
” He pretended to rub his eyes, his bottom lip jutting out as he faked crying.
“Guess what? It has to be this way,” he continued, slamming his hands on the table and making his sundae bounce.
“Fate, Archangel. Fucking fate drives us. Plot. The pieces have to fucking move a certain way, or nothing works out! It’s a whole ass world to navigate.
If the answers were fed to you straight away, then why the fuck would any of this matter?
” He shook his head, irritation on his face as he gestured around.
“Where would there be any character development?”
He shook his head again as if he were trying to clear it.
“And guess what? I’m in charge. This entitled I want answers now shit needs to stop.
We don’t always get what we want. Fucking take it to a public forum and cry about it.
It’s like reading a book. If it’s not working out for you, then maybe you aren’t cut out for that book.
So read another one, or just fucking trust the process.
That’s just life. If one thing doesn’t work, you learn from it.
It’s that easy. You figure shit out, let fate work, or walk away.
” He breathed out. “You’ve come this far in the story.
Stop bitching and trust the process.” He tugged at his black hair, looking positively insane.
“Fuck. I’m telling him! Let me have this fucking moment!” He slapped himself in the face before blowing out a breath. I stared at the madman as he muttered to his voices.
“Listen. Leave Bianca. You leave her, you get Rosalie, and a whole new world. Easy peasy, lemon squeezey. Your old man is going to marry Bianca anyway. There. There are the fucking answers you couldn’t just wait to hear.
Hope you’re happy, you fucking baby. Way to ruin a good story with your bitching.
There go the fucking plot twists!” He let out a maniacal laugh.
“What?” I blinked in confusion at him.
He rolled his eyes. “Yeah. It’s noble what you’re doing, but it’s not going to last. Also, I’m so fucking high, man. Sugar is no joke. Whew!”
He got to his feet, and I stared up at him.
“You want me to make it easy to understand?”
I swallowed, saying nothing as he leaned in, his voice low.
“You’re going to marry her someday. Not today, but someday soon. But only if you walk away. She’s fine where she is.” He straightened and eyed me. “Dante will find you when he’s ready. Rosalie will come home. Have a good evening… cousin.”
And with those words, he twirled his fork, whistling as he left me sitting in the booth, with more questions than answers.