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“Yeah,” I tell her as blankly as I can. With Gracie I keep my emotions on a short rein. I’ve already let her in far more than I’m comfortable with. One more name on a list is how close I am to having everything back to how it should be, my life will soon be back to normal.
But I have to wonder how anything can ever be normal again, after meeting someone who’s allowed me to feel something other than hatred.
The last two weeks I’ve spent with her, I’ve known this wasn’t good for me, that it will only make me miss her more when she’s gone, but it’s too damn hard to resist her.
I’ve tried staying detached from her but it doesn’t work, she spends most of her days around Maddy and Ella, the evenings too. But I always come back to her. I fuck her in all the ways I bet her boyfriend never did, then I hold her tight to me when she falls asleep, pretending to myself that we might work it out. Wondering if I could keep this shit up, and maybe make her happy.
“Back to Woodland Park for me then.” She slides her hands over the lapels of my cut.
“Yeah,” I smile sadly, it’s all I have. I'm not gonna admit that the thought almost makes me want to let the sick fucker that makes money out of innocent kids live another day.
“You better get going then.” Watching her lips move, I don’t care who fucking sees when I grip at her hair and force her onto my mouth. I kiss her the same way Jessie kisses his old lady before he leaves her, and it feels so fucking right that my chest clamps.
“Brax, you coming?” Jessie calls from the truck, and I pull myself away from her, offering her another fake smile as I back away, heading toward a very riled up Jessie.
“I just don’t fucking get it with these women, Brax. If she knows it pisses me off, why would she do it?” Jessie’s still moaning when we pull up outside Thomas Blakeman’s house. The guy is an outstanding citizen in his community. His son’s running for Mayor and has an endless pit of money behind his campaign. It makes my stomach churn thinking about where that money might have come from.
“I mean, she knows how I worry about her. It’s like she does it on purpose.”
“She’s just enjoying being able to get out, the novelty will wear off soon,” I assure him, flicking my cigarette out the window.
“This fucker’s got grandkids,” Jessie tells me, finally changing the subject. There’s a reason this guy has been left for last. Of everyone on the list he has the most money, the best connections. He was an ex-CIA agent, so that explains the involvement of the fuckers I’d taken out.
We believe he’s high up in the organization, maybe even the brains of it. And he must be anticipating that something is coming for him. All eight of his accomplices have vanished from the face of the earth. Me and Jessie have done a good job of making most of them look like suicides, with a lot of help from Grimm. There have been times when we got a little carried away. Me, being mostly to blame for the mishaps, especially in Dr Rodgers’s instance. I’d be interested to read the coroner’s view on why he removed his own testicles and rammed them in the back of his throat, before slitting his wrists and bleeding out in the office of his private practice.
“Maddy says the wife does voluntary in a Children’s ward down at central, she won’t be back till gone seven.”
“We have time to play then,” I nod, thinking the options over in my head.
“This has to look clean, Brax, the only games we play are head games,” Jessie warns.
“My favorite kind.” I smile back at him darkly, getting out of the car and pulling on my leather gloves. Jessie pulls his own gloves on, heading around the back of the property while I make straight for the front door, checking over my shoulder for any witnesses. I knock twice, and smile when a confused looking man answers.
“Mr. Blakeman,” I grin wide.
“Yes,” the older man responds, looking pissed at the disturbance.
“Good,” I nod my head and step in over the threshold, taking his neck in the arch of my hand and forcing him back as I kick the door shut behind me. “Me and my friend would like a word with you.”
“What friend?” he chokes against my grip, and I try not to squeeze too tight for Grimm’s sake, wrinkled skin bruises like a bitch, and bruises are evidence.
“That friend,” I tell him, nodding my head over his shoulder. Slowly, I turn him around so he can see Jessie, who let himself in through the back and is leaning against the wall looking at a framed photo of the old man’s wife and grandkids.
“I don’t know what this is about but I can tell you you’re messing with the wrong man.”
“I don’t think so, do you, Jess?” I ask a now calm and collected Jessie, who steps closer to the man and studies his face.
“Thomas Blakeman? Ex-CIA, devoted husband to Mary. Made senator four years ago,” Jessie reels off his credentials. “Oh yeah, and also likes to do nasty shit to kids.” Jessie tips his head to the side, admiring how the man’s skin turns grey.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” his head shakes, as if he’s appalled by the allegation.
“Sshh,” Jessie’s gloved hand slides over his mouth to silence him, and he presses the tip of his knife under the man’s chin.
“So, tell me Mr. Blakeman, how do you think your wife should find you?”
I have to admit to feeling a little sorry for Mary Blakeman as we leave her perfect, white picket fence home. The vision of her husband swinging from their veranda by his neck when she gets home will probably be one that stays with her for the rest of her life.
Still, it’s better than her and her family knowing the truth. In my eyes, we've done her a favor. It still don’t make me feel any better though.
