Lucky for me, I know the perfect person to take my anger out on.
“Is Dimitri in?”
A brute with a skull full of tats notches up his head before he requests for me to pop open the Buick’s trunk. When he twists his semi-automatic weapon around so it hangs off his back, I remove a gun from the glove compartment. It isn’t the one I purchased on Demi’s birthday. I borrowed this one from one of Dimitri’s crew during my first stop this morning.
Only a fool enters a gun battle with his fists at the ready.
I’m not surprised to find Dimitri seated behind a big desk, wrangling paperwork. Drug lords don’t sleep during peak business hours.
After taking in my balled fists, Dimitri locks his eyes with my face. He knows why I’m here, but he acts as if he doesn’t. “The funds from last month’s fights will be deposited into your account by the end of business Friday. I don’t have any intel on the fighters being brought forward for next month.”
“I’m not here about our arrangement.” Hoping there’s some kind of man hidden beneath his grouchy exterior, I slot into the chair across from him before hooking my right ankle onto my left knee. “Is it true you’re using my sister as bait?”
His scoff is silent but oh-so-fucking gratifying.
His ship has a leak because I just removed the first plug.
“Whatever do you mean?” Dimitri asks, acting stupid.
“Don’t play the dumb card with me, Dimitri. You might have all the stupid fuckers around here believing you’ve got the hots for my sister, but I know there’s more to it than you’re letting on. You paid the dessert menu more attention last week than you did Justine, yet you’re trying to organize another date. Why?”
Even before Rocco let slip during our tussle this morning that I have nothing to worry about because Dimitri has no desire to bed Justine, I had an inkling Dimitri’s interests weren’t as they seemed. Caidyn said over and over again during a three-hour-long teleconference yesterday that Dimitri drooled over the dessert menu more than he did Justine last week, yet we still needed another two-hour-long conversation about it. I’m fucking wrecked, and all I’ve done the past three days is talk.
Dimitri slightly tilts to his left. A telltale sign he just drew his gun on me. “She isn’t in any danger.”
“That wasn’t what I asked.”
I wink, then lean forward, my composure too frayed to feel fear. In the heat of the moment, I slid into the driver’s seat of the Buick and took off like a bat out of hell. I wasn’t bolting from Demi. I was eager to get this stage of our life over and done with. I just really fucking hope she doesn’t misread my disappearance in the wrong manner when she wakes up. Things have been tough the past three days, but knowing she’s there, ready and willing to lend me an ear once the shit stops raining down on me made everything a little easier to swallow.
Although Dimitri is quick to shut it down, I still spot the shock that registers on his face before it fully disappears. He, like many other people in this shithole, underestimated the Walsh reputation. We can protect those we love without machine guns, and even if they were required, they’d never know it.
“You’re willing to die for your sister?” I don’t need to answer him. He can see the confirmation in my eyes. “How does Demi feel about that?”
No number of swallows will lessen the gurgle of my stomach. Demi took the hit of a man without a single tear falling down her cheek. She’s as strong as an ox, but I’d rather she didn’t need to be.
Confident he has me right where he needs me, Dimitri sinks low in his chair. “If Demi were taken by your enemies, how far would you go to get her back?” Just the fact he asks that reveals he has no clue Demi’s biggest enemy is the man who gave him life. “And what about that kid of yours growing in her stomach? The one you don’t know about because you’re ignoring all the signs.”
I can’t talk. My mouth gapes open and closed, but not a single word escapes me. I’m not just summarizing what he said, I am seeking the signs he’s confident I missed. There is a handful of them, but that doesn’t mean what I think it does, right? Girls pee more than guys, in general, and the extra sleep Demi has been getting the past couple of days is from sexual exhaustion, right?
Right.
Then why the fuck is the voice inside my head screaming the opposite?
“What if he or she were ripped away from you? How far would you go to keep her safe?” It dawns on me it isn’t just Demi being fucked over by her uncle. Not even his son is safe. “My daughter was cut out of my wife’s stomach. They butchered her like a piece of worthless meat. I don’t care who I have to trample, I won’t stop until they’re forced to pay for their mistakes.”
Although I get what he’s saying, nothing can alter the facts. “Justine is my sister. I won’t have her used like this.”
“And she’s my daughter!” After tossing a photo of a dark-haired girl I’d guess to be around the age of two to my side of his desk, Dimitri stands from his chair so there isn’t a chunk of wood between me and the muzzle of his gun. “She ranks higher than anyone.”
His flaring nostrils double when I return his hostile stance with one just as aggressive. He’s shocked I have the gall to pull a gun on him, but his surprise won’t see him standing down anytime soon. We stand across from each other for the next several seconds, our stare-down only ending when a thick Russian voice booms across the room, “Lower your guns.” Seconds feel like minutes when we ignore the stranger’s directive. “Don’t make me repeat myself. I’ll shoot you both before leaving you here to rot. Trust me when I say two less criminals in a sea of many won’t be missed.”
Hating that he has me confused as one of Dimitri’s goons, I lower my gun before ending our exchange with a final warning, “Stay away from my sister.”
I dump the gun with the serial number scratched off onto his desk before walking away. My brisk pace slows when my eyes land on the person who interrupted us. He’s the man who tried to convince Demi to press charges when he found her battered and bruised outside a rusty old pub. He’s a fucking agent, and I’m once again close to being snared by a Bureau’s trap.
While cursing my stupidity into the cool night air, I divert the direction of my course. Instead of heading back to the Buick to drop it off at Rocco’s mansion-size home, I move into the street. Demi will never achieve the peaceful life she’s after if I serve seven years behind bars for drug trafficking.
Upon noticing a van with a local pizza shop sign on the side door, I pull up the collar of my jacket. No pizza company in Hopeton has the funds to purchase a brand-new Mercedes Benz X-Class commercial vehicle. They pay Col far too much to keep their legitimate businesses off his radar to splurge. I wouldn’t be surprised to discover half of the Hopeton businesses can’t afford their staff’s wages.
I keep my chin glued to my chest until I round the corner the van is parked on, then I prick my ears to ensure I’m not being followed. I walk almost eight blocks before I flag down a cab coming in the opposite direction. I could call my brothers to pick me up, but I’m already struggling to work out how I’ll explain to Demi where I’ve been the past five hours. I don’t need more controversy.