CHAPTER 24
THEN
NICKY – Age 22
Forty-four pounds.
That’s how much two million dollars weighs in hundred-dollar bills.
Guess I can file that under knowledge I never thought would occupy space in my brain but, alas, here we are.
I’ve been avoiding this meet with the Russians now for months and, unfortunately, if I don’t show my face today, the threat of all the problems that Tommy roped me into when he made deals on my unknowing behalf will be coming to fruition.
He’s a traitorous piece of shit. And yet, still, it all falls back on me.
Because, at the end of the day, I missed the signs.
I didn’t notice the way Tommy would stare at J just a few seconds longer than what would be deemed platonic.
Nor did I grow suspicious when he took a more active interest in the shipping route that would later be intercepted.
It somehow didn’t raise any red flags over his insistence that Bishop was behind the heist, or his irritability when I was hesitant to believe it.
And—the cherry on top—the fact I failed to notice my sister was living an entire secret life with my rival for months.
Tommy’s madness may have invited the snakes to the party, but it was my obsession with a particular redhead that even afforded him the opportunity to unlock the back door, allowing them to slither inside. You can’t oversee the workings of the universe if you’re fixated on the sun—especially when she shines so fucking bright.
Daph consumes me.
She fulfills me.
But, most importantly, she distracts me. And that, I just can’t have.
It’s been three months since I found her on the bathroom floor, and though her bruises have faded and her broken bones have healed, it’s just one more image that will forever serve as a reminder for what a life tied to me entails.
So, when she told me at the hospital about “the dream” she had about me asking her to move in, I let it ride. I was gifted a redo—a chance to correct possibly the single most selfish act I’d ever committed—and I took it. Now, all that remains is navigating my way out of this tentative arrangement Tommy looped me into with the Bratva. My hope is my explanation will be better received with the two million in cash I’m bringing along as a peace offering.
Tommy’s dead, Jonsie’s safe and on her way to college across the country, and Daph’s moving into the dorms in a couple weeks. The status quo between me and Mav has been reinstated. All that remains is tying up this last loose end.
I stuff the remaining money stacks into the two duffle bags before sweeping them from the kitchen island. I’m almost to the door when one of the perimeter alarms me and the boys set up sounds on my phone. Quickly retrieving it from my pocket, I click in to find something’s triggered the sensor on the southwest corner of the property. As I’m pulling up the feed, a thud sounds above me.
I freeze.
That came from Jonsie’s room.
Dropping the bag to the floor, I pull my piece from the back of my waistband and swiftly make my way up the stairs. Once in the second-floor hallway, my movements slow as I creep toward her door. The house is silent, and for a moment I wonder if I’m possibly hallucinating. She’s only been gone a few hours, but I miss her so much already.
But then, I hear it—the sharp intake of breath followed by a loud thump—and I know I’m not alone in the house. I push through the door, gun drawn, only to falter at the sight before me.
Maverick Bishop.
Or, at least, some vaguely recognizable version of the man he once was.
He’s a fucking mess. A crumpled heap slumped against the wall, bloody fist resting in his lap. A quick glance at the hole in the sheetrock above him and the pieces of what’s happening here start to click together.
My phone lights up with Rico’s name, and I swipe to answer.
“Nick, the alarm sounded at the house. I’m on my way.”
“Nah,” I answer quickly, eyes never leaving Mav. “False alarm. All good here.”
“You sure?”
“Positive. Meet’s still on. I’ll see you in an hour.” Quickly ending the call, I drop low into a crouch so I’m eye level with the broken man before me. The one I created.
Mav stares off into the corner of the room, his chest stuttering with staggered breaths. Slipping his eyes closed, he manages to steady himself enough to speak. “She’s gone, isn’t she?”
“Yeah.” I nod, swallowing before I reluctantly continue. “She left this morning, man. Our parents are taking her. She’s safe.”
After Maverick and I disposed of Tommy a few months back, we came to the mutual understanding that it was far too dangerous for him to continue his relationship with my sister. Mav caught me off guard a few times that day. The first when he dropped the bomb that he was in love with Jones. The second when he proved it by agreeing to let her go to keep her safe. Baby J was never going to walk away from him. So, Maverick did what needed to be done—he made her hate him.
He shattered her heart into so many pieces, my sister ran clear across the country to escape him. Which is where she is now—on her way to California with my parents to get settled into her new apartment before she starts USC next month. It’s the best thing for her, especially while I work to clean up this mess. A mess that I need Mav’s assistance with. So, I’m gonna need him to pull his shit together.
“She’s gonna be fine.”
Mav’s head swivels toward me, his eyes slowly opening, allowing several tears to stream down his tortured face. He shifts, retrieving something from behind him before settling back in place. “I’m not, Nick. Not without her.”
Only then do I glance down, my eyes zeroing in on the gun he’s clutching in his lap.
“Mav…” I shift forward, my hand slowly reaching for the weapon.
He jerks away, the action causing me to lift my hands in surrender. “Mav.” I say his name again. This time with more force.
He looks to me, his red-rimmed eyes bloodshot and heavy with delirium. Mav’s typically slicked-back hair is completely disheveled, falling into his face and partially obscuring his vision.
“It’s gonna be okay,” I attempt to reassure him. “You did the right thing. This feeling? It will pass.”
His head drops forward, a low distorted sob choking free. “I need her, Nicky. I—I can’t fucking breathe.” Mav’s hands shoot up, his free hand gripping a fist full of hair as the one still holding the gun massages his temple with the muzzle. I warily track the movement with a heightened state of unease, my body laced with tension. “I felt it,” he whispers. “When she left. These last few months apart have been hell, but this is different. It’s like the further away she gets, the darker everything dims.” His eyelids lift, the tears flowing more freely now. “Being with her? It’s like seeing the sun for the first time. I don’t want to go back in the dark.”
I drop back onto my ass, a defeated sigh escaping me as I bury any previous sentiments of compassion toward his plight.
“We are the darkness, Mav. We’re black holes. Guys like you and me? The sun doesn’t shine for us. It can’t.”
“Why?”
Why. It’s possibly the single most dangerous question a person can ask.Because questioning whether or not you can have something leads to hope. And hope is a deadly fantasy to lend power to.
“Because simply sharing a space with us would kill it.”
He stares at me, wearing a contemplative look, as though considering his rebuff to my statement. Something he can grasp hold of to validate this delusion of any happy-ever-after he’s constructed in his head involving my sister. It’s a narrative I cannot, nor will I, tolerate.
Mav’s eyes soften, his grip on his weapon loosening as his mouth opens to speak. Seizing the opportunity his momentary distraction offers me, I lunge forward, throwing an elbow into his chin while pinning the hand clutching his gun to the wall above his head.
It discharges, the deafening echo of the shot ringing in my ears while the bullet embeds in the ceiling above us. Mav glares at me, chest heaving as he attempts to fight against the pressure of my forearm currently pressed up against his neck.
“Every time you think about chasing down my sister, I want you to think about if she’d still look as pretty inside a box. Because that’s the fate you’re condemning her to if you pull her back into this life.”
I shove off him, pushing to stand as he drops to the side, clutching his throat. Mav rolls to his back, a few intermittent coughs escaping him while looks up at me with uninhibited hatred. My hardened stare meets his, my hand drawing his attention when it lifts to dangle his gun I’m currently in possession of. With a few key swipes, I dismantle his Glock before tossing the various pieces to different corners of the room. Holding up the mag, I point at him before my thumb works to clear each round. The bullets fall to the floor, one after the other, pinging with my accompanying words.
“Figure your shit out, Mav. Whether it’s going home to Hydetown and fucking your way through a long list of rebounds, or staying here and swallowing a bullet on my floor. As long as none of your options involve Joanna, it really makes no difference to me.”
Spinning to give him my back, I march from the room, briefly stopping downstairs to scoop up the duffle bags on my way out the door.
I take no joy in breaking Maverick Bishop. But if it keeps my sister safe, I will carve her from the center of his heart, stopping only when the hollow space I leave behind holds no echo of her name.
***
“Mr. Conners.” A middle-aged gentleman greets me in a thick Russian accent, approaching me from the center of the room. Yuri Petrov, Vor for the Bratva, looks like a plethora of garish stereotypes photoshopped together, with a reputation for having the tolerance level of a temperamental toddler. He smiles, revealing an angled set of teeth before his lips close around the end of his cigar. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”
“Mr. Petrov.” I extend my hand, offering a firm shake. “I apologize for delaying this meeting. As you are aware, I had some internal conflicts which required my immediate attention.”
“I understand, Daniel.” He addresses me by my first name. It’s an offense I’d typically correct, though I don’t plan on interacting with the shithead long enough to be bothered by his mistake. “It’s a dark day when one of your own goes rogue. I understand the need to work swiftly to ensure it does not escalate to inspiring a mutiny amongst your soldiers.”
I can almost physically feel JP and Rico bristle behind me. Yuri’s way off base in his assumption regarding their loyalty. However, I take a page from Rico’s old school playbook—not looking to stir up shit by mouthing off. I’m trying to be in and out, and I have a feeling things will go a whole lot smoother if I just placate this motherfucker.
“Indeed. Tommy’s actions were unsanctioned. I appreciate you being forthcoming in disclosing the details of your arrangement so I can rectify the situation.”
“Rectify?” Yuri removes the cigar from his mouth, expelling a cloud of smoke.
“Yes.” Extending my hands out to the sides, I signal for Rico and JP. They approach from behind, depositing the straps of each bag into my grasp. “While I understand you were promised exclusivity as my distributor, I’m already under contract with another supplier. I apologize for Tommy wasting your time. Please accept this offering for your troubles. I’m sure a businessman such as yourself has better things to do than waste his time with a bunch of children.”
Yuri looks to me skeptically, eyes shifting between me and the bags I’ve now dropped at his feet. He glances to the right, signaling one of his goons with a subtle tilt of the head. The steroid-ridden oaf meanders over, crouching down and tugging open the zippers.
“Two million,” I state as the stacks spill into view.
“Well…” Yuri takes another puff of his cigar. “That’s very generous of you, Daniel.”
“It’s the least I can do.” I nod, the tension in my shoulders somewhat receding as his man collects the bags. “Now, if you’ll excuse me.”
“Just a second, Daniel.” He stops me, his lips curling into a smile that inspires a host of feelings, none of them comforting. I find myself suddenly regretting turning over our weapons on the way in—not that we had a choice. “They tell me you’re a professional athlete. Is that true?”
“It is.”
“Bicycles, is it?”
“Motocross. They have engines.”
“Ahhh.” His shit-eating grin widens. “That’s right. Motocross. That must keep you busy. One can’t help but wonder where you find the time for all your other responsibilities.”
“I make do.”
“Still though, your empire only seems to be expanding. How do you plan on juggling your entire operation alongside a career that keeps you front and center in the spotlight all year?” Yuri reaches over to the table beside him, snubbing the end of his cigar out in a small ashtray.
I don’t know what he’s getting at, but considering I’m still on his turf and outnumbered, I continue to entertain him.
“It’s not as big a commitment as you think. It really only takes up two days a week, and it’s only eight months out of the year. My second-in-command is more than competent at running the day to day in my absence.”
“Hmph.” Yuri stares at me, his lips pursed as though he’s deep in thought. “I’m sorry, Daniel, but that’s not going to work for me.”
My head tilts to the side in question. Before I’m able to ask what he means, Yuri’s withdrawn his weapon and discharged it into my left thigh. I drop, clutching the wound as I writhe before him on the ground.
“Fuck!” I shout, glancing over to find Rico and JP pinned to the concrete with guns pressed to their skulls.
Rico’s eyes lock with mine, homicidal with rage. They flicker down to where I’m clutching my leg, his jaw tightening as his gaze snaps back to mine. With a slight shake of my head, I issue a silent command to stand down. I need him to keep his shit in check. That man would die for me, and while I appreciate the dedication, I am determined to walk out of here today with the same number of brothers I walked in with.
“Here’s the deal, Daniel. Your little motocross career is over, effective immediately. I was promised an exclusivity contract with you, and I intend to collect. I’ve got big plans for our partnership. Plans that will require you to be fully present instead of traipsing across the country all year long.”
I clutch my leg tighter, hissing in pain as I attempt to slow the bleeding. “With all due respect, sir, it was my understanding there was supposed to be an exchange of services as a condition of this arrangement. A condition that was never met, if I’m not mistaken. I’d say that makes this deal null and void if you ask me.”
“Ah, yes. Maverick Bishop. I have no issue rectifying that oversight if it is a point of contention for you.”
The deal Tommy struck with this unstable piece of shit was pretty straightforward. Yuri would become the distributor for my entire drug business in exchange for assassinating Mav. However, things didn’t go according to plan. Mav managed to escape unscathed, though his second-in-command was not as fortunate.
Bishop’s craving blood. I suddenly realize it’s a hunger I may need to fuel.
“Daniel,” Yuri speaks again, this time his tone more impatient. “Maverick Bishop. Yes or no? Choose.”
My eyes narrow upon him, my jaw tightening in anger. “No,” I bite out.
“Very well.” Yuri stands to his full height, handing the gun off to one of his associates. “Now, let’s discuss terms.”
I sit for the next twenty minutes, bleeding out as I’m forced to listen to Yuri’s demands. He drones on, stopping occasionally to ask me questions about my operation, which I reluctantly answer, though my mind can’t help but wander to the one person I’m gonna need to help me out of this mess.
I really hope that fucker didn’t swallow a bullet after I left.