Rachel Dyken - Elect

“You have two autopilots. Jackassery or sentimental sap. Why can’t you just find some middle ground? Hmm?” She teased.

“Go big or go home, I guess.” I leaned in until our lips were touching again.

She pulled back.

Shit.

“I…” Her cheeks stained red. “Chase, I like you, I love you, but Nixon’s only been dead a few days and I just—” Tears welled behind her eyes. “I’m not saying no. I’m just saying not right now. I need time. And the way you kiss me, the way you touch me…” She choked on a sob. “Sometimes it makes me forget him and I hate myself that I would do that after everything he’s done for you, and for me.”

Never in my life had I ever felt like a bigger bastard than in that moment. I jerked away from her and picked up both our bags. “You’re right, Trace. I’m sorry, I don’t know what came over me.”

“Hormones?” she joked.

I laughed with her, but inside I was a bit crushed. Maybe for her… but for me? It was instinct. It was love.

I knew something was wrong the minute Tony answered the phone. “Yes?” He was too calm, too patient, not his usual self.

“So we doing this or what?” I snapped.

“Patience,” Tony chuckled. “Don’t you just love when everything goes according to plan?”

“I freaking live for it. Seriously. Oh look, I almost shit my pants with happiness at your excitement.”

“You’re a pain in the ass, you know that?”

“Yeah, well.” I rolled my eyes and managed to keep my tone even. “It’s my marker; what can I say?”

Tony was silent for a minute and then said quickly, “My house. We’ll meet there and do the exchange.”

“If you double-cross me—”

“You’re the one getting the better end of the deal. My silence. My loyalty. And my money. You’ll shut the hell up if you know what’s good for you.”

I laughed.

“What’s so funny?” Tony snapped.

“You.”

“Don’t push me, boy, or I’ll—”

“Do nothing. That’s right. Nothing. You may have the money, you may pull the strings, and you may think I’m a dumbass puppet, but I have one thing you don’t.”

“What’s that?”

“Every damn card stacked against you. So if I were you, I’d start talking a little nicer before I rain a hellstorm on your freaking parade.”

I hung up the phone then threw it across the room.

Luca clapped behind me. “Well played. Perhaps I do have use for you in my family.”

I shook my head. “More family is the last thing I need.”

“Redemption.” Luca’s eyes narrowed. “Would be a first.”

“How the hell do you redeem the damned, Luca? A shit’s still a shit even when you put a rose on it.”

“And blood is thicker than life.” Luca slowly lifted his cigar to his mouth and took a puff. “You may say you don’t want a family, you may say you want out, but you’re forgetting one tiny thing.”

I looked away, hoping he wouldn’t go on.

“I. Own. You.”

“Everything ready?” Nixon said as he came into the room.

I quickly hid my expression and shrugged. “Of course.” My eyes darted to Luca and he gave a slight nod. “Everything’s going perfectly according to plan.”

“Good.” Nixon’s mouth relaxed as he took a seat in the chair and looked at his phone again. I knew what he was doing; he was memorizing her face. Hell, if I had a girl I’d be doing the same damn thing. Made men were no different from soldiers headed off to war—in the end we all wanted something to fight for—whether it be a pretty girl or a cause. When facing death—every human being needed something that, if the worst happened—would pull them through.

And maybe that’s why I was beginning to feel more terrified than anything—because I knew—I had nobody worth pulling for, and it hurt like hell.

After my make-out session gone wrong, I called for Tex to pick up Trace. We didn’t talk about it any further and it kind of pissed me off that something I wanted so badly was so close I was able to taste it, but could not fully have it.

I was confused by my own feelings and definitely not on my A game, which meant it was possible I was going to get murdered in my own bank if I didn’t get my shit together—fast.

Checking both of my guns for the third time, I put both of them in the back of my pants and pulled my shirt over them.

I was a big fan of brass knuckles, so I had one of those on my left hand. It also had a knife that would snap out and slice someone if I needed it. I did all my business with my right hand anyway.

After taking a few deep breaths, I approached the large building. It was white with large spikes protruding from the top. Tony had built it to look like more of an artful fortress than a business building. His office, and the offices of the family, were all in the bottom of the building. The basement.

They were down there for a reason.

No windows to jump out of, no escape.

If you went down there and had done something to piss off the Abandonatos, you should record your good-bye on the little security video on the elevator, because it would take an act of God for you to make it out alive.

Funny thing is, we’d had several people do just that. It was like they knew by pushing basement that it was their final descent.

It was their hell.

I waved at the secretary, and she smiled and waved back. With an exhale I walked toward the back of the building where the elevators were located. I pushed the button, it dinged, and I walked in and looked up at the camera as the silver doors closed.

Basement. I pushed the glowing B button and waited as the elevator descended to the bottom floor. With a ding, the doors opened. Complete silence greeted me. I walked directly toward the basement-level secretary.

Her eyes revealed her fear.

That was the first and last thing I noticed before a gun went off. A bullet whizzed by my head. I ducked and reached into my waistband for a gun. I turned to the right and saw a guy stalking toward me. The secretary started screaming and hid in the corner. I fired two shots directly at his forehead and rolled behind the desk, where the secretary was seated. Releasing my brass knuckles I grabbed my other gun and held it out in front of me. One gun was pointed to the right, one to the left.

And then I felt something touch the back of my head.

“Not so smart for a boss, eh?” a man’s voice said.

I didn’t panic. It wouldn’t make anything better. “I’m smart.”

“Oh, yeah? Then why do you have a gun pointed at your head?”

I shrugged. “You tell me.” I looked down at his shoes.

Not boots. He was wearing tennis shoes. Brand-new tennis shoes. Not name brand. I closed my eyes and inhaled. He smelled like fast food.

Paid. He was a hired hit man. By the looks of his shoes he’d already gotten half his payment, too.

He also wasn’t used to the mafia, used to our kind.

I laughed.

“Stop laughing!” He pushed the gun harder against my head. “I’m gonna enjoy this.”

I sighed and stepped on his foot then quickly leaned over to the right as I pulled his arm forward and smacked it against the marble countertop. His gun toppled to the ground. I turned and kicked him in the stomach, and he stumbled backward, hitting the copy machine.

“I’ll enjoy this much more, I guarantee it.” I pulled out my gun and shot him in both knees. He fell to the ground with a loud crack and swore in agony.

Three more. There were three more guys.

Footsteps neared me.

I ducked under the desk and motioned for the secretary to be quiet, but her hands were shaking. Shit. With one swift movement, I knocked her to the floor and pulled her underneath the table with me.

“Thank you, thank you.” She shook in my arms.

I hit her across the back of the head, rendering her unconscious. She wouldn’t thank me when she woke up with a killer headache, but at least she’d be alive.

The footsteps got closer.

And then three shots rang out.

A man walked in front of the desk. His shoes were—white.

His hand reached down to me. “Come on. I don’t have all day,” he whined, sounding genuinely irritated that he’d had to shoot someone.

I grabbed his hand but kept my finger on the trigger in my left hand.

Once he pulled me out from underneath the desk I was face-to-face with the last person I thought I’d see.

“Sergio?” I gasped. “Man! I thought you moved!”

“Nah.” He unloaded his gun. “I like to dabble every now and then when I see a damsel in distress.”

I snorted and put my gun away. “Same ol’ Sergio. Thanks, by the way. You must be—”

“The ghost.”

“Didn’t think you were a man for hire these days.”

His brown eyes narrowed. “A man does what he can do, to help family.” Sergio tucked his gun in the back of his pants and leaned against the marble countertop.

I swallowed and looked away. “Yeah, well… think you can help me get the account information?”

He snorted. “I could do it blindfolded. Let’s get this done. You’ve got more guns waiting for you.”

“I wait with bated breath.” I swore and followed him into Tony’s office. It suddenly felt wrong to be calling him Tony instead of Dad. But there was no love lost, and that was damn tragic. Parentless kids, all of us. Nixon, Trace, Mo, Mil.

“So.” Sergio sat behind the computer. “Word on the street is you need ten mil.”

“Word on the street? What are we? In a gang?”