Dirty

  I stand behind Maxim Nikulin, and my entire body shakes with rage. He has yet to notice he has company.

  The small woman tied to the big wooden X is unrecognizable. Her face is swollen, her eyes are black and bruised, and now, because of this sick fuck, she has a jagged gash trailing the length of her face.

  I don’t know this woman, but if Julius chose her, those are all the credentials I need to see. And right now, she’s being cruelly brutalized.

  No.

  That just won’t do.

  Pistol in hand, lightning fast, I snake my arm around Maxim’s neck and pull him into a chokehold. Dropping the knife, he begins to struggle. He elbows me, pinches me, tries to move me in any which way, but all it does is fuel my rage. Before I know it, I’m throwing him into tables and knocking chairs down by slamming his head into them. The longer the struggle, the hotter the embers of my fury burn.

  Maxim’s fight weakens until all he can do is gasp for breath.

  The plan was to let him pass out, tie him up, and then deliver him into Black’s custody. But as I stand here with this madman choking in my hold, I look over at the broken woman he’s marked, and I know, in this moment, I can’t do what I originally intended.

  I will break my promise to Black, and it will likely cost me my freedom, but I can’t let Maxim Nikulin live.

  The man in my hold falls in and out of consciousness, falling to his knees before me, and I follow him down. Head lolling to the side, I release him and lift my hands to either side of his head, grasping him tight. With a swift jerk, multiple snaps sound and I let go of him. He falls to the ground with a thud, his eyes wide open but crossed, mouth parted, his head slumping at an unnatural angle.

  Without another thought, I make my way to the naked and scarred, unmoving petite female tied to the cross and loosen the knots at her feet and arms, letting her down to the ground.

  My heart sinks. It doesn’t look like she’s breathing.

  “Ana?” I gently tap her face. No. She’s definitely not breathing. My panic rises. “Ana, fuck! Stay awake. Shit, wake up.” My only thoughts are of Julius finding her like this. I growl out, “Live, goddamn it!”

  My eyes close in dejection as her small, limp body lays on mine. She’s so small. So tiny.

  No. She’s not leaving without a fight.

  “Live. Come on, girl, breathe. Do it.” I lay her down on the ground, place my hands together between her breasts and pump. I do this a long while, but… nothing.

  No.

  Julius can’t lose another person.

  Pulling her up onto me, I rock her body as if one would a child, and I beg her to not let my best friend bury another person he loves. I whisper in her ear, “If you can’t do it for Julius, do it just to spite those motherfuckers.”

  “Twitch, I need you to hold her still,” a soft feminine voice sounds, and I look up to find my sister coming toward us with a shot. Evander follows close behind. I hold Ana still as Manda opens her mouth and injects her under the tongue.

  Then we wait.

  Manda mumbles, “Come on.” But a minute passes and nothing happens. “Come on, Ana! Fight, damn you!” Manda looks to me and orders, “Lay her flat on her back. Now.”

  I do as I’m told and watch in shock as my sister clenches the fingers of both hands together to make a giant closed fist. She lifts it high and brings it down hard onto Ana’s chest. Teeth gritted, she growls out between blows, “You. Are not. Going down. Like this.” She delivers another blow, then yells, “You hear me, Ana? I can do this all night!”

  Four blows pass, and when Manda lands the fifth, harder than the others, I watch in amazement as Ana’s body goes rigid. She opens her eyes as wide as she can around the bruising and takes in a gasping breath. And the moment that happens, Manda bursts into loud, noisy sobs, falling back against her Evander, who holds her tightly in support.

  Ana’s eyes close again, but her chest moves as she breathes deeply.

  “Julius,” she croaks out, holding her shaking hand out to a man who isn’t there.

  I move to take that hand, and that’s when I hear him.

  “I’m here, baby.” With eyes for nobody other than his woman, Julius moves to kneel by her side, taking her good hand and squeezing it tight. “I’m here.”

  Her voice no longer working, she breathes out, “I love you.”

  And for the first time in my life, I see my brother cry. His shoulders shake in silent sobs as tears trail his cheeks and he lowers himself down to her swollen face, pressing soft kisses to her lips, and whispering, “I’m so sorry, baby. Love you. Love you more than a man should love his woman.” His tired, trembling words cause a lump in my throat. “Thought I lost you. Wanted to die. Just take a bullet and blow myself out of this world.” He sighs in relief. “We’re going away from here. Moving away from all this badness, okay? We’re going to live, you and me. No more of this bullshit, okay?”

  Ana’s lips move, but no sound comes out. “Okay.”

  Julius gets up to his knees and looks to Manda. “Thank you.” He turns to Evander. “I owe you.”

  But when Julius looks to the third person, the stranger wearing the half mask, the one he swore was in the room, he doesn’t find him.

  I’m already gone.

  Your wife is alive.

  As I sit on the bed, looking down at the hogtied man lying bloody on the floor with the makeshift muzzle around his mouth, I keep telling myself the danger is over. I have her now, and I’ll keep her safe. But I am a realist, and that real part of me knows that promising to keep somebody safe is not only stupid, but also an impossible vow to keep.

  She’s safe.

  Then why doesn’t my heart stop racing? It’s almost as if I’m afraid to hope it’s all over, that we’re permitted to live a life free of repercussion.

  If Ana is alive, that means Ling could be too.

  “Where’s Ling?” I ask him, and from around the muzzle, his lips turn up into a feeble smile, his dull eyes blinking softly.

  He’s close to passing out, and I need to act quickly if I want answers.

  Making my way over to him, I pull down the cloth muzzle, freeing his mouth, and I crouch by him. “Listen, you got nowhere to go, and you might think this is as bad as it gets”—my eyes hood dangerously—“but I promise you that what I will do to you should you not answer my questions will make what you did to Ana a cake walk, you get me? Now, where’s Ling?”

  He blinks down at the ground, and wheezes out a hushed, “I don’t know.”

  I’ll get back to that. Right now, something that has been bothering me from the very beginning needs an answer. “You knew Dino didn’t do it. You knew he didn’t kill Raul. Why didn’t you vouch for him?”

  His speech slow and slurred, he murmurs, “And miss my opportunity at eventually being king? No. I loved him, but this was my shot at something big. I would’ve been stupid to guarantor for him. I hated losing him, but he was in my way when business was concerned.”

  That’s honesty, plain and simple. I have no reason to doubt his answer.

  I look down at this man with disgust. Although I want to bash his brains in and show him every bit of torture he showed my woman, she’s alive and needs me to be of sane mind, because she has a long recovery ahead of her. When times get tough and her hope dissipates, she’s going to need someone to leech off, and that person’s going to be me, so I got to save all that good energy for when she needs it. I plan to be there, by her side, every difficult step of the way.

  Nothing in this world was made right by two wrongs taking place.

  I’m exhausted. I just want this to end.

  “Tell me one thing, Gio, and I swear I’ll make it quick.” He glances up at me, eyes shining, as I ask, “How did you know where to find Alejandra?”

  He smiles again, albeit weakly, and his eyelids flutter closed. “Got a snake in your midst, Carter.” His grin intensifies, but his voice wanes. “A snake with bright… red… lips.”

  I hide
my emotions well, but my heart stutters.

  Motherfucker.

  It seems the devil wears winged liner so sharp it can cut a bitch.

  The mistake is mine and mine alone. I was a fool to trust a creature as feral as she.

  Nothing would save Ling from the painful death I was going to deliver. I would have her head, hack her to parts, piece by piece, until there was nothing left.

  Nobody fucks with my family.

  Ling Nguyen will never see me coming.

  Word will spread. She’s officially a dead woman walking.

  I lift my gun and shoot a smiling Gio Gambino in the head. And I shoot until there are no bullets left to discharge.

  Right now, I got a wife to get back to.

  “How’s she doing?” My words are spoken quietly so as not to wake Ana.

  Four days have passed, and Manda Rossi, Ana’s best friend and doctor, gazes over at me with half-glazed eyes before turning back to peer at the small woman in the center of the king-sized hospital bed in the sterile but private room. Manda organized for the weeklong stay at the small private hospital, and I am grateful for the quiet. It’s obvious that she’s tired, but she stays, probably for the same reason I do.

  We’re both afraid we’ll lose her again.

  The monitors beep lightly, and the IV continues to pump fluid into Ana’s frail body.

  “She’s bad, Julius.” Her voice cracks. “Really bad.” She clears her throat in an attempt to gain some composure in a situation that leaves us both feeling shattered. She tries to speak but shakes her head. I don’t miss the slight quiver of her lips when she states a quiet, “I mean, she died. I barely brought her back.” She turns and glances at me with a meaningful look when she utters a hushed, “She didn’t want to come back. And she would’ve stayed dead if I hadn’t managed to convince Vander to bring me along.”

  I look down at this no-nonsense woman and can’t deny I see part of Twitch in her character. I’m undeniably sincere when I tell her, “I don’t know what to say to you. Thank-you doesn’t seem like enough.”

  My appreciation has her scoffing. The small, fiery redhead looks over at me, her gaze dark, and she all but spits, “Don’t you dare thank me. I knew. I knew all along what they were doing to her, and I… she—” The first of her tears fall. She dips her chin and takes in a broken breath. Her tone tortured, she whispers a harsh, “I did nothing. Nothing.” She lifts her tear-streaked face to look over at her friend. “Look what he did to her. I don’t know if she’ll ever recover from this. And if she doesn’t, that’ll be on me.”

  I understand guilt. I feel it standing here, right at this very moment. Neither of us is completely blameless in what happened to Ana. I would love to pin the blame on somebody—anybody—but I can’t. If Manda knew about the abuse Ana took and did nothing, something tells me there was a reason for it. It’s clear to me that Manda loves Ana.

  The thought of losing the Ana I love is too much to bear, so I say the only thing I can think of. “She’s tough. She’ll make it through.” But I don’t sound as confident as I ought to.

  Her list of injuries is extensive, the worst being her amputated finger, a fractured wrist, and a broken ankle, but Manda and I both know it’s not the physical wounds we need to worry about.

  How far can you stretch a rubber band before it snaps?

  My feet carry me to her bedside. I slip my shoes off and slide in beside her, gently taking hold of her small, cold hand, and I rub at it, careful to avoid the IV settled in the back of it. Her left arm covered in a plaster cast up to just below her elbow, the ring finger on her left hand missing, I want to roar out my anger when my gaze settles on her bandaged face.

  Manda’s friend, a highly sought plastic surgeon in these parts, came when called. He did all he could to save Ana’s face from the deep gash Maxim Nikulin inflicted, but he advised us it would likely take more than one surgery to make it unnoticeable, and that all depended on how well Ana healed.

  Doctors were afraid for Ana. She had developed a hardcore case of anxiety in our time at the hospital. When one nurse came in to top up her morphine, Ana took one look at the shot and started to sweat bullets while gasping for breath. She passed out cold and Manda suggested that perhaps it was better for everyone if Ana remained sedated throughout her hospital stay.

  I didn’t like it, but I comprehended the need for it.

  Ana was scared to death at the thought of being hurt. Pain was her trigger, and it broke my damn heart to watch her go through her first panic attack.

  When her hooded eyes open a mere slit, my chest aches from the sheer beauty of her living, breathing form. “Hey, baby.”

  She swallows hard then breathes out, “Hi.”

  “How are you feeling?” It’s a stupid question, but one I am obligated to ask.

  The heart monitor chirps as her heart rate spikes. “No more doctors,” she whispers.

  I hate this. “No, baby. Doctors are good. The doctors are helping.”

  Her lip quivers, she clutches at my hand like a lifeline, and when she croaks out a tearful, “Take me home. I just want to go home. Let’s go home, Julius,” my gut coils in misery.

  The heart monitor begins to beep loudly as her distress rises, and I know it won’t be long before a nurse enters with a sedative for my girl.

  Three more days and I can take her home.

  I frown at the thought.

  But where is home?

  I need to get Ana away from here. I need to take her somewhere we can do us, somewhere warm and comfortable and calm.

  And I have just the place in mind.

  The moment the nurse enters, I look my girl in the eye and make my vow. “You trust me, baby?”

  Not a second of hesitation. Her answer is pleading, desperate. “Yes.”

  Shit.

  I don’t deserve this woman.

  “When the doc says you’re good to go, I’m going to take care of you, and I’m going to do that somewhere far away from here. Okay?”

  The nurse injects the sedative into Ana’s IV, just as she responds, “Okay.”

  “You and me, babe,” I whisper, rubbing my thumb along hers.

  The sedative kicks in and she loosens her grip on my hand as her lids flutter closed. Her tone dreamy, she mutters a soft, “You and me, babe. Love you.”

  I know she can’t hear me any longer, but it doesn’t matter to me. I say it, because it needs to be said. “I love you, Ana.” And I fucking do. So much it hurts.

  Crazy in love is a dangerous position for a sane man to be in.

  The plans form in my head as I lay by my wife’s side and I plan to call to Lexi in the morning to give her time to prepare for our arrival.

  “You disappeared on me. You know how I feel about that.”

  Ethan Black is in a pissy mood, and I feel a mild sense of satisfaction in knowing that the longer he and his family are separated, the more irritated he gets. Maybe now he has some small understanding about how I feel.

  It was a long night. I’m so fucking tired. I just want to sleep.

  Agitation rattles me. I lift my head off the pillow of the cheap motel room bed, and grunt, “Fuck. I’m back, aren’t I?” With that, I throw my heavy head back down onto the thin pillow with a groan.

  The quiet comes so quickly that I don’t question it. But when something is slapped down onto the bed beside me, I open my eyes to find a large yellow envelope there and Black, dressed in a suit and tie, standing with his arms crossed over his chest, looking down at me. He jerks his chin to the envelope.

  I sit up, open it, and peer inside. My mouth parts in silent shock. I look over at Black before reaching inside and pulling out the passport, birth certificate, and current driver’s license. My brows furrow in confusion. “What is this?”

  Black pins me with a stare. “I don’t know where you were last night or who you were with, but we got a tip off that led to Claudio Conti’s arrest sometime after 2:00 a.m.”

  “No shit,” I mut
ter without implication.

  Damn.

  MacDiarmid works fast.

  “Yeah. No shit.” Black’s not impressed. He blinks, watching me closely. “About an hour ago, a couple of NYPD cops discovered the body of Maxim Nikulin in a dumpster behind a club called The White Rabbit, along with the body of Gio Gambino.”

  I feign ignorance. “Who?”

  Black sniffs a laugh, shaking his head. He’s onto me. He’s also not amused. “Where were you last night, Twitch?”

  I don’t want to lie, so I improvise. “Wasn’t anywhere near The White Rabbit, if that’s what you’re asking.”

  Black places his hands on his hips and sighs loudly before dropping his hands to his sides and meeting my eyes. “Antonio Falco, you are no longer under any obligation to the FBI. By one means or another, you’ve fulfilled your end of our bargain, and you’re free to go.”

  A steady flow of shock numbs me from the toes up.

  When Black lifts his duffle over his shoulder and moves toward the door, it’s clear there will be no heartfelt good-byes.

  Thank fuck.

  Before he exits the room, he pauses in the doorway and turns back to me. “Not many people get a second chance like this, Falco.” His brows rise. “Try not to screw it up.”

  “Not a chance,” escapes me, and I mean it.

  Black nods slowly in understanding. I worked hard for this moment. I wasn’t about to fuck up anytime soon. He takes a moment, then utters a quiet, “Cherish every moment with him. You only get a few short years of them begging to be around you.” A sad smile forms on his lips when he shrugs. “Before you know it, he’ll be sixteen, and you’ll be begging him to spend time with you.”

  It’s good advice. I don’t take it lightly. “Will do.”

  A moment of thoughtful silence passes.

  “Good-bye, Twitch. I hope to never see you again.” Black grins. “And I mean that in the best way possible.” He lifts his hand in a lazy wave then lets himself out, shutting the door behind him.

  Well, shit.

  I don’t know what to do with myself.

  So I do nothing.