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"Odhran McDermott is new and untested as well, Renz, so I would also count him out. His father may have had issues with Francesco, but from what I have heard, Odhran is scrambling to pick up the pieces after his father's death last year." Odhran McDermott is the new head of the Irish Mob. His primary residence is in Chicago, though he spends a lot of time in Ireland, and while his proximity to us is what mainly had him on our list of suspects, Gage is correct in saying that he doesn't quite seem to have it in him to try and start a war with the Italians.
"That leaves Diaz," Renz says, his hand raking through his long hair. "You know more of him than we do Gage. Thoughts?" Quite murmurs from their end of the line trickle through. I'm able to pick up a word here and there, but not enough to understand the conversation.
"It's possible," Gage says, flatly. "The Mexican Cartel has more enemies than allies and I attribute that mainly to the fact that Raul Diaz is a hothead with a power complex that goes beyond anything we've seen before, both of our fathers included. He has men all over the place, willing to do his bidding. He partners with lowly gangs across the United States to do his dirty work for minimal profit. He is a master manipulator and above all else, he's greedy as fuck. If he believes you have something of value, he will attempt to take it, by any means necessary."
"But what?" Maddox says, asking the question that was also on the tip of my tongue. We have nothing of value, nothing that he could benefit from by killing Renz.
"That, I cannot answer," Gage sighs. "But, it's safe to say that Diaz is the most likely culprit."
"As much as I want to know his motive, I think the biggest issue now is, what and the fuck are we supposed to do about it?" Renz growls.
What, indeed?
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Ittookmetwentyminutes to pull myself from the stunned and frozen shock I’d fallen into after Eli had stormed out of Sacred Grounds. It took another twenty for me to hand out the coffees we’d made to various people passing by on the street. I didn’t think it was a wise business decision to waste the product and it ultimately ended up being a good way to advertise our drinks.
However, I wish that the entire ordeal was unnecessary. I have no idea why the man had ordered so many drinks, but as I passed them out, with a large, yet fake smile plastered to my face, I found myself wondering what his plan was. More than that, I was regretting the idiotic and cold joke that I’d played on him. The vision of him on his knees, eyes glassy as he touched my bloated belly and uttered that one word, played through my mind on a loop.
It continued to do so, even as I drove home and changed from my work attire to my gym clothes. It continued to replay, again and again, even as I arrived at my kickboxing class an hour later. No matter how many times I struck the punching bag, or kicked the sparring pads my partner held, it repeated endlessly.
TAKE ME TO CHURCH-HOZIER
His eyes glossed over.
Kick.
His hand on my belly.
Punch.
Ours.
Jab.
Ours. Ours. Ours.
Kick. Punch. Jab. Kick. Punch. Jab.
“Violet?”
His crumpled face, before he hid it. His back as he turned and walked out. The slam of the door.
Kick. Punch. Jab.
“Violet! Enough!” The sound of a man’s voice penetrates the foggy vision I’d lost myself to. I blink, before blinking again. My eyes focus on the class instructor, Kevin. “Are you okay? I’m pretty sure that if you hit my bag any harder, you’ll knock it clean off its chain,” he chuckles, his New Jersey accent heavy as he points to the offending bag.
My arms drop to my sides and it’s then that I realize how exhausted my limbs are. “Shit, I’m so sorry, Kev.” He shakes his head, still smiling, and pats my shoulder.
“No worries. Looked like you needed to exercise some demons today, so I left you to it. Just didn’t want you to hurt yourself when you checked out for a minute there.” I cringe, shooting him an apologetic look.
Kevin’s an awesome guy. He’s been training me for the last few months, ever since I had to seek out a new gym. Needless to say, I had a lot of emotions to burn off and decided to try something new for my workouts. Not to mention how badass I feel when I take someone down with an uppercut to their jaw.
He bends to pick up my water bottle and passes it to me before pointing toward the front of the gym where a row of small bleachers are set up, mostly for parents. Kevin teaches self-defense, muay-tai, kickboxing, and a few other classes for adults, but he also teaches kids karate. Wordlessly, I follow him to the bleachers and drop down on my ass, feeling the burn in my thighs as I do.
I groan, causing him to chuckle. He points to my hands and pats his thigh. If I didn’t know him so well, I’d have balked at the gesture. Instead, I set my hands on his big, meaty thigh and allow him to unwrap my aching fingers and palms. Neither of us speaks while he dutifully removes the tape we use to protect our hands while training with the punching bag.
While he works, I observe his profile, probably with less tact than I should. He’s a beautiful man. Dark chocolate skin that is coated in a fine sheen of sweat. Short black hair that is cut so close to his scalp, he’s damn near bald, but the look works for him. His jaw is strong and square, his cheekbones softly rounded. His black brows are thick but always slightly raised like he’s thinking of a joke that no one else is privy to.
