Chapter Thirty-two
Luca
My nerves are on high alert. I feel like my body has a frequency flowing through it. I can’t sit still. So, I do the only thing I can: I pace.
“Please, for the love of God, be still. Every fucking time,” Thomas complains from his bed, acting like this isn’t the biggest fucking job we’ve ever done.
I stop immediately, looking at him. He’s cocked back, hands behind his head.
“You do know if I make one fucking wrong move, it’s all over with.
This isn’t like the others. This is a fucking cartel leader, Thomas.
A man who can blink and shit is gone.” I can’t help the volume of my voice, but he needs to understand the shit I’m under right now.
My whole life… Rowan’s life depends on me making it out in one piece.
“This isn’t anything you haven’t done before, Brother. The only difference is how high up this man is. That’s it.” He says it so confidently. I wish I could steal some of it from him, because I’m not confident. I won’t admit it to them, but this one makes me nervous.
Without a word, I put in my earbuds and head to the gym downstairs. The treadmill is free; hell, the whole damn place is free. No other person is in here but me. I don’t know how they keep their gym equipment with how fucked up the motel is.
I run, not stopping until my legs feel like Jello.
Sweat is pouring from me. My heart is going a million miles a minute.
Falling to the ground, stretching my legs, as music blares in my ears.
The whole time I was running, Rowan’s face was the only picture I was seeing.
Running to her was my objective, but she just kept getting farther away… out of reach.
We’re not making entry until night falls, which means I still have hours to wait and wonder. Let the what-ifs fuck with my mind.
I’ve killed high-ranking men, but with this job tonight, I could have the whole fucking world after me. Aiden is the most notorious crime boss around. Everything has to be done to a T.
I take my time making my way back to the room, and when I enter, both Thomas and Weeks are in a heated discussion. I don’t stop to hear what they’re talking about, I just head to the shower.
The steam fills up the small bathroom in no time, as I let the hot water hit my back, soothing my aches from the awful mattress I slept on last night.
One thing also different about this trip, we’re in a seedy motel, where you can buy pussy and crack from the same person.
Something in me told me to vier from our normal routine, so I did.
And the guys didn’t ask a question about it. They just trusted my judgement.
Washing every inch of my body, my nose fills with the scent of the cheap soap the motel leaves out, massaging my sore legs in the process.
Water trails down my face as I’m cleaning my dick, and before I know it, it comes to life.
“Seriously, you pick this moment?” I talk down to it.
Palming my shaft, encircling my hand around it, my veins popping out from the pressure, imagining it's Rowan’s pussy that’s squeezing me tightly.
Images of her flash through like a highlight reel of my favorite times with her.
How she moans my name, the way her hands scratch down my back.
My pace quickens, my mouth falls open, catching random droplets of water while I’m panting, my release emerging.
The way she squirts on my cock has me shooting cum down the shower drain, my legs quaking.
I pump myself a few more times before I can’t take it any longer, satisfied, my dick twitching with aftershock.
The tile shower wall becomes my leaning post, resting my forehead against it, waiting for the water to run cold before I get out.
“It’s a fucking motel; it will not run out,” I mutter to myself before stepping out into the steam-filled bathroom, wiping the mirror off with my hand, seeing myself, beard dripping water all over the floor, my hands make contact with the chip peeling sink, before I lean in, my eyes scanning my face, seeing my father in the reflection staring back at me.
I smile, showing my teeth, and see his. We have the same canine tooth that pokes out a bit more than the others.
Pushing away from the sink, I quickly dry myself off before wrapping my towel around me and exiting the bathroom.
“Where’s your clothes?” Thomas asks from the window he was looking out.
I see his eyes scanning me. “Matter of fact, where’s your fucking shoes?
This floor is disgusting; there’s no telling what diseases it’s crawling with.
” His face is pure disgust, but I just walk across the carpet, not paying it or him any mind, before I hop onto the hard-ass bed.
“Wake up; it’s showtime.”
My eyes shoot open, thinking I’m late, forcing Weeks to jump back from my body quickly rising in the bed.
With a tap on my phone screen, it comes to life, and I see it’s almost nine p.m. I want to message Rowan, but stop myself. That’s for later.
“Foods on the table, along with a few shots of espresso.” Weeks motions to the small table that has seen better days and probably more drugs than I could imagine.
Sitting on the side of the bed, hanging my head, I feel the bed dip next to me.
“What’s going on through that head of yours?” Weeks’ voice is laced with worry.
I lift my head and I let my words spew. “This is huge and I don’t want to fuck up.
Everything and everyone is riding on my last job.
It’s a fucking lot…” I pause, sitting up straighter.
“And something feels off.” I can’t wrap my mind around what, but something is off. Which puts me on even higher alert.
Weeks slaps my back. “Brother, yeah, it’s your last one, but this,” he gestures to Thomas and then to me, "isn’t the last of it.
You’ll be behind the scenes, but you need to go out with guns blazing.
This is everything you’ve worked for years.
A cumulation of it all. You should have known your last one would be the one to scare the fuck out of you, questioning it all.
If it wasn’t, I’d think something was wrong with you.
You have us, we have your back, and no matter what, we’re all leaving in one piece.
We have our girls waiting for us at home.
” Weeks looks to Thomas. “Even this fucker, which is shocking.”
“Hey!” Thomas calls from across the room. And I can’t help but laugh.
“I just don’t want this to fuck up.”
Weeks shakes his head. “You won’t.”
God, I hope he is right. I stand up, walk the few steps to the table, and force down the food waiting for me. A vending machine sandwich that will probably have me shitting my pants while I have a gun to that assholes head.
I don’t even taste the espresso; I just swallow, hoping it’ll perk me up.
Dropping my towel in the middle of the room, dick swinging, I step into my jeans, focusing on getting myself dressed.
We double check the guns and ammo as my beanie swings limply from my hand. I watch Thomas and Weeks pack up the explosives. Our just in case scenario at the ready.
Guns secured under my hoodie, extra ammo tucked throughout my body, I give a nod and we head out of the motel room; the door slamming behind us.
Down with the Sickness by Disturbed blares from the car's stereo, as we all are in our own thoughts, moving along the highway doing well over the speed limit. I sit rocking back and forth to the song. Tapping my phone, I see Rowan’s smiling face on my screen, perfect and sitting on the ledge of the porch at our old house.
I’m coming home to you; I tell the phone screen before I power it off, placing it in the cup holder.
As the next song ends, Thomas’ voice calls back to me, “You ready, Brother? We’re two minutes out.”
“Yep.” My adrenaline spikes with his announcement, fueling my body, my mind turning into nothing but the job I have in front of me. Turning off from all things other than the man I’m coming for.
The car slows down, and I see Weeks' eyes look at me from the rearview mirror as Thomas hands me my earpiece. “We can get in within minutes if you need us,” he promises me. “A click of the button.” He holds out his fist and we fist bump.
“I’ll see you two on the other side,” I call over my shoulder, opening the door and stepping out into the night. Pulling my beanie lower. I’ve learned the house layout like the back of my hand; it’s a huge motherfucker.
Aiden thinks he’s protected, but when his protectors turn their backs on the man that pays them, that’s when you know you truly fucked up.
All the houses sit on over an acre of land, spread apart, so I have no worries about someone seeing me or the guys.
The smell of fresh rain and mowed grass permeates the air. Each step I take, my boots sink into the muddy grass as if it’s wanting to capture me to keep the man inside safe, while my hand rests on the gun under my hoodie. Ready and waiting.
I stay out of the light and in the shadows, hunched down and taking each step with caution, while my eyes dart every way, waiting to spot anything out of the ordinary.
Finally reaching the house, I run across the grass to the side of the house, becoming one with the wall, inching forward to the back patio.
I don’t have a way in, so I have to make my own way. Hoping someone was stupid enough to leave a door unlocked but having my lock picks on hand, just in case.
Stepping around the wall, I’m met with the back porch, littered with beer bottles. I smile, hoping his stupid ass is knocked out somewhere. My feet hit the concrete, and I step on something slippery. Looking down, a used condom peeks out from under my boots. My lip curls up in disgust.