Chapter Fifteen
Jace
? “I Wanna Be Yours” – Artic Monkeys ?
I pull out my phone and open the paragraph I have typed and retyped a thousand times since last night.
I left her in the room after she slapped me to head to the jacks.
Partially to calm myself down and partially to stuff my dick under my belt.
Then I had to roam to the back of the club since I noticed Mateo was with new people—people he has never been seen with at the club—so I stood back and listened.
While they were drunkenly babbling, I was doing facial recognition on my computer at the next table over.
When I came back to the room, Lily was fast asleep on the couch.
I stayed all night, watching as her lips were parted, her breasts moving up and down, her eyes fluttering.
I delete the message again and decide to pull up the website I’ve been searching on. I noticed the way she looked at my sweater when we were in the car together. The way her eyes kept gazing at my leather jacket in the coffee shop. My álainn likes high fashion, so high fashion she gets.
In the corner of my eye, I spot Mateo’s car pulling out the garage and heading east toward the Brooklyn Bridge.
I whip my car around and head to Kingston Ave, parking across the street from his house.
This is day six of no movement from either of his neighbors.
My eyes dart down to my buzzing phone in the cupholder, and I press the green button when I see the caller ID.
“I think his neighbors are alias,” Rowan says. “Herberta Novinski and Charles Sway. The names don’t pop up in the systems. They’re ghosts.”
“Does this mean you’re ready to come out of hiding? We need to see what Mateo is hiding in this house.”
“I am not in hiding,” Rowan spits.
“You’re hiding,” I tease. “It’s been three months since we have seen John. I think he is done with us.”
“Yeah, we will see about that.”
He thinks John is going to come after us since Rowan’s dad went missing.
John warned us that he was going to kill Lance—Rowan’s dad—and if he couldn’t find Lance...
Well, we don’t know what John will do. Lance took the mafia princess, Joan, because he’s a selfish fucker.
Then, when the mafia was ready to come claim their prize, Lance was ready to cough up his whole family just to save his own ass.
He could have picked any woman in the world, but he just had to have the biggest balls in the game.
Rowan said he got a ping on Lance’s location.
Last he was seen was at an airport three hours after Rowan almost beat him to death.
“Do you expect me to go to jail for breaking and entering because my best friend decided to stay home and rot instead of spotting for me?” I ask.
“What makes you think I would let you have all the action while I sit in the car and watch?”
I suck on my teeth, shaking my head.
“Look, man, Celeste’s art show is in a month. I’ll come out of hiding then. I’ve just been trying to prepare what to say—or do—to try and explain or make up—”
I can already see Rowan sliding his hands through his hair and hanging his head. “Yeah, yeah. Save it, lover boy. I don't want to heart that shit."
I scan my key card so that the elevator can take me to my penthouse. My mind feels empty as I wait for it to stop on the twenty-fifth floor. When it finally opens, I step out into my living room and head straight to my mini bar, pouring myself a glass.
I stare at my phone as the unknown number calls for the eighth time today, taking a sip as I watch it hang up and leave a voicemail. My finger hovers over the delete button but I regrettably press play instead.
“Ya know—*hiccup*—you can call your old man sometimes. I haven’t heard from—*hiccup*—you in over a year. How do you think that makes me feel? I am—*hiccup*— all alone in this house and I sit here thinking...”
The line is silent for a moment.
“You know what? Fuccck you, Jace. I raised you.”
I scoff, shaking my head as I head toward my couch with my phone still in hand.
“You ungrateful little shit. I should have buried you with your mother when she died. All you ever did was ruin my life from the time you—*hiccup*—were born.”
My thumb lingers over the delete button, ready to erase another voicemail from my shit-faced father.
It surprises me he still owns a business.
Occasionally, my mind wanders and I end up in front of the store he has in Queens.
His hardware store has kept his drug and alcohol addiction in the run.
Some days I see him helping a customer. Other days, he’s passed out the counter. Probably hungover or high.
“All I need is a couple of dollars. Something to get me through—”
And there it is. His only request from his only son.
Money. The only time my father calls me multiple times a day is when he needs money.
As a kid, I looked up to him. He was a business owner of a great shop, a loving father and husband.
He used to take me to his store, teach me all the tools and how to properly use them.
He taught me life skills, how to read people—learn what they want and use it to your advantage.
Change their motive for your benefit. For the first couple of years, my mom and I were proud of his store.
It was popular since Queens didn’t have a hardware store at the time.
He was bringing in cash like he had won the lottery every night.
Until cancer took my mother away.
It wasn’t sudden. We knew she was sick. We had hope, though. The doctor had told us we’d caught it early and she would receive the treatment she needed. All was well.
Until it wasn’t.
One morning, she didn’t wake up. That morning, our life turned upside down and was washed with darkness.
I learned to cope, my father didn’t. He had no other vice but me. Everything reminded him of her, me included. From my blonde hair to my pale blue eyes, my accent, my mannerisms... Everything was a reminder of her to him.
Which led to frustration and anger.
Abuse.
When I met Rowan and Joan, I stopped going home.
It was easy to run from the dark. Me not being home led to my father using and drinking himself almost to death.
One day, when I’d had enough of his drunken episodes, he showed up unannounced at Rowan’s house, screaming my name from their front lawn.
I knew Rowan had his own struggles within his household and I wasn’t going to be that extra tally for him.
So, when I was fourteen, I emancipated myself.
I stopped showing up for school and started working for different criminal organizations, going by the name Jace Cook.
When Rowan’s father wasn’t home, I would stop by his house since he was my only true friend.
Then, when we turned eighteen, he moved in with me, and that is when we started DWYM.
Which was a long process. We finally got everything up and running the same year Joan went missing.
My finger finally presses the delete button, and I fling my phone next to me on the couch, taking another sip of my drink.
Goosebumps develop on my skin at the thought of seeing my father in person after all these years.
Have his eyes turned murky yellow? Does his skin have splotches and craters?
Has his hair turned from inky black to faded grey?
I close my eyes, inhaling the ice-cold air, and imagine the one thing in my life that has not turned to absolute shit.
Lily.
I still remember the first time I ever saw her.
Three years ago
We are in Axel’s office, trying to come up with a contract deal. Rowan and Axel keep bumping heads like some damn mountain goats because neither of them like each other’s offers. So now they are staring each other to see who will crack first.
“Ye know, if you lads want to have a dick measuring contest, I can go find a ruler,” I say, holding in a laugh and smiling wide at them.
Rowan’s neck cracks toward me, his eyes blazing with fire. He hates when I deepen my accent, and I find it feckin’ hilarious. The older he gets, the easier it is to irritate him.
“One section, a bottle a night, and thirty percent of the contracts,” Axel says.
Rowan laughs, shaking his head. “You’re out of your fucking mind. Thirty percent?!”
“Most of your business is going to come from my dim- wit customers, anyway,” Axel snaps.
Rowan leans on Axel's desk. “A VIP room, unlimited alcohol, and three percent of contracts.”
Axel stares at him, the room quiet while I sit back and watch them both fume in annoyance.
Axel crosses his arms across his chest. “One mid- section in the back of the club, unlimited alcohol, and fifteen percent.”
Rowan stands from his chair, pushing it back on the floor. “Come on, Jace. We are leaving.”
I shake my head. “Rowan, we need this,” I whisper.
Rowan’s eyes roll back before he turns toward Axel and states, “A VIP room, unlimited alcohol, and ten percent of the fucking contracts!” He points his fingers at Axel.
“Deal,” Axel states calmly, holding out his hand to shake. Rowan takes his hand and is yanked closer to Axel’s face. Axel’s eyes enlarge and he whispers, “I would have done it for three percent.”
“You fucking—”
“Alrighty! We start tonight. Thank you for the business, Axel. Let us know when you hear ofsomeone in need.” I grab Rowan, pulling him toward the door and out of this office before he ends up blowing this whole place to smithereens.
We are met at Axel’s door by Roxxie, his assistant. “Follow me,” she says.
We head downstairs toward the main floor.
My head rolls in circles as I take in the club.
When I first met Axel years ago, he told me about his vision for this club and it feels surreal seeing it come to life.
My body is jolted back and I come to a stop.
I look down at a head full of blonde hair.
She looks up at me with glimmering green eyes.
My jaw clenches as her cheeks turn a perfect strawberry color to match her strawberry perfume.
“Oh. I’m so sorry,” she whispers, her fingers darting to the hem of her shirt, rubbing on it.
I’ve never been so tongue-tied in my life.
I know I am standing here like a feckin’ eejit unable to move out of her way.
The longer I stand here staring down at her, the brighter her cheeks get.
What feels like an eternity of being lost in her eyes only lasts a couple of seconds.
She side-steps me and goes around, leaving me stunned.
Rowan shakes his head at me before he continues to follow Axel’s assistant.
I turn around to take another look at her. Her head on a swivel the same time as mine and our eyes connect. She will be the chuisle mo chroí.