Authors: Rie Warren
But, well, I just couldn’t bring myself to give a fuck. I’d never been in love before. Not like this. So I whistled. It helped that my cheerful attitude made Walker leave any room in the house where I took up a happy tune.
No matter how hard the two of us beat the motherfucking bushes with Frankie’s aid as my favorite flip informant, we got no break on Vicente. But he was here. He was near. I felt it in my bones. It was only a matter of time before he held a knife to my throat or went the more civilized route and tried to make contact.
Since I was in a whistling sort of mood—never before heard of—I decided to volunteer at the pre-Turkey Day party in Jack’s class the following week. I even bought a double-order of themed cupcakes. As I headed out the door, Walker looked at me as if I’d grown an extra head . . . or a conscience. He snatched a gobble-gobble treat from the tray, and I drew my gun on him.
“Touch another one and die.” I meant that shit literally.
“They’re good,” he said through a full mouth, eyeing the platter of baked goods. “Although as an Injun myself I don’t really go in for this Thanksgiving crap.”
“And I’m serious about the being dead thing.”
If nothing else, heading to Cooper Hall Elementary gave me a break from our Odd Couple existence. Of course, I had an ulterior motive, too. I could keep a much better eye on Jack and Jessica if I was actually in the classroom. Hell, I might even become teacher’s pet. The final Friday before Thanksgiving, I was waved through the school office with an appreciative glance from the receptionist who recognized me from Raid Day. She slid a sticker with my face on it below the partition before I could even get out my wallet. In return, I offered her a cupcake.
As I navigated the hallways, I nodded at students and teachers alike. They giggled and gossiped in quiet voices in reply. Maybe I wasn’t as scary as I should be. I’d have to rectify that.
Jessica’s door was open, laughter erupting from inside. I liked to tell myself she’d coerced me into doing this good deed the last time she’d fucked me—a hurried against-the-door screw a few nights ago—but that’d be a bald-faced lie. I jonesed for a look at her every second of the day. In her biker babe gear or her hot-for-teacher skirts . . . I simply wanted her. Double win? Jack was here, too.
As soon as I entered, he bowled against my legs with his head down like a hyperactive little billy goat. I placed the cupcakes on a table and scooped him into my arms. He’s smelled like youth—a little dirty, a little soapy, and fresh with the remnants of pencil shavings.
Setting him on his feet, I asked, “Ready for the Monster Mash, monster?”
“That’s Halloween, Daddy.” Jack towed me by my hand into a melee of other parents.
They looked so PTA-socialite-superior compared to my old faded jeans, the well worn leather jacket, and the aviator shades hooked on the collar of my shirt, I almost did an about-face, but Jessica suddenly appeared by my side.
Momentarily slipping her hand into mine, she introduced me to the Pinckneys, Calhouns, and Ravenels, Mt. Pleasant’s very own answer to the Rothschilds, Gettys, and Carnegies. I stopped paying attention to everyone else, hearing only Jessica’s low voice. Didn’t hurt she wore mega-high heels, black hose, and then there were the freckles. Not that I had a fetish or anything . . .
she
was my fetish.
“You bought cupcakes?” She leaned up to me once the handshaking and sizing up with the other parents was over and the kids got busy with the first game.
I dragged my hands through my too-long black hair. “Did I do something wrong?”
“No!” She turned to inspect the tray with a small frown. “They’re perfect.”
“Why do you look like I fucked up then?” I peered over her shoulder.
She pivoted enough her soft hair hit my chin, her smile wide. “I thought you’d bring mini-bottles or something.”
I stepped back with a snort. “Me? I’m Mister Mom, sweetheart.”
“Let’s see if you survive the next hour first,
huh
?”
There she went with the challenge again. I took it up. “Ye of little faith.”
There was no way I could blend in with the moms in floral dresses and highlighted hair or the dads in chinos and loafers, but that didn’t matter. I was here for Jessica and her students, and my crafts table rocked it out. Probably because I didn’t give a shit if the kids glued feathers to their own hair instead of the Native American headdresses they were supposed to be making.
Watching Jessica in action as she handled passive aggressive complaints from parents and demands from her students, I stared at her until my eyes were
glued
to her. She gently smoothed ruffled feathers while never giving in, always sticking to her guns.
Yep, I was in love. And I didn’t give a shit. I’d say it again. Next time she’d be awake. Yeah, I had big cojones.
In the middle of fucking up all Jessica’s well-laid party plans I got a call from Frankie followed fast by one from Walker. I took both calls in the hall outside the room, closing the door behind me. Frankie told he finally had visual confirmation. Vicente was in fact in town. Walker’s info was more concerning, but nothing I didn’t expect. Vicente wanted a solo meet-up with me tonight.
Back inside the classroom, I crouched in front of Jack. “Hey, monster. Daddy has to go to work, but Mommy’s picking you up after school, okay?”
His dark head nudged my chin before he looked up at me with dazzling gold-brown eyes. He clasped my face in both hands, laughing when my stubble scratched his palms. “Okay, but do you
reeeeally
like Miss Barnes?” he so unsubtly whispered.
Aware Jessica watched us—I felt the heat of her stare on me like a caress—I solemnly answered, “I really like her.
Really, really
.”
He clapped his hands against my cheeks. “Yay! She can be my second momma!”
Aaaand
all eyes in the classroom swung to us.
I quieted Jack, my neck growing hot with all the attention aimed at me. “Let’s do the
keep a secret
thing, huh?”
“Where you go away for a lot of time? Like that?”
With a bright stab of pain in my chest, I hugged him tight. “No.” I spoke gruffly. “Not like that, baby boy. Never again like that.”
“I don’t like you being away.”
“Me either.” I brushed the hair off his forehead and kissed him there. “Me either.”
Jack scooted out of my arms. “Off you go then!”
“
Huh
?”
“That’s what Mommy always says when she brings me to school.” He jerked his thumb toward the door.
I stood, ruffing his hair. “Right. I’ll talk to you later. Love you, baby boy.”
Approaching Jessica at the front of the room, I asked, “Can you take a break for a minute?”
She observed her class for a moment—the kids hopped up on juice boxes and sugar highs, the parents trying to stem oncoming meltdowns—and nodded.
Her hand in mine, I towed her outside the door. “I have to go meet someone.”
“Someone who?”
“Someone I don’t like very much, and that’s all you’re getting from me.”
“Can I ask you something, Hunter?” She stroked my wrist, looking down at my large hands clasping hers.
“You can ask. Doesn’t mean I can always answer.”
“You didn’t want to be with me at first.”
“
Ahh.
Correction. I wanted to be with you more than anything. I didn’t think I should let myself. Not all that much has changed, but I can’t stop when it comes to you, JB.”
When I said her nickname, she peered up at me. “Why? Why shouldn’t you have me?”
“Sometimes I’m the bad guy.” I answered as honestly as I could.
“I think I’m strong enough to handle whatever truth you’re not telling me.”
“I bet you are. You’re stronger than me.” I smiled down at her and touched the soft skin of her cheek. “Smarter. And so much sexier.” I kissed her lips, a feather-brush to savor later. “I want more now. I want everything. I want you. And I have things to settle first.”
“Starting with this meeting?”
“Something like that.”
“You’ll be safe?” Jessica leaned back, her hands on my chest. “You’ll come home to me tonight?”
“I will.”
I just hoped it wasn’t in a body bag. The one I’d been avoiding for years.
Chapter Twelve
WHEN I’D SAID I’D be safe that was no lie.
I didn’t know what Vicente was planning but my rule of thumb when going up against an enemy was guns, more guns, and . . . well . . . a knife or two.
Riding to the meet point on my bike, I throttled down as I neared the waterfront warehouse in the stinking pisshole area of downtown Charleston no tourists ever saw. The docks were all cracked cement, straggly weeds, and laid up, rust-bottomed boats. The windowpanes were intact on the abandoned-looking building I approached but that was about as far as the niceties extended. An old metal sign hung overhead, painted in faded red:
Cigar Factory
.
Fitting, considering the Cuban who’d set up this meet and mess-you-up.
The area appeared completely unoccupied except for the Cigar Factory warehouse Vicente had indicated, but appearances were deceiving, as I knew well. My hackles shot up immediately. I took a closer look. Coils and coils of razor wire topped the building and all around on the rooftops taller darker shadows bristled against the night. Men, with automatic weapons.
“Shit,” I muttered.
“What up, Kemosabe?”
a disembodied voice floated back to me via my earpiece.
“This is not a safe setup.”
“You want extraction?”
Walker asked.
“Not unless you hear bullets start flying. Might as well get some recce done while I’m here.”
Unstraddling the Deus Grievous Angel, I slowly took off my helmet and put it aside. Vicente stood at the door of the Cigar Factory between two of his henchmen. I recognized both of them. Elon was old enough to be Vicente’s grandfather. In my days with Tampa Bay Outlaws, he’d taken care of the club better than any probie. He was mother
and
father figure to the members. He’d had two teeth left in his gums the last time I’d seen him, probably fewer now. The thing about Elon was loyalty. He’d sworn his allegiance to Vicente when the wily
niño prodigio
was still in the cradle, and he didn’t switch allegiances. Also, he was a sure-shooter, no matter if he squinted with one working eye and his knuckles swelled with rheumatism.
I walked toward the men, my hands up at my sides to show I wasn’t packing. Well, not that they could see.
Elon’s smile grew, showing a lone last tooth jutting out. “
Cazador! El malo de la película!
”
I hugged the skinny stick figure, my gaze locked with Vicente’s beady stare the entire time. “
Tanto tiempo, guapo como nunca huevón
, Elon.” I drew back.
Luis shouldered between us. Whereas Elon was trusted friend and nearly family to Vicente, Luis was all bulldog bodyguard. I definitely noted I was told to come alone yet my old
compadre
relied on his backup singers to pat me down. Elon had done it with a pickpocket’s grace while hugging me. Luis relied on brute force. His ugly face was a block of heavy brow, lantern jaw, and deeply set eyes.
I smiled when Luis stepped away. He showed my pair of Glocks to the boss man then opened his other palm with my formerly concealed Ka-Bar laid out.
“Safe as houses now, eh? But still not big as one, like Luis here.” I jabbed my elbow into the giant’s cement gut. Probably dislocated my shoulder in doing so.
“
Si.
Safe as houses.” Vicente took a few steps forward. “As soon as you strip down.”
“Now I done a lot of things for you in the past. But I don’t recall being your pet ass-monkey as one of them.”
“And I
eseem
to recall you do not work for me at all. Wire taps,
compadre
? Not permitted.”
I stripped off in the cold November night, dropping my jacket, shirt, jeans, boots and socks. Cold seeped through my bones, but I stood with legs spread and arms raised as Elon and Luis inspected me.
“
Nada
.” They agreed.
I wasn’t carrying more than my ballsack and big though it was, it didn’t pose a death threat.
At Vicente’s nod, I leisurely dressed. Fuck them all. I didn’t care if my dick froze off. I’d go down with total bravado.
What the trio didn’t know was I had backup, too. Walker wasn’t here, but he was close enough. Unlike my old school lock-picking tools, I wore a state of the art, dual in-ear transmitter. Walker and I weren’t Feebs. We had better shit than wire taps on hand.
Walker may not have had eyes on the meeting, but he definitely had ears.
“Cazador Saucedo. Hunter Angelo. Hunter
Sexton
.” Vicente strolled around me, stroking his mustache. “A lot of names to keep track of,
muchacho
. A lot of people connected to you.”
I wouldn’t let him see how his words, his quietly voiced threat, affected me, remaining dead calm in the face of danger as always.
I ambled after him into the warehouse, noting the explosives protecting the entry. I assumed all the entry points including the windows were likewise rigged.
He’d learned his lesson from Tampa. There’d be no easy way to get access to him even if Walker and I got past his rooftop army.
“Nice digs.”
Not.
Vicente dismissed his men, and they left us alone. He strolled toward a football-field-sized leather couch and relaxed onto it. The other stand-outs in the cavernous concrete vault were a rack of perfectly pressed suits in flamboyant colors, and a neat line of liquor bottles complete with crystal tumblers arranged on top of a wooden chest. Chief among them, tequila.
“Sit.” He patted the cushion beside him. “Long time no see. I would say
amigo
, but we are both past that now.”
I took a load off, aiming for relaxed and casual although all my senses went on high alert. “I see no reason we can’t be friends again.”