10

Rocello

"Time for a boys' night out," Slade had declared.

Just what I needed. One night, we narrowly escaped an explosion. Another night, Margo had completely captivated me. Her response to my touch was intoxicating—her moans, gasps, and the way she moved on the sofa consumed my thoughts. So why the hell was I at a strip club?

But we frequented this place a few times each month. It was what guys like us did. One incredible evening with a stunning bartender didn't change that, which was probably for the best. A sweet woman like Margo didn't belong in my world. She belonged with someone else, in a nice suburban home with a loving husband, kids, and a dog. She deserved a man who could prioritize her above all else.

I couldn't be that man. Not for Margo. Not for anyone. Dating wasn't forbidden for me, Slade, or Jumaine. It was permissible for us to go out with women. Yet, I had no illusions. The moment someone got close to me, anyone I cared about would become a target. They would be in danger, because that's the reality of life in our organization.

Kill or be killed.

Beat your enemy, before they get a chance to beat you. And don’t give that enemy anyone he can hurt you through, like a woman.

Of course, one could say that I already had a certain someone. A weakness enemies would try to exploit.

Thomas.

Still, he was my son. My flesh and blood. Giving him up might make him safer, but it would mean foster care. I couldn’t stand the thought of my boy going through the same shit we did.

The three of us had bounced around from one foster family to the next. Few of them kept us long enough for us to unpack. But that had been okay with us. When we arrived back at the group home, we had each other’s backs. We learned there was no one else we could count on.

“Yeah, baby!” Slade yelled at the woman on stage. Sometimes I envied him for the way it seemed he could turn his brain off and just enjoy the moment. My brain never shut off—not even when a gorgeous, dark-eyed beauty rode my fingers as she came for what felt like forever.

Sometime soon, I needed to talk with her. To set her straight on anything she might have thought I could offer her. But not now. Tonight, I’d be with my buddies and forget about the pretty bartender.

That was what I needed.

So why the fuck did every single woman in this joint look dull compared to her?

Jumaine kicked me under the table. “What the fuck is with you tonight?”

I shook my head, not wanting to get into it. Instead, I focused on the very nimble young woman who was riding the pole for all she was worth.

And failed to stop thinking about Margo.

Another pitcher of beer arrived, compliments of the owner. We always had the best seats in the house. That was one of the perks of the jobs. Enforcers like us were vital in the organization. Wise guys had to keep them happy.

Jumaine turned back to the stage where Whitesnake’s “Here I Go Again,” was playing from the speakers, red and green spotlights pointed at the stage. It was a spunky redhead’s turn now, and she was swirling around the pole, her feet hanging just inches over the floor.

“Shit, she has a nice ass,” Slade said. He had a fifty-dollar bill in his hand and looked eager to deliver the tip.

A waitress, who was barely wearing more than the woman on the stage, checked in on us.

“Jack. And a bucket of rocks.” Beer just wasn’t going to do it tonight.

“Thanks for suggesting this place, man,” Jumaine said to Slade. “I needed a distraction. I can’t forget the shit that went down in North Haven.”

Slade grinned. “For a while, I thought Rock was going to have a Frankenstein-style bolt in his neck.

Jumaine winced, not appearing to find that funny. “We’ve got to find Baxter,” he said.

Tension returned, and even Slade took his eyes off the acrobatic pole-dancer.

“And figure out how he knew we’d be there,” I grunted.

I made no accusation, but Jumaine heard one anyway. “I swear, no one followed us.”

“Maybe they didn’t need to. Maybe they already knew where we were going.”

“How?” Slade asked, and Jumaine pounced.

“You were so damn drunk the night before you didn’t even know your name. Someone probably overheard you.”

Rage filled Slade’s face, and the scars on his forearms looked more prominent against his white skin. “The fuck they did.”

I held up my hands. “We just need to find out what the fuck happened, not place blame.” Roscano would be more than happy to place blame whether it was deserved or not.

Slade was still pissed. “Once we find Baxter, I don’t give a shit what Roscano says. He’s not a made man. We don’t need anyone’s permission to whack him, not even Gambini’s.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” Jumaine shared his opinion. “He had his chance to kill us. He blew it. We won’t.”

“We’re not going to whack him,” I said firmly. “We’re going to beat the shit out of him and find out who sent him.”

“And then beat the shit out of him some more,” Jumaine said. He got it. Slate shook his head. “Why bother? I mean, I’m all for the beatdown, but I think we know who sent him.”

It was pretty clear who he meant. “Gambini. That old fart knows how good we are. He also knows he can’t steal us from Roscano.” Even though I had no respect for Nick Roscano whatsoever, I was bound to him. We all were unless we could somehow make a grand escape.

Jumaine shook his head, looking at the nearest stripper without appearing to really see her. “Which sucks. Gambini is a much better Don than Nick will ever be. He’s more like Emilio was.”

I bristled at that. No one had been like Emilio. But it was true that Gambini was a better man than Roscano. It wouldn’t take much.

“He pays better,” Slade said.

“And shows his people some fucking respect,” Jumaine added.

“I can’t believe this crap.” I spoke in a gruff voice, unable to hide my annoyance at the irony. “We’d actually be happy if Gambini were to find a way to steal us from that motherfucker—but since he can’t, he tried to take us out.”

“We don’t know that for sure,” Jumaine pointed out.

His comment was met by silence, and we stared at the woman on stage for a while. Her bottle-blonde hair looked far too light compared to Margo’s glossy black hair. Everything about the stripper looked wrong. She looked fake. Margo looked real. And she sure as fuck had felt real. My hands ached to touch her again.

But that wasn’t what she needed. Disgusted with myself, I glanced over toward the bar. My gaze was drawn to a short, thin figure. His back to me, he was talking to some old guy with gray hair. The man in question had bleached hair. Spiky bleached hair.

Sean Baxter.

Holy shit.

I cleared my throat. “One o’clock.”

“Shit…” Slade hissed through gritted teeth. “It’s him. I was sure he’d lay low for a while.”

Jumaine said nothing, staring at the back of his spiky head. I rose from my seat slowly. Anything too sudden could draw unwelcome attention to me. Baxter left the bar, walking down the hall, probably to take a piss. I rounded one side of the table, Jumaine and Slade on the other. I sidestepped a waitress and pushed my way through the crowd of sweat, horny customers, Slade following right behind me.

When we were ten feet behind the little prick, he glanced over his shoulder.

Fuck.

He took off, plowing down some poor waitress in the process. Her tray crashed to the ground and slowed him up for a second or two. I barreled after him, my hand on my gun.

I jumped over the broken glasses, Jumaine flanking me. Baxter lunged towards the back exit, his head bouncing off the hard door. He probably hoped his weight would be enough to open it. What a moron.

The door opened a crack and the guard outside glanced in. “Unfinished business,” I grunted as I grabbed Baxter by the collar.

It felt good to manhandle him out into the night air. The guard pointedly stepped inside, leaving the three of us alone in the alley with Baxter.

Blood pounded in my temples at the sight of the scrawny man in front of me, but I knew I needed to keep a cool head until we got the information we needed.

I dragged Baxter into the alley, passing by parked cars on my right. Next to me, Slade was all but bouncing on his heels. He was ready to kick some ass. Jumaine was, too, but that kind of violence didn’t get him riled up the way it did Slade.

Then a sound stopped me in my tracks. A car was coming down the alley. Fast.

I reacted instinctively, shoving Baxter down as I dropped to the ground. Jumaine crouched behind a dumpster and Slade was on the ground next to me. Both of them had their guns drawn.

Headlights went on, blinding us. As I blinked against the light, I made out an SUV racing toward us. I flinched, prepared to abandon Baxter and roll out of the way, but then it spun around and screeched to a halt.

The back window was open, and there was only one reason for that.

Shit.

I dove behind a row of trash cans as bullets crackled over me. Slade rolled out of sight. Jumaine, the only one of us who’d found some decent cover, took aim and fired back. Slugs lodged in the metal trash cans with a deafening clatter, and I soldier-crawled my way over to Jumaine. Another loud sound nearby told me that Slade was getting some shots in.

As I got to my feet, I looked for Baxter, but he was long gone. Clearly, the little prick had some powerful backers. I trained my sights on the SUV, determined to make those motherfuckers pay.

The windshield of the SUV blew inward and someone inside the car cried out. More bullets flew, but then the SUV backed out away. They’d done what they’d came to do—Baxter had escaped.

“Shit,” Slade panted, joining us once the coast was clear. “Now I really want to kill that SOB.”

“You guys okay?” Jumaine asked.

I was covered in filth, but unharmed. Slade had a cut in his arm from a piece of metal that had been dislodged in the gun battle. It would probably form yet another scar.

“Cowardly little shit,” Slade fumed. “Had to have a whole crew just to keep him safe.”

“He had to have known we’d be looking for him,” I grunted.

“If he had any brains, he’d be in a safe house, not a strip club,” Jumaine commented, but we all knew Sean Baxter was dumb as shit.

“Looks like Baxter’s more valuable to Gambini than we thought,” I said, putting the pieces together.

“Yep,” Jumaine said curtly. “We need to get out of here. This place is going to be crawling with cops soon.”

I nodded even though I wanted to punch and kick everything and everyone around me. I’d had that little piece of shit. I was just about to bust him up, but he managed to slip away.

And now we had bigger problems. Roscano would hear about this. Maybe it wouldn’t be tomorrow. Maybe it wouldn’t be the day after, but he would definitely know about it. He wouldn’t like our little stunt one bit. His orders had been clear. Baxter was off limits. We had to find a very good explanation for going after him, or there would be hell to pay.