14. Chapter 14
Chapter fourteen
Dax
When Ricky offered to drive Lucy home, I was so livid I stayed in my office for the rest of the night. I regretted it when I finally came out and realized they had both already left.
I was such a fucking idiot.
Of course I didn’t have the right to control what she did, or who she did it with.
Not that Ricky was any kind of a threat—that was not the team he played for.
It didn’t matter. I had to swallow my jealousy if I was going to make good on my promise to help her.
I wasn’t thinking about it when I kissed her the other night, but I assumed she didn’t have a boyfriend considering the reason she came to Bellissima in the first place was a double date with those assholes.
I was sure there were plenty of other men out there who were salivating over the idea of being with her.
Who wouldn’t? She was like a goddess, all golden skin and long chocolate-colored hair, any hot-blooded human could see that.
I spent the next few days itching to reach out to her, but she made it clear she wanted some distance from me the other night.
I guess I couldn’t blame her after what I said to her in my car.
Even if it was true. Instead, I distracted myself by digging deep into the nightclub Lucy had mentioned.
As it would turn out, Marty Sanchez was running a pretty lucrative prostitution ring from his chain of nightclubs.
Emile was able to get through the sealed records of the lawsuit he was in several years ago.
Apparently, the woman who sued him was an ex-employee who claimed he forced her into sex work when she was a waitress at his Scottsdale location.
The case was dropped and sealed, likely because he paid her off. It made me fucking sick.
The more connections to what happened outside my restaurant I found, the more the beast inside me roared to life.
I knew it wasn’t healthy, but it was beginning to consume me.
The rage I had been swallowing down for far too long was crawling from my inside out.
It reminded me of everything I lost when I left New York. Of whom I lost.
When Emile mentioned Tony’s name the other night, I wasn’t prepared for the way it would affect me. I had been trying to forget about that night for years. The night I’d lost my best friend, and then my own father.
Tony, Clay, and I had all flown down to Miami together to finalize that deal.
That was what we had always called it. Dealmaking.
In reality, we were just murdering rapists, taking down shady organizations, and trading their secrets for cold, hard cash.
It made us rich. Powerful. The covert operations we executed had worked in our favor for five years straight.
We never expected only two of us would be flying back.
I remember sitting on the jet as we made our way home to New York.
It had to be the last time. This had never been the life my mother would have wanted for me.
My father was right all along; I should have just taken over the family business. Lived a respectable, simple life.
I hadn’t seen him in months; I was always busy on a new assignment.
I’d been too consumed with lining my pockets while convincing myself I was saving the world.
We never talked much after I moved into the house with Tony, Emile, and Clay.
Our relationship was strained and the only reason we ever got together was for a stiff holiday where we pretended things were fine between us.
I tried to compensate for the lack of relationship with my father by sending him money.
He didn’t know what I did for a living. He didn’t ask.
He never cashed a single check I sent him, the stubborn bastard.
That needed to change. We had to turn things around, and I promised myself this would be the last commission I would go on.
The only problem is I was too late. By the time our plane landed, my father was already dead.
They said it was suicide. What I didn’t know at the time was he’d already sold the deli to an anonymous buyer.
I hadn’t thought to ask or even to stop by.
He had been days away from leaving the place he had worked so hard to build behind.
It had all become too much for him to keep up with on his own.
Newer, trendier places popped up throughout the neighborhood, and customer loyalty strayed.
I could have helped him, could have turned it around. Maybe if I’d been there the stress wouldn’t have killed him. The loneliness. The deli would still be there, and so would he. If I hadn’t been so uncompromising and selfish.
After that, I told Clay and Emile I was done.
I’d made my peace. I’d sought my revenge and found it.
Not once, but a thousand times over. When Tony died, it felt like everything we built CIPHER to be died with him.
I knew that wasn’t really true. Clay and Emile kept it going.
They made good on their oath. Their purpose.
They even followed me all the way across the country, picking it right back up here in San Francisco. But I had already decided to move on.
Losing Tony had been the hardest blow of my life, then it was doubled down with the sudden and unexpected death of my father on top of it all.
I’d been numb ever since. I distracted myself with the restaurant, desperate to build something my parents would have been proud of.
I tried to rebuild their legacy and abandoned my own at the same time.
I promised myself I’d never look back, and I hadn’t… until Lucy showed up.
I pulled out my phone and dialed the number Emile provided me with. It rang for a few intervals. Just when I thought nobody was going to pick up, I heard the other end of the line open.
“Hello?” A feminine-sounding voice answered.
“Hi, is this Ms. Laskin?” I asked, keeping my voice short and steady. I leaned over my kitchen counter with the phone against my ear. I was caramelizing some onions for a quiche I was testing out for a new brunch menu at the restaurant.
“This is her. May I ask who’s calling?” the woman drawled, sounding suspicious. I didn’t really blame her, nobody liked picking up the phone to unknown numbers these days. The only difference is I was using a system that rigged the caller ID so it read SFPD.
“Ms. Laskin, this is Officer Pinkara from the San Francisco Police Department. I’m calling because a license plate attached to your vehicle was surveyed by one of our traffic safety cameras speeding and running a red light at an intersection.
When we ran your plates, we noticed the vehicle description didn’t match what we saw in the video.
I am calling to see if this vehicle belongs to you.
” I described the black Cadillac Escalade to her along with the license plate number.
“Interesting.” She sounded suddenly guarded and paused for a moment.
“While I appreciate your call, Officer Pinkara, I’ll have you know I reported that license plate stolen over a year ago.
Of course, your department never followed through with anything to help me recover it.
” Her voice was starting to pick up an irritated cadence.
“What you’re telling me is not only is your department incapable of helping victims of this city’s crime problem, but now they’re calling to harass them on top of it?
I’m so glad to hear this is how my hard-earned tax dollars are spent.
This is absolutely revolting.” She continued spewing insults, getting more and more frustrated with every word.
Fuck. Emile was right, this was a dead-end. I regretted even calling the woman, and I should have just trusted that CIPHER knew what they were doing.
Eventually, she paused to take a breath and I cut in, “Apologies for taking your time, Ms. Laskin. I’ll let our team know your plate is still missing, and we will be on the lookout for it. If we locate the vehicle again, we will be sure to contact you.” I hung up the phone.
Now the only chance of tracing the SUV was if Emile’s team could track it with street cameras. I needed to take a different approach to finding those fucking bastards.
On Thursday, I decided to go to The Wire.
The dingy nightclub off the Mission was not the kind of place I would typically frequent.
The neon sign on the front of the brick building was strobing, and the big W was burned out.
It was pretty early to be at a club in general, but when I left the restaurant at eight o’clock, I knew I’d get there right around the same time as Marty.
Once Emile was able to clear up the current cyber security scandal he was dealing with, he was able to backtrack the nearby street cameras to see what time Marty usually went to the club.
I entered the club, my leather jacket hot against my skin in the sticky air, but I was kept cool by the smooth metal of the gun against my outer thigh.
It was relatively dead inside, a DJ on the other side of the expansive dance floor blasting reggaeton from massive speakers throughout the space.
Small groups of people were starting to filter in behind me, and I worked my way over to the bar.
“What can I get for you, handsome?” A blonde bartender in a skimpy lingerie set asked me from behind the dented wooden bar top.
“I’m looking for Marty.” I hoped she heard the seriousness in my tone over the thumping music.
She frowned. “He’s busy right now. Can I make you a drink or something?” The suggestive lilt of her eyes told me exactly what kind of something she was offering. I wasn’t interested in the slightest.
“I’m afraid it’s rather pressing. Can you please tell him a friend is here to see him?”