Chapter 14
MONSTER
You’re the reason I look for the worst in everyone.
“Any movement from the Greeks?”
“Still nothing,” Vinny said, his focus flicking between the road and the rearview mirrors on our way back from a business meeting. “What’s the plan?”
“Dimakos’ wife’s cousin still owns that restaurant in Lower Haight?”
“Think so.”
I settled back in my seat, closing out the latest finance report on my laptop. “Then we send the girl.”
“What girl?” The frown narrowing Vinny’s eyes was probably the most emotion his face had shown in the last two days since that same girl blew a hole in the side of my car.
“Ms. Burch, of course.”
I typed an email to Ricco, who was keeping watch over her, with instructions and the exact wording of the message she needed to deliver. Lower Haight was only a few San Francisco neighborhoods away from her, nothing she couldn’t manage on foot.
“Are you serious? After that whole shit show about keeping her alive?”
“We have a truce with the Greeks, but they won’t take it lightly if one of our own steps into one of their places. She’s neutral. She goes in, drops off our notice to Dimakos, and leaves. That’s it. It’ll buy us some time at the very least.”
He grunted a groan. “I don’t like it.”
“You don’t have to.”
I thumbed into our text thread, snorting at her bravery.
Her contact name: Piccola peste. Little pest. This girl at fifteen had more balls than some of my capos.
Where they were all talk, she was all bark—a blatant sign of her immaturity.
The girl acted out to hide her vulnerabilities, and I fully intended to capitalize on them.
Payment starts now. Ricco will be in touch.
You owe me a debt. Not the other way around.
Nonnegotiable, Ms. Burch. Arson doesn’t lie.
If you hadn’t killed my brother, your car wouldn’t have been burned.
As far as I’m concerned, that doesn’t even begin to cover YOUR debt.
Continue to argue, and I’ll add interest to what you owe that’ll extend to your foster siblings.
You’re an asshole.
Learn to do what you’re told. Watch your mouth. And act with civility.
If you can manage that, you’ll be just fine.
I hate you. Hope you rot in your own shit.
You have five days after Ricco makes contact.
Three days later
“Has she made the drop yet?”
“Yes,” Ricco spat out.
The venom in that one word from this kid pulled me from the contract I was annotating.
I leaned back in my chair, one arm crossed, twirling my pen.
With each passing week under my tutelage, the Nerin kid toughened up.
Already, the mandatory workouts were firming up his build and straightening his posture.
“How was it?”
“Fine,” he gritted.
I set my pen down. “Just fine?”
“Yes, sir.” He practically broke a tooth biting that out.
“Watch your tone. Breathe through your anger, focus it into something else, but never openly show it unless you want it used against you.”
That advice was what saved my life a number of times against my father.
“It’s not that, boss.”
“Oh?”
“It’s Ainsley. Ms. Burch.”
I raised a brow. He looked as though she’d poured kerosene down his throat and lit him up. “Did she argue?”
“No.”
“Then, spit it out. What’s got you this angry?”
He huffed a sigh, cracking his neck from side to side, visibly agitated. He took out his phone, swiped to the side a few times, and placed it face up in front of me. “Just look.”
“What am I look—?”
The picture of Ms. Burch didn’t need any zooming in for my question to answer itself. The odd discoloration around her eyes was the blue leftovers of a black eye that extended down over her cheekbone.
“Who did this?”
“Don’t know.”
“Where is she now?” I asked him, fury bleeding into my tone. I meant it when I said I didn’t hurt kids. That meant slapping them around too.
He checked the time on his watch.
“She’ll be getting out of the summer youth center in forty minutes and then heading to pick up the kids at theirs.”
I stood up from my desk, slipped on my gun holster and suit jacket, adjusted my cuffs, and grabbed my gun and phone.
“Let’s go.”
There was little traffic at this hour, and we made it to the center just as the first trickle of adolescents began walking out the glass front doors.
We waited across the street as a growing group of blockheads with their pants halfway down their asses ran over, stroking and patting my Porsche, effectively blocking our view. “Sick ride, man” and fawned flattery seemed to be the limit of their vocabulary.
“Move.” I dangled my gun outside the window. When one of them came too close, I lifted it just slightly. Hands up in surrender, they quickly fled and dispersed, their backbones as shabby as their loose clothing.
Maybe that was what was interesting about little Ms. Burch. She didn’t let life scare her off.
“There she is.” Ricco pointed out.
The fifteen-year-old walked alone, with her head held high through every slow, limping step down the sidewalk, as if daring those around her.
At first glance, nothing about her really stood out.
Not her disheveled dishwater-blonde hair, makeup-free face, and oversized threadbare clothes.
Even with that black eye, everything about her was plain except for her resilience.
It shone out of her, like a big “fuck you” to the world.
I respected that about this kid. She took the cards handed to her and shuffled them to fit her creed, no matter how misguided.
I pulled the car around, driving up slowly beside her, and gave the engine a few revs to grab her attention.
She didn’t even glance my way, just kept walking, murmuring, “Stupid assholes trying to show off.”
I smirked at her bitterness but quickly schooled my expression into boredom. “Is that right, Ms. Burch?”
Her head snapped left, and her eyes widened comically. “You!”
“Get in the car.”
I’d never seen a face go through quite so many emotions in so little time before. “Fuck a dick, you shit-ass motherfucker on a limp noodle biscuit with crap on top, you goddamn asshole. I’m not going anywhere with you.”
“Vivid. Now get in.”
“No.” Then she went right back to ignoring me, picking up speed despite her limp.
With an irritated grunt, I hit the brakes and put the car in park. Six steps later, I was towering over her, even as she tried to speed up.
“I don’t like to repeat myself.”
One hard tug on the collar of her shirt dragged her to a stop. A long tear sounded, and her shirt gave from the back.
Her gasp was loud and sharp. She spun and shoved against me. Her face scrunched in pain, and her breath caught. Then she folded her arms over her chest, her sleeves keeping her torn shirt in place.
“What is wrong with you?”
I looked up to the heavens. Really? I asked the big man upstairs.
God was more than trying my patience with this girl.
With a grunt, I slipped my suit jacket off and handed it to her.
While she put it on, I signaled Ricco to get in the back seat.
Then I grabbed her arm and hauled her to the car. She cried out, curling into herself.
“Do you need a doctor?”
“I’m fine.”
I curled my fists at my side to tamp down my sudden surge of rage. What was it with women of all ages using that term so liberally to mean everything but its actual definition? She was anything but fine.
“What happened to you? Your eye? Your leg?”
“That’s what this is about?” She looked at me incredulously. “I fell.”
“On what?”
“Stairs.”
“Which stairs?” I gritted out.
“Does it matter?”
“When I smell bullshit, yes.”
“Why do you even care? I delivered your letter. So, unless you have another ‘job’”—she air quoted—“for me, leave me alone.”
The weariness in her eyes caught my attention.
It was the same look my mother used to bear when no one was looking.
The same sadness that dimmed my sister’s vibrant eyes when I came to visit my father’s home.
To see it in a teenager after less than a year of hardship tore something in me.
I may have been complacent in many crimes and people’s pain, but this was the one that reminded me of my vulnerabilities.
I was so eager to move out of my father’s home before I reached twenty, so sick of the suffering he inflicted, that I left behind the two people I cared about most. Back then, I thought that with a little time, I’d free my mother and sister from him too, but my mother chose to stay with him despite the beatings, afraid he’d take full custody of my sister, younger than me by eight years, or discover the hidden truth of her parentage.
In the end, he killed her and sold my sister off because I wasn’t there to protect them.
I shook off my worrying thoughts. “Where’s the money I gave you? Shouldn’t girls enjoy dressing up a little bit better? Even at your age? Don’t you have any pride?”
“Wow, insulting how I look now. You just get better and better.”
“The world judges us on our appearances, Ms. Burch. If you ever intend to succeed in anything, what you wear and how you wear it will help determine how long it takes before you reach your goals.”
“Thanks for the tip, but I’d rather depend on my brains.”
“Those will only get you so far.” I grabbed her around the waist and heaved her to the front passenger door of my car, despite her feeble protests. “Achievement is determined by three things: wealth, presentation, and intellect. Based on your last little stunt, you’ve proven to have none.”
She glared up at me. “Is there a point to this beating down?”
With every taunt and gibe, my neck and jaw muscles loosened. The rage dissipated, as long as I avoided looking too hard at the dark bruises across her face. From the way she held herself, I suspected there were more down her body.
I opened the door, then leaned my forearms over it, facing her. “I’ve been where you are. A child broken by those meant to care for him. A child hoping for a light in the tunnel.”
“That’s rich. So…what? You’re here to pretend to be that light? You created the tunnel, jerkwad.”