Dylan (8 page)

“What’s going on, Officer?” Uncle Jim’s
voice is woven with concern, and I know he is mentally reliving a
scenario he has worried over for most of his life.

“Do you live here?” The officer eyes up
Uncle Jim’s Bentley with a dubious expression.

Uncle Jim shakes his head. “No, but my
nieces do. I was bringing them home.”

The officer flicks his gaze first to me, and
then to a still sleeping Harper in the back. He nods with a solemn
look now reflecting in his eyes. “Which apartment do you ladies
live in?” He asks the question, but by the look on his face, I know
he already knows what my answer will be. He has probably already
spoken to the grungy landlord, and that man is not a fan of my
mother. He was probably all too keen to celebrate in my mother’s
misery.

“206.” My words are spoken softly. The
feelings inside me are so mixed up, I can’t pinpoint a single one
in this moment.

The officer nods sadly, and then looks back
at Uncle Jim. “I regret to inform you that Lisa Vandell overdosed
this evening. I’m afraid we were unable to resuscitate her.”

Chapter Eight

Dylan

“Show us the
merchandise.” Fuentes speaks fluent English, but his words are
still thick with his smooth Hispanic accent.

It’s one thing that has always bothered me
about the man in front of me. Even when he is being threatening,
it’s hard to truly be afraid. He has the smooth rasp of a Latin
singer. Really, who can be afraid of a man who sounds like Selena?
I’ve dealt with Fuentes for as long as I can remember, and he’s
never asked to see anything before. So, why is he changing things
now?

“You know that’s not how this works. How
long have we been doing business, Fuentes?” I cross my arms as my
gaze roams over the empty space of the auto shop.

Fuentes doesn’t answer me. Instead, he snaps
his fingers in the air causing a dark man of clear Latino decent, a
body full of tats, and arms as wide as my head to step forward with
a duffle. The man slips it off his shoulder, places it on the metal
table between us, and pulls open the zipper. The inside is filled
with hundreds, and it quickly reminds me that I love my fucking
job.

So, why does it feel somehow different
now?

I know why. It’s because my head is so
wrapped up in Raven’s words to me earlier. They’ve been on a loop
in my head since we left Trisha’s house. I don’t like the thought
of someone hurting her. I mean, she didn’t say someone hurt her.
She said she had a bad experience with someone who uses, but that
sounds an awful lot like someone hurt her.

Ethan steps forward and draws my attention
back to the matter at hand.
Fuck, Dylan!
Being distracted
right now could get us both killed.
Focus, damn it!

“It’s what we agreed to. Thirty kilos
of
the best damn cocaine you’ll ever get your hands on.” Ethan drops
the duffle of coke onto the table between us, and slowly unzips
it.

Fuentes is one of those drug lords who
actually believe that everyone else is somehow beneath him. It’s
ridiculous. I’m not in denial about what I am. I’m
a drug dealer. There is no silver lining in
that. In the grand scheme of things Fuentes and I are both the
same.

I watch as the exchange is made, and just
like every other time I’m here, I move my hand around to my lower
back to clasp the butt of my gun. As soon as Ethan is standing
beside me again, I release it along with a relieved breath. This
wouldn’t be my first shoot-out, but I would still rather avoid one
if possible.

Fuentes takes the duffle of cocaine that’s
now his, as Ethan slings the money duffle over his shoulder. Over
thirty kilos of cocaine are shoved in the bag Fuentes is holding.
It’s like an addicts Christmas, birthday, and New Year’s all in one
package.

“Pleasure doing business with you, as
usual.” Fuentes tilts his head to us, and we reciprocate as he and
his cronies start to clear out of the abandon auto shop.

Just before he walks out, he grins back at
us causing my stomach to twist violently.
Something isn’t
right.
Ethan must feel it too, because suddenly we are both
running toward the back entrance of the shop. There is an emergency
exit through an office, and we waste no time finding it. The
adrenaline rushing through me right now has only been experienced
one other time, and that was nine months ago.

I hear gunshots ricocheting through the air
outside and echo around the walls in here. Hopefully, the lackeys
can handle Fuentes until we get out of here. Ethan pushes hard
against the door, but it doesn’t budge.

“Shit!” Ethan slams his fist against it, and
I try to push back the growing panic as the smell of gasoline
suddenly fills the air around us. “They’ve blocked the fucking
exits! How could those assholes outside not have noticed this when
they walked the perimeter?”

I rip off my t-shirt as sweat starts to roll
down my spine. As if the organization doesn’t have enough to deal
with, let’s add murdering the fuck out of Fuentes to the goddamn
list. I step back and take in the space around us. There are a
couple smaller windows lining the wall close to the ceiling. They
aren’t very big, but I think we could probably fit through.

The problem is they are at least two stories
up from where we are standing. I shift my gaze around, and I know
Ethan is doing the same. If we have any hope of getting out of
here, it’s through those windows. The suffocating smell of smoke
reaches me just as I spot a ladder hanging up on the wall across
the room. It’s pretty high up though. I’m tall, but I’m not sure I
can reach it. I want to strangle the idiot who decided to store a
ladder where you needed a fucking ladder to reach it. Heat licks up
my spine, and I turn to see the door farthest from us burst into
flames. I look at Ethan and his gaze is frozen to the spot.

“Ethan! I need your help, man!” I shout over
the deafening crackle of the flames.

Calculating
eyes meet mine before quickly flicking to the ladder against the
wall. This pushes him into action and has him running toward me.
I’m taller, so I brace myself to lift Ethan up so he can reach the
ladder. In other circumstances, I would find our position
hilarious, but there is too much fear for me to find any humor
right now. I just want to make it out of here.

“I can’t get it with this stupid fucking—”
He cuts off and the bag he was carrying lands at my feet with a
solid thud. Without the extra weight, Ethan successfully maneuvers
the ladder from the hooks on the wall before he grabs the bag and
slings it back over his shoulder.

We don’t waste any time getting it over to
the window farthest from the hungry flames, which are eating a path
in our direction. I send Ethan up first. Not because I can’t smash
the fucking window myself, but because I will not leave Ethan in
here to burn, and those flames are awfully close now.

A loud shatter bleeds into the noises of
cracking wood, and I cough on the thick smoke infiltrating my
lungs. A sharp pain nips at my leg just as Ethan manages to wiggle
himself through the now open window. I move to follow him, but the
pain in my leg isn’t letting up. I glance down to see the calf of
my jeans lit with flames. I unbutton and strip out of my jeans,
losing my gun in the process, but I don’t look back as they fall
into the fiery hell just below my feet. I follow Ethan’s path out
the window, and manage to get myself out just as I feel the ladder
start to shake underneath me.

“You have to jump down, D!” Ethan is on the
ground below me. He’s favoring one leg, but otherwise looks to be
in one piece.

I don’t need to be told twice. I jump. The
cool air feels heavenly against my sweaty body, but the pain of
impact as I land doesn’t.

“Damn it!” I grip my calf—the same calf that
had been on fire moments before—and can feel the blisters that have
already risen on my skin.

A deep laugh pulls my gaze up to Ethan who
is bent over with his hands gripping his stomach; His laughter
continues to flow from his lips.

“What the fuck is funny right now?”
Seriously?

“I’m . . . I’m . . . Smiley faces? Really?”
Ethan sputters through his laughter mixed with deep gulps of
air.

I look down as I smile with him. Right, I’m
in my boxers, my black boxers with little bright yellow smiley
faces all over them. I chuckle, vowing to do laundry more
often.

“Fuck you.” I manage to say around my own
laughter.

The building behind us gives a loud groan,
and our laughter dies as we shift our gazes back to the auto shop.
The sound it’s making is haunting. As I look around outside, I
realize that the guys we brought with us are dead. The large SUV’s
are filled with bullet holes, blood spatter, and bodies.
Fucking
Fuentes
.

“I’m going to fucking kill him.” Ethan
mutters beside me.

“Not if I kill him first.”

***

We stay at the scene long enough to snap
some pictures on our phones and call Ardon. Ethan’s dad shows up
less than six minutes after we call him. As soon as he has the car
in park he is rushing over to us. He pulls us both into a tight
hug, cramming us uncomfortably against each other. The fire is
still blazing, so as soon as he pulls back he is ushering us toward
the giant silver SUV. As the doors close behind us, Ardon
momentarily glances back at me.

“Look, it’s none of my business, but do you
want to explain to me why you are wearing nothing but a pair of
happy boxers?” Ardon’s question has Ethan bursting into a fit of
laughter once more.

I can see Ardon’s grin in the rearview
mirror, and I know my own grin is just as wide. “It seemed like the
perfect occasion. Who doesn’t wear
happy boxers
to
work?”

Ardon just shakes his head on a smile at my
response. “Maybe I’ll make it a requirement. It sure seems to
lighten the mood.”

I laugh heartily now. I can only imagine
Troy and Sean’s responses to that rule. Only two come to mind:
“Fuck off” and “Fuck the fuck off.”

The rest of the drive to Ardon's mansion on
the coast is quiet. Ethan has his own condo, but he still stays
here with his parents. Like my choice to live above the hardware
store, staying here is his choice. He actually likes being close to
his parents. I can’t blame him. Ardon is difficult and stubborn,
but he also understands this life better than the rest of us.

As we climb out, Ardon grips my shoulder in
his firm hand. “Addie and the baby are inside, so go on up to
Ethan’s room and throw on some comfortable shorts. I have a doctor
waiting in my study to look you both over. We will make this right.
That’s a promise.”

I nod, and follow Ethan inside. Deirdre,
Ardon’s wife, rushes Ethan as soon as he is through the door. She
wraps her arms around his shoulders and kisses his face
repeatedly.

“Give the boy room to breathe, love.” Ardon
tells his wife. She pulls back, but the relieved smile on her face
stays in place.

“You scared me to death!” She looks over at
me. Her smile growing on her face as she notices my appearance.
“Both of you did.” She releases Ethan so that she can pull me into
a warm hug.

She is a very small woman. I have to bend
slightly to return her embrace. It’s awkward and uncomfortable, but
it’s very welcome.

As soon as she releases me, I follow Ethan
up the stairs, hearing Ardon and his wife chuckle behind me as my
happy boxers
shift with every step I take up. We pass the
first guest room, and Ethan’s in-home gym, before rounding the
corner into an upstairs living area. This is Ethan’s wing of the
house. His bedroom and a guest bedroom are behind the two doors off
this room.

A flat screen television, which is big
enough to rival every movie theater I’ve ever been in, sits against
the wall farthest from where we stand. A variety of couches and
deep-seated recliners fill the space, and the outside wall is
nothing more than bulletproof glass. The view is just as amazing as
I remember, and the best part about the wall of windows is that
with the press of a button they darken. It keeps the glare off the
TV and unwanted guests from seeing inside.

“Just throw these on.” Ethan tosses me a
pair of black basketball shorts, and I quickly slip them on. I
hadn’t even realized he’d gone into his room.

As soon as I put them on, we walk back down
the stairs toward Ardon’s office. Ethan pushes open the massive
doors, and sure enough, there is a doctor and two male nurses
waiting for us.

“One of you take a seat over here,” The
doctor waves a hand toward the pleated chair that sits in front of
the fireplace. “The other over there.” He shifts his arm to
indicate the couch that runs along the back wall.

“You take the couch. It’ll make it easier
for him to examine your leg.” Ethan mutters before heading to the
chair.

I walk over to the couch, tugging at the
shorts as I go. I am taller than Ethan, and even though these
shorts hang rather low on him, they barely fall to my knees. I look
ridiculous. Oh, well.

I sit down in a way that leaves my injured
leg exposed. My first good look at it has me sucking in a harsh
breath. It’s fucking grotesque. The skin of my calf is blistered
and swollen, peeling from the meat underneath in a path of about
four inches. The doctor’s eyes widen as he motions a nurse over to
me.

“Let’s start with this one.” He looks at me
sympathetically for a moment with amber eyes. “I hope you have a
high pain tolerance son, because this is going to hurt like a
bitch.”

And it fucking did . . .

Chapter Nine

Raven

My mother is
dead. I keep hearing the words run through my mind, but I have no
idea how to process them. I am lost in a haze of sadness and
relief. I don’t
have to see Steven anymore.
I know things are happening around me. I know that I am helping
Uncle Jim grab everything Harper and I will need to take back to
his place. He
is
taking us back to his place. It will be our
home now just as I have
always
dreamed it was.