Dante #2
My database comes back with inconclusive results, so I broaden my search to drunk driver deaths with the year she would’ve turned seventeen. Several thousand hits come back, and I crack my neck, rubbing it, feeling defeated.
You weren’t going to make this easy on me, were you, angel?
The more information I feed my database, the easier it’ll be to find something on her. It could take me weeks to learn more, and waiting for something to happen to her is not an option.
You could ask Alex.
I try to shake away the thought, but it’s too late—the seed is already planted, and I pull out my phone.
Alex Hassan, though he owns Charm, is also an underground kingpin who runs an underground club called Echo.
I disappeared for a while after I turned eighteen, trying to find my place in the world and cope with life.
Meanwhile, Alex was climbing to the top ranks of the Boston Cartel.
He controls the South Side of Boston, doing God knows what.
I don’t ask. Just like he doesn’t ask what I do, we have a mutual understanding that we are both fucked up and it’s best to keep everything on a need-to-know basis.
Especially since he left me behind:
My screen starts blinking, pulling my attention from my text, and the alert on my computer lets me know there’s movement in Luna’s bedroom. I switch to my cameras and see Luna turning over in her bed and picking up her phone.
I unmute the live feed and hear her groggily answer her phone.
“Hello? Whoa, Liv, slow down. What are you talking about? I just woke up from a nap.” She’s talking to her friend Olivia, and I knew that she was her friend from BookTok.
This makes my blood spike, and I pull up my phone, knowing what's about to come next. “No way.” Luna’s jaw drops open, and she stares at her phone.
My dick hardens in my jeans while I watch her drool over the video I made for her.
“Holy fuck! No way, Liv. This can’t be real. This-this has to be a fake account.”
I listen to them squeal over the video, and Luna puts Olivia on speaker; that’s when Olivia mentions the caption.
“A caption? He never puts a cap–” I watch her mouth fall open for a second time, and she stares at the screen watching the video play over and over.
Her chest rises and falls, breathing heavily, she bites down on her bottom lip, and I watch her hand slip between her thighs as she tries to relieve the tension growing there.
I have to bite my knuckle to keep from coming in my pants.
What is it with this woman making me want to come in my pants?
“What’s happening is you caught the attention of the hottest, most mysterious man on MaskTok, and if you don’t message him right now, as your newly appointed personal assistant, I will!” Luna’s friend says.
“But what do I even say? Hi, I loved your video. Please make more for me to put in my personal spank bank? I have no clue what to say, and even if I did, I know I’ll mess it up somehow and make a fool of myself.”
“You could always pay him to make content. I can draft a contract if you need one. Find out his asking price, and I’ll mock up a contract for you.”
I’m only half listening after the personal spank bank comment. I mean, I knew she watched my videos, but touching herself to them? Fuck. She’s perfect.
I open VidTok and send her a message before she can ask about paying me. Luna reads it out loud to her friend, and they gush over it. Luna is still debating paying me, and I can’t help but smile.
Luna’s cat yowls, and she gets off the phone, making her way to her kitchen. I switched my camera to the one in her potted plant. She pulls out a can of cat food and feeds her beast. She leans against the counter, chewing on her thumb as she looks at my message.
Luna starts typing, and a message comes through for me a moment later. I smile, amused by her response:
Luna smiles at the message and closes out of Vidtok, then begins preparing her dinner.
I watch her on my computer for the rest of the evening.
She spends most of her time at her laptop writing until it’s late, and she heads to bed.
I set my motion sensors to alert. I installed one on every window while installing the safety bars.
I don’t think the idiot would be stupid enough to come back so soon, but I wasn’t about to take any chances.
I shut my computer down, head to my kitchen, grab my keys, and slip on my helmet. The ride down to the garage is quick, and when I open the access door, I find my bike undisturbed. I back out of my spot and speed off once I’m out of the garage and on the highway.
I weave in and out around cars, hitting speeds that tingle the dangerous part of my brain, which is trying to warn me to slow down, but I do it because this is when I feel most alive—teetering on the precipice of body bag and body high.
Luna’s face materializes in my mind, and my front wheel sputters for a moment, wobbling slightly.
I quickly correct myself, letting go of my accelerator, and coasting off into the next exit, coming to a stop at the stoplight at the bottom of the exit.
“Fuck, that could have been bad.” The light turns green, and this time I take off at a normal speed, being humbled so boldly back there.
The club's address is an abandoned building located near the train station.
I pull around the back of the building and park next to the loading bay.
I enter the empty building; the silence of the night and the nearby trains are the only sounds to be heard, that is, until I make my way down to the basement.
The faintest sound of a bass could be heard the closer you get to the large green metal door.
I raise my hand and knock four times; the slot slides open to reveal a set of eyes, and then quickly shuts.
The click of several locks, and the door opens.
A man in a black military-esque outfit greets me with an AK-47. “State your business.” The man says.
I raise my hands, “I’m here to see Alex. I’m his brother, Dante.”
“Stand down, Isaiah. I’ll take it from here.” A hand comes into view, placing it on the shoulder of the guard in front of me, and out steps Alex. “Long time no see, asshole.”
He looks the same as when we were kids, still has that baby face for being closer to forty.
He’s the spitting image of his father, except for his tapered haircut and hazel eyes, which are courtesy of his mother.
However, the cold distance in his eyes suggests that he has seen things that changed him over the years.
It’s been several years since I last saw Alex in person; our last meeting didn’t go well, seeing as I killed one of his investors for a fat check. Whatever, the fucker deserved it, and Alex made his money back another way, obviously. “I’ve been busy.”
Alex smiles, cocking his brow, clearly intrigued by that. “Come on, let's talk inside.”
I follow behind him as the guard shuts the door behind us, locking all fourteen locks.
I'm pretty sure that’s a fire safety issue, but I don’t think the Boston Cartel follows OSHA regulations, so I keep that thought to myself as we make our way through several other locked doors until the music of the underground club grows so loud it’s almost mind-numbing.
Alex turns around, opening the door, and strobe lights flood my vision. “Stay behind me, and stay away from the edge.” He shouts over the bass music.
I shield my eyes the best I can and walk behind him out onto this metal scaffolding. I look out over the edge, and hundreds of people are dancing and waving around rainbow neon lights. They grind on each other in a heaping, sweaty mess; the room is hot, and it reeks of sex in here.
We arrive at his office, and he opens the door, holding it open for me.
I step in and am surprised to find a decent-sized desk on the opposite side of a rather grand-looking room.
The entire look of the office has an Italian mobster feel, something you’d find in a hotel, while just outside the door, horney adults grind on each other in a drug-filled haze.
Alex shuts the door, and the room goes silent. “Gotta love soundproofing, the club is an abandoned subway tunnel, perfectly concealed from the surface world for my unsavory crowd,” he says as he walks up to me. Alex holds his arms open, “Give me a hug, you sorry son of a bitch.”
I’m surprised by this, but step into his embrace. Alex gives me a tight squeeze, patting my back firmly. “How’ve ya been?” I ask. Maybe he’s forgiven me for taking out his million-dollar contract?
“Business is booming, brother. I can’t complain.
Your little fuck up a couple of years ago has led to this, so I should be thanking you right now, but I don’t want to do that.
Your head is already large; it won’t fit in your helmet anymore.
” Alex steps past me, and I bite my cheek to keep from laughing.
Alex will always be the annoying big brother, I guess.
“Now what’s this emergency of yours?” He waves to the chair in front of his desk.
I take a seat in the chair, and Alex leans back in his, tucking his hands in the pockets of his costly suit pants.
The Hassans always dressed to the nines, making a statement with their attire—one that lets you know they're dripping with wealth.
“I need your help with something,” I say, looking him in the eye.
“Yeah, obviously, or you wouldn’t be here.”
I grit my teeth at his annoying older brother habits. “I need help finding someone.”
“Don’t you do that for a living?” Alex asks, raising an eyebrow.