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I can see the drugs.
That must be what they are.
Cocaine stored in the walls.
What the hell is going on here?
“It’s okay, girl,” I whisper, moving over to her quickly.
I lean down and take her into my arms, cradling her to my chest. I squeeze onto her tightly and stroke my hand over her ears and the back of her head, up and down her body. She’s trembling, all amped-up from her discovery. She’s very acutely affected by anything new. She once went berserk when Jackie changed her shampoo.
I stare at the bundles. I should count myself lucky that Tinkerbell stopped with the cardboard partition and didn’t start burrowing into the packages themselves.
She’s still trembling in my arms, energy racing through her, as though she knows how evil the consequences would be if she found her way into one of those packages.
Suddenly, I feel sick, wrong, like the worst sister in the world.
I put Jackie’s dog at risk.
“Hello?” somebody calls from the top of the stairs.
I recognize him. It’s the bald man, the one who asked me if Tinkerbell is a Chihuahua.
“Is everything okay down there?”
“Yes,” I call, forcing my voice to remain steady. “In fact, it’s better than okay. It’s time for you all to meet Clear Sky Realty’s new mascot.”
I lower my voice and whisper in Tinkerbell’s ear.
“Come on, girl. I’m taking you upstairs. I don’t care what Alexis says. I shouldn’t have left you down here in the first place.”
Chapter Four
Kristian
I sit across the street, gripping the steering wheel hard, trying to keep my breathing at something like a regular level.
The confrontation with Maury has got my blood boiling.
It’s just another reminder that I can’t rely on anyone.
Mother and Father are the only people who’ve never let me down, and one of them is dead.
My gaze moves over the house. I’m gratified to see that the workmanship is topnotch. It’s a large five-bedroom with a long pristine garden surrounded by a white picket fence. It’s built of colorful yellow bricks, giving it a unique, almost old-fashioned sort of look. With the city framed behind it across the river, it looks like somebody has plucked a suburban house and dropped it right here on the outskirts of the city.
I’ve already spoken with Vinnie, a good man who can be trusted. He told me that the contact from the realtor company we’re using is different today. Usually, it’s a woman named Tina.
But today it’s changed.
A woman named Kimberly who’s never been to these new builds before.
Something about that makes me suspicious.
It could be the paranoia that comes along with a life like this, always having to be aware that a meeting could turn into a gunfight at the drop of a hat. My men have informed me that Maury is being watched in his home now, with no access to drugs or drink as I ordered.
Maybe it will straighten him out.
If not, he’ll have to leave the organization, and count himself damn lucky that his fate isn’t worse.
I watch as people walk in and out of the house, tension rising up inside of me.
A new realtor, an open house.
It’s too much activity when I know what’s inside, hidden behind a false partition in the basement.
Fucking Maury and his goddamn mistakes.
He could’ve hired this Kimberly to retrieve the drugs for him in the event that anything went bad. Maybe it was all part of his plan, a backup so that he could keep them. Maybe Maury has more allies than the street kids I’ve already questioned.
Dissent in my ranks—it makes me clench the steering wheel even harder, my knuckles turning the color of bone.
I live an uncomplicated life, one of working out, business, and focus. I don’t indulge in easy women like the weaker men around me do.
But that has more to do with the fact that I’ve never found one I wanted to give my attention to.
I’ve never felt it, whatever the fuck that means.
All I know is that when I see the woman I want, I’ll know it. It’ll be like a punch to the chest. I won’t have to think about it for even a second.
As the years have worn on, I’ve become more and more certain that that’s never going to happen.
Mother implores me to be less fussy.
I’m her only son and she wants some grandchildren one of these days. It’s not like I don’t want kids, heirs, but I’m not just going to take a woman for the sake of it.
I hate the way they throw themselves at my feet, the mob women, the hangers-on.
I know I could have any number of women.
Princesses from other crime families, socialites, women society tells me I’m supposed to be attracted to.
But over the years, I’ve come to be sickened by the looks these women give me, hazy and subservient over glasses of champagne. Several of them have flat-out told me that they’d do whatever I wanted them to. All I have to do is give the command.
