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I refuse to be a drunk like my father, God rest him.
I sip the whiskey, letting it burn down my throat and into my belly.
“Reckon we should call it a night, boss?” Artie says, eyes shimmering as he pushes his glasses up his nose.
I smirk, gesturing to the ceiling, to the club.
“Got a date, Artie?” I ask.
“One or two,” he grins. “But I’ll keep on until sunrise if that’s what it takes.”
“There’s nothing else we can do,” I sigh. “Let’s put the boys on it overnight, expanding our search zone. The fact is, Maury knows this city better than most. If he doesn’t want to be found, it’s going to be damn difficult to find him. I’ll call my contacts at the police and have them keep their eyes peeled for him, too.”
“Good idea,” Artie says. “But in the meantime, wanna come and talk to some lovely ladies with me?”
He’s teasing, knowing I’m going to tell him no.
I’ve never shown interest in the loose women who frequent these clubs, with their skirts riding up to their crotches and their thin legs on display. They don’t flood me with the same irrepressible need that Kimberly’s thick, grab-me thighs ignite in me.
“I found a girl, Artie,” I tell him.
He freezes for a moment, his whiskey glass held aloft.
“Seriously?” he says a moment later. “That’s amazing, boss.”
I nod, taking another sip of whiskey.
My body buzzes pleasantly, but I won’t make the same mistake Maury or my father did, chasing the buzz, seeking to increase it until increasing it becomes impossible.
“She’s everything I could’ve wished for,” I say passionately, aching for her just by simply talking about her.
“I’m happy for you,” he says. “You deserve it. She must be one special lady to make you look twice.”
“She’s special, alright,” I growl. “She’s like—hell, Artie. I don’t know how to explain it. She makes me feel like a child in some ways. Everything is new. Everything is exciting. I’d kill any man who touched her. That’s how I know it’s serious. I’ve never felt possessive over a woman before—I’ve never felt anything for a woman before.”
I place my whiskey glass down, searching Artie’s eyes for any sign that he’s silently mocking me, judging me for this show of emotion.
But Artie is my most trusted man.
I may not have known him for as long as Maury, but he’s ten times the man that junkie is.
Artie smiles, knocking back more whiskey.
I wave a hand at the door.
“Go on,” I tell him. “Don’t keep your dates waiting.”
He stands up, grinning, but then leans forward and bows his head.
“Kristian,” he says.
I flinch at the use of my name.
Even though I’ve urged him to use it many times – but only in private – he rarely does.
“I want to pledge my life to your lady, just as my life is pledged to yours,” he says. “Just as I’d die to protect you from harm, I’d die to protect your lady – and any children you might have – just the same. Let me make the pledge in blood.”
I stand up and walk around the desk, clapping my hand on the smaller man’s shoulder.
“I appreciate your offer, Artie,” I tell him. “I really do. And I don’t mean to offend you. But I don’t need any help protecting my lady. I’d tear this city to bloody strips if someone tried to harm her.”
Artie bows his head.
“Of course,” he says. “Now, if you’ll excuse me …”
I chuckle.
“You’re excused, alright,” I smirk, taking my cellphone from my inside jacket pocket. “I’ve got plans of my own this evening.”
Chapter Fifteen
Kimberly
I stand at Jackie’s bedroom door, cradling Tinkerbell to my chest as Jackie dances in front of her canvas. That really is what it looks like, the way she moves as she paints, sometimes pausing to tilt her head at her work.
It’s a dance.
She’s upturned her bed and placed it against the wall, gathering her dresser drawers and her belongings beneath it. The rest of the room is a makeshift studio, the floors covered in paint-spattered newspaper.
The canvas is large, and slowly – stroke by stroke – a gorgeous, surreal ocean scene is emerging.
I spot us all standing on the edge of the yacht, looking down on a glittering sea. But there are impossible things about the painting, too, like the sunlight flourishing beneath the yacht like liquid fire.
Jackie pauses, turning to me breathlessly.
I love seeing her like this, her smile wide and irrepressible, her cheeks flaming red with the fire of her creativity.
“I don’t know what this is,” she says. “But I like it, Kimmy. I really like it. Something about the boat – about Carmela – it just inspired me, you know?”
“Well, keep going,” I say. “Go for as long as you can. Don’t let it fade.”
She nods. I’m repeating her own words back to her, reminding her that she can do this.
