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Hey, this is Dace. There’s a party tonight with the team. Come out with us.
Dace’s annoyingly laid-back attitude bursts through my text like I didn’t fuck up our teammate just last week. Why would he invite me? They’re all pretty pissed I got myself kicked off the team, fucking up their games for weeks after. Could be a setup for payback. I have to calm down and remind myself that these guys are college kids and not the Russian Mafia. He probably just wants me to buy him beer or pot, and I’m plotting to kill him if things go south.
But more importantly, I’ve just been invited to Atlas’s date.
And I wouldn’t miss that for the fucking world. With a smirk, I slide out from my hideaway bush, and before jogging back to my car to meet men who very much might ambush me some day, I send Dace a one-word reply and even add a little happy face emoji at the end that I think really conveys my feelings.
Sure ??
* * *
I park only six blocks away from Atlas. It calms me a bit to know I’m not that far from her, but it also stresses me the fuck out to know these assholes aren’t that far from her either.
Initially, I was hired to make sure Atlas Ortega didn’t cause waves. My job has quietly changed in the last few years. I went from her stalker to her bodyguard, and I swear to god, if any of these fuckers ever touch her, I’ll burn this whole city to ash.
I walk the last few blocks to the warehouse at the edge of town. Thick trees shadow the back side of it while busy streets line the front. The old structure appears abandoned, but only in an exterior sense. I pull open the black iron door on the side of the brick building and step inside. The entry loft alone cost more than most people’s houses. A bar area is just to the right with a full rack of expensive knives that he keeps on display simply for cutting the lemons in his cocktails. The brick is exposed across that wall, but the industrial lighting above was imported from Europe. Ed likes to tell everyone about his finances. As if the fact that he wipes his ass with golden-lined toilet paper is supposed to impress anybody in his fucking social circles. My mother was born with wealth. Ed bought his way into it. You can tell the difference. My mother used to tell me that money talks. But wealth whispers.
Ed doesn’t know how to fucking whisper.
“Rowan, my boy, so glad you could make it.” Ed smiles a perfect politician’s smile as he walks around the table to shake my hand and clap my back in one swift move. His dark brown hair shines in the light, and I try not to stare at how unnatural the color looks against the thinness of his hairline.
I nod but remain silent, choosing to fold my hands in front of myself and square my posture. I don’t talk a lot. It’s not beneficial for me to speak. Only to listen.
And if you listen long enough, people will tell you all the little things they never say. Like right at this moment, every single man in the room, standing just at Ed’s back, is telling me they suck his asshole for a living.
And they’re afraid of me. I like that. It reminds me of the first time I realized Ed was afraid of me.
“How’s the girl?”
“She was attacked.” I pause and watch his body language intently.
I notice every twitch of his ears, his nose. His facial features never change from that shitty look of fake concern. But he shifts backwards. He puts space between him and me. He’s a fool for that. He thinks if I wanted to kill him, I wouldn’t jump across the space that separates us just to wring his fat neck.
“Yes.” He clears his throat, then repeats, “Yes. Well, youaretaking a rather long time to get her out of my city.” The implication is heavy in his words, but my vacant stare is heavier.
“I have everything under control.” I grab the weapon from the back of my jeans with calculated malice, and every man in the room takes a step back. A tremble of fear vibrates through them, and I can almost taste it like acid in the air. Knowing they fear me eases something inside my erratic soul. It shows that despite all their money and influence, I’m the one with the real power here.
Money can be made. Power is a special creation. It takes years of cruel affection and long-forgotten scars to create power and control. Even Ed has a hand in the monster he made me to be.
I throw the gun on the table between us. It clanks down hard, rattling through the open space harshly. Blood coats the metal, and now the dry red flecks taint the glossy white countertop that he had custom built just for this room.
Why anyone would ever use white decor, I’ve no idea. Too easy, too dirty. Too hard to clean. The dusting of blood makes my fingers twitch and my brain itch.
I ignore it. Itryto ignore it.
“Do noteversend someone in on my job again.”
Fear is tantalizing, immediate, and satisfying. His fingers tremble, and his gaze widens on the gun. I wonder if he recognizes it for what it is and who it belongs to. That scum in the alleyway was careless with his property. It’s so easy to search through the system and find who the gun is registered to.
Nobody knows how to commit a proper crime these days.
“Wh–what did you do, Rowan?” Ed asks carefully. “Joseph was a friend!”
“If the friend you hired was important to you, you can pick him up at the landfill on the south side of town. Though I’d hurry if I were you. He’ll be buried beneath your beautiful city’s weekly trash soon.” I brush off my hands on the sides of my jeans and head toward the door. “Start running background checks on the sloppy criminals you choose to hire, Ed. You’re not in Ohio anymore. Hire the wrong person and your entire empire could come crumbling down. Fuck around with the wrong people too much...” I throw him a smile. “You could just end up dead.”
I shoot him one final glance before swinging open the enormous door.
“Remember where your loyalties lie, boy!” he screams after me, his bellowing voice carrying all through his pretty warehouse as my boots crunch over the rock and broken glass outside.
