New York Crime Kings Box Set: Books 1-4 (23 page)

I swallow.

“Because everyone down here is a criminal. Well, everyone except you, but I’m not sweating it. No one knows you even exist.”

My throat constricts, making the next few words that fall from mouth sound thick and weak. “Why are you the way you are?”

His smiles falls, covering his perfect teeth.

“Where were you when you decided life isn’t precious?”

All traces of humor fade and his black eyes stay on mine. I don’t know how long we maintain eye contact, but he breaks it eventually to look over his shoulder.

“Get out.” He says to his employees.

My muscles tighten, the calm in his voice setting me on edge.

“Boss—”

“Get! Out!” He demands, pronouncing each word singularly, so they understand. I pick myself off the floor to sit back on my heels. While his men file from the small room, I touch the back of my hand to my cheek. No blood, but I bet it’ll bruise.

As the door clicks shut, locking me inside with the devil, my awareness flicks to high alert.

“There’s a story I like to tell...” he says, lifting his eyes. “About a young man and his beautiful pregnant wife walking along a desolate esplanade. I recall the serene, late afternoon, unrivalled by any other, like it was yesterday...”

I listen intently. Not knowing where the story is going or where it’ll end up.

“Up ahead, a man in a hood stalked toward them, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his jeans. The couple eyed him suspiciously as he approached, but they chose to keep walking toward him anyway. When they got within arm’s length, the hooded stranger stopped them with a flash of his palm...”

Engrossed, I find myself leaning toward Skull, trapped by every word he speaks. He talks with emotion, anger and sadness twisting so beautifully around each word. I didn’t think he was capable of such feelings.

“Without a word, the man withdrew a dagger from his pocket and drove it into the woman’s stomach and she collapsed to the ground with a gasp...”

I recoil, clenching my chest as my heart constricts.

“Why? Why would you do such a thing? The man screamed, cradling his precious, sobbing wife to his chest, covering himself in her blood. Her attacker smiled, wiping off his blade with his black hood and said; to witness a man cry at my hand...”

“Jesus Christ.” I gasp, grimacing. “You? You had a wife?”

He shakes his head and smirks. “I was the man wielding the knife. You see, some people turn evil because life fucks them over repeatedly, day after day, year after year, while others turn evil out of desperation and fear. But then there are people like me, people who are born evil, who don’t give two fucks who lives or dies.”

Emotion drains from my body. To be in the company of such a heartless, soulless human being...it’s too much. So I shut it off, withdrawing to a place he can’t hurt me. I worked in a hospital. I saw babies daily. Their chubby cheeks, little toes and balled fists...to hurt a baby is an evil not even the devil himself can commit.

“I don’t believe people are born evil. Whatever happened to ‘you might have been bad, but that woman and her baby didn’t deserve your anger.’ I’d call you a disgusting piece of shit, but that’d be an insult to pieces of shit everywhere.”

I want to ask him how far along the woman was, but it doesn’t matter. It won’t take away from the fact there’s no place on Earth, or in hell, bad enough for him. He watches me closely and I feel dirtier every second his stare lingers on my skin.

“I like you, Kitty-Cat.”

I grimace in disgust. “I despise you.”

“That has to be the sweetest thing a woman has ever said to me.” He grins. “Any news on Jai Stone?”

I repeat what Jai had told me. “He’s here for his brother and he’s not leaving without him.”

Skull scratches his head with the pointed top of his dagger. “I knew it. Sadly, Jai Stone is wasting his time.”

I fold my arms tightly across my chest. “Wasting his time? Jai knows Joel was here.”

Skull nods. “He was here. Now he’s not here.”

My warm blood bubbles, threatening to boil over any second. “Where is he now?”

He simpers, straightening his legs and tucking his dagger away.

“I suppose since I’m waiting for Jai to show his true colors, I’ll make a confession. Maybe that’ll push him to ‘co-cop-erate’, so to speak.”

I frown. I don’t get it. Does anything this psychopath says make any sense? He bends in half at the waist, lowering himself right into my face. The distinct, heavy smell of coffee blows up my nose.

“Joel Stone is dead,” Skull hisses through gritted teeth. “I killed him myself.”

No. Oh no. My innards knot, twisting together into intricate bows. A suffocating sensation lodges itself into my throat and I hunch. I can’t tell Jai that. He had panicked at the mere thought of his brother’s death. To learn the truth of it…it’ll destroy him.

“Jai will kill you,” I seethe.

“We’ll see. I’m curious to find out whose team he’s really on. He’d make a fine addition to my crew. If not...” He taps his tattooed nose and I’m forced to look at the inked cartilage. “Remember what I said.
Vigilante
.”

Lies

Jai

I don’t know how many times I’ve paced this stupid room since arriving here. One, two, three steps. Turn. One, two, three steps. Turn. I don’t know how many times I’ve worried myself sick just thinking about her. I rake my fingers through my hair and squeeze. Shit, Kitten. Why can’t you ever keep your mouth shut? Why do you have to be so damn headstrong?

Grains litter the floor and crunch under my shoe, a result of my tearing the boxing bag apart. My knuckles burn and my fingers ache, but it’s nothing compared to the worry painfully stretching out my chest. I should’ve fought all of Skull’s men. I should’ve destroyed them. I wish I had. I wish I hadn’t let them take her away. She could be dead...I stop pacing. My heart stops beating. What if she’s dead? I clench my fists.

Behind me, grains crunch. I square my shoulders and turn around. Her eyes are red rimmed and puffy, her hair snaky and wild. The pain in my chest lets itself out, like a pinhole in a balloon, making room for relief. She’s alive. That’s a start. I zero in on an angry, dark blotch high on her cheek bone. She notices and rubs the back of her fingers over it.

“It looks worse than it feels...” she mumbles, the tone of her voice not sitting well with me.

I hate that it’s there. I hate that I let it happen.

“Only you can take a beating and still look pretty,” I say, a lame attempt at humor.

What the fuck am I saying? She begins to smile, then catches it, but it wilts away, turning into a sympathetic frown. I step forward and her face pinches together, her lips trembling, as she tries not to cry.

I stop. “Emily? What is it?”

I address her as Emily. She likes it when I do that.

“Jai...” She drags a breath through her nose and drops her hand from her cheek. I try not to focus on the anger in the pit of my stomach when I see it again, and focus on the pain in her eyes instead.

“Skull...”

My stomach sinks. Tears well and spill faster than I’ve ever seen on a woman and trust me, I’ve been in the presence of a lot of crying women.

“He killed him,” She chokes out.

My brows draw together. “Killed who?”

Emily hiccups and inches closer with calculated caution. I don’t like it.

“I’m so sorry.”

With a swift leap, she closes the distance between us and wraps her slender arms around my waist, burying her face into my chest as I stare at the wall over her head. What the hell is going on?

“It’s Joel,” she sobs, her face muffled by the fabric of my shirt. “Skull killed him.”

Impossible. I don’t believe her for a second. Over and over she tells me she’s sorry, but I don’t feel anything. What am I supposed to feel?

I stare at the dirty floor, waiting for something to happen, waiting for her words to react with my emotions.

They don’t.

Minute after minute ticks by and I stand in silence. My bones ache and there’s a strange pressure on my ribcage, curling toward my vital organs. Physically I feel everything, but emotionally I feel nothing...because I don’t believe it. Thoughts and plans flood my brain and I can’t focus on any of them, there are too many. I don’t know where to begin.

Emily pats my back, an attempt to soothe me. I don’t need soothing. I don’t believe Skull killed Joel, not for a second.

“You think he’s telling the truth?” I ask and she pulls back to look up at my face.

Her swollen cheek grows darker by the second as a bruise forms underneath the skin. Before I rip Skull’s esophagus from his flesh, I’ll make him apologize for marking her face.

Kitten’s eyes flick between mine. I see the look on her face…the look of confusion. She’s judging me, and probably wondering why I’m not a sobbing mess right now. I bet she thinks I’m insane holding on to the belief that my brother is still alive, after a murderer confesses to killing him, but she hasn’t seen him. She doesn’t know him. Skull and his entire gang wouldn’t have been able to touch Joel. I’d bet my entire family’s fortune on it. Emily had cowered at the sight of Shadow, but Shadow is nothing. In comparison, my brother makes him look like a bitch.

“I think he’s crazy,” she sniffles.

“That’s not what I asked you.”

She nods, her eyes filling with sympathy. I hate sympathy. It’s an emotion people show when they think you’re not capable of handling things yourself. Fuck sympathy.

“Yes. I think he’s telling the truth.”

“Good.”

Her dark brown eyebrows, wilder now than they were when I met her, draw together and she pulls back even more. “What?”

Her pink lips press into a thin line and I plant a quick, dry kiss on them.

“Good,” I say. “Now I can show you why you should never take anything at face value.”

“Face value?” I push past her and she makes a small frustrated noise in the base of her throat. “Jai!”

I ignore her and stalk from the room in search of Marcus. Thankfully, she doesn’t follow.

As I march, I can’t help but let the frustration lurking in the pit of my stomach spread to the rest of my body. I’ve wasted almost two weeks down here thinking I’d run into Joel or pick up his trail. Surely someone who works for Skull knows where to find him? I’ve heard nothing...not even a whisper. That’s two wasted weeks I could have spent up top searching for him. I’ve searched all of the underground circuits, I climbed their ranks and mixed with criminals. Not once have I heard his name. It’s a good and bad sign. Good because that means he’s not dead. Bad because it also doesn’t mean he’s alive.

If Joel’s alive, I’ll kill Skull quickly, but if what Emily says is true, and Skull has killed him, I will draw his death out. I’ll torture him for weeks—months—until he begs me to put him out of his misery. Then, I’ll torture him a little more. Until I’m satisfied.

He’d want to start praying that my thirst for his blood cools off before then, because right now, I’m insatiable.

***

I find Marcus in the bar, taking cash and writing down bets. My fight is next and I hope, for his daughter’s sake, he places his money in the right corner. It doesn’t matter who my opponent is. I always win.

Marcus is smaller than the three giants he converses with, but he’s an underground veteran and commands a lot of respect. And, without question, the fighter’s give it to him.

He clenches a handful of bills, stuffing it into the back pocket of his ripped jeans, and then scribbles onto his notepad before flipping the cover over and slapping it shut.

“Stone,” he greets me as I approach, sliding a black pen behind his ear. “We were just talking about you.”

I look briefly at the three men on the other side of Marcus’s table, but don’t linger enough to commit their bulky bodies and plain faces to memory. Why should I? I’m not going to see them again. I’m out of here after my fight and I need Marcus to help me.

“Putting your money on the right man, I hope?” I say, as I saunter up to the table, stuffing my hands into my pockets.

Marcus smiles. “Always do. Can’t say the same for these three though.”

I turn my attention to them, unable to help an amused smirk. They can’t be older than twenty-one.

“Betting against me, boys?”

A stupid mistake. The tallest brother, assuming they’re brothers, leans forward, resting his elbows on the table.

“You know your opponent?”

I shake my head and they laugh, exposing perfect white teeth that are almost blinding against their smooth, ebony skin.

I guess I’m missing something.

“Freight is no match for Jai Stone, Kaan,” Marcus jumps in.

I chuckle. Ah, Freight a.k.a Cameron Michaels. He wasn’t too bad of a guy, not by the standards set by other criminals down here anyway. At the station we called him ‘Hulk’. He’s known for losing the plot and causing lots of damage to both public and private property. Once a month he’d be at the station defending why he put a chair through the windscreen of his neighbor’s car, or why he snapped an old ladies cane and then beat a man with it.

What Freight had in body mass, he lacked in brain power and as they say; ‘the bigger they are, the harder they fall’.

Kaan smirks, his eyes staying locked with mine as he lifts his cup to his lips, and tips whatever alcohol is left in it, down his throat. He’s confident at least, and I can admire that.

“We’ll see. They don’t call him Freight for nothing.”

The familiar tingle of a challenge tickles the tips of my fingers. I don’t like the way they’re smiling at me, like I’m way out of their league.

From my observation, there are three types of fighters down here. The first lot picked up fighting well into their twenties, some even in their thirties, and are still very much amateurs when it comes to the art of mixed martial arts. The second bunch are brawlers from the street who taught themselves, and the third group are fighters like me, fighters who’ve trained their asses off from the moment they could walk. I’ve trained and mastered every form of martial arts I can think of. My brain doesn’t work like everyone else’s. While my opponent is planning their next move, I’ve already taken the necessary steps to win the fight. And I always win—not because I’m bigger or stronger. I win because I’m smarter.

It was Joel who taught me to fight smarter, not harder.

My smirk stays firm as I continue the conversation with Kaan. “And why do they call him ‘Freight’? Do you know?”

The man to his left looks away in embarrassment as Kaan narrows his eyes at me and shakes his head. Of course you don’t.

“Didn’t think so. They call him ‘Freight’ because he pried apart the door of a freight container to rescue a litter of abandoned puppies.”

They give me ‘the look’. Disbelieving frowns, thin eyes and pressed lips. It’s the look everyone gets when they hear the origin of ‘Freight’ a.k.a Cameron.

“Terrifying, I know. I’m shaking in my damn boots.” I flick my head. “Get the fuck out of here while Marcus and I talk business.”

They stare, not knowing if they should obey or contest me. I never drag my eyes from Kaan’s. It’s a pissing contest and my bladder is full.

“I’d listen to the man if I were you,” Marcus states, leaning his elbows on the table. “He’s a loose cannon.”

Cautiously, but still trying to maintain their pride and strength, they slink from the table and disappear from sight. I stare after them, lost in thoughts of kicking the shit out of all three of them, until Marcus slaps me on the shoulder.

“Don’t worry about it,” Marcus says, pulling the pen from his ear to fidget with it. “You’ll show ‘em tomorrow. When you go toe to toe with Freight.”

I clear my throat and pull a heap of cash from my pocket. Marcus takes bets so, to everyone else, I’m just a guy who likes to gamble. I lean on the table too and flick through the money like I’m counting it.

“I need you to do something for me.”

He stiffens beside me, realizing immediately it’s an order, not a question.

“What now, Jai?” he demands in a harsh whisper. “I won’t get you another gun. It was risky enough the first time. I have a kid—”

“Will you shut up and let me explain?” I hand him some cash, two grand to be correct, and continue to flick through the rest. “The gate you met me at last time, you know, the south gate?”

Marcus nods.

“I need you to leave it unlocked.”

He turns pale and drops the cash I gave him, like he’ll contract an incurable disease if he holds it too long.

“Oh fucking hell, no. I’m not doing that. You’re on your own.”

He tries to back away from the table, but I catch him by the scruff of his gray shirt and draw him back. I wrap my arm around his shoulders and hold him close to the tabletop, close enough for him to smell the money he dumped. I didn’t want to do this—use his daughter against him—but he’s left me with no choice.

“Listen, Marcus. You don’t want your daughter’s cancer fund to dry up now, do you?”

Under my arm, his shoulders tense. “Jai, please.”

I don’t stop. “You don’t want to go back to working for Rule, do you?”

Rule is a slimy motherfucker who peddles low grade weed to high school students in Manhattan. A long time ago Marcus helped him sell the shit to make ends meet and to get his daughter her treatment. More often than not, he came up short.