Chapter 021-Brian-book 2

Inside the precinct, the air was thick with the scent of coffee. The clock ticked away the seconds, a relentless reminder of the time we were losing.

"You got something?" Gregory asked, his eyes hopeful.

"Maybe," I replied, my voice gruff. "A meeting with an old pal."

The precinct was a buzz of activity, a beehive of cops and coffee cups. The walls were lined with mugshots of the city's worst, a silent choir singing a hymn of despair.

"Who's the pal?" Gregory asked.

I gave a half-hearted shrug. "Ace Malloy."

Gregory's eyebrows shot up. "That weasel?"

"The very one," I replied, the name leaving a sour taste in my mouth.

"What's he want?" Gregory asked, an abundance of energy causing him to fidget.

"To play games," I said, my voice flat.

Leaning in, the light from the flickering bulb above creating shadows across his face, he coaxed, "And?"

"He's playing it close to the chest," I said, frustration coiling in my gut like a snake. "But he's desperate."

"Good," Lyndsey said, coming up beside us, a predatory glint in his eye. "That's when they make mistakes."

~~

The alley was seeped in shadows, the kind of place where secrets were born and died in the next heartbeat. Ace leaned against the brick wall, his eyes gleaming in the moonlight.

"You got what I want?" I demanded.

"Patience," he drawled, his smile like a rat's eating a piece of cheese. "Patience."

My fist clenched, the beast within me straining at its chains. "Where is he?"

"Ah, so eager," Ace said, his eyes flicking to my gun. "But you know how it goes. Give a little, get a little."

"You don't get it," I said, the words a warning. "This isn't a game."

"Isn't it?" Malloy mused, his gaze sharp as a tack. "I think it's just getting interesting."

Stepping forward, I grabbed malloy by the collar, sand shoving him up against the wall, I snapped, "Talk!"

"The cemetery! Go to the cemetery," Malloy stuttered.

"Which one?" I growled, the beast in me demanding blood.

"The old one," he rasped, his eyes flicking to the gun in my hand. "Where the angels weep."

I released him with a shove, the words "the angels weep" echoing in my mind. It was a place of sorrow and secrets, where the dead whispered to the living.

"Why there?" I demanded.

"Fuck if I know," Malloy declared.

~~

The cemetery was a sprawling maze of tombstones and whispers. The moon cast long shadows that danced in the breeze, playing tricks on my eyes. The names on the headstones were a testament to lives lived and lost.

The silence was a living thing, a sentinel watching over the dead. And in that silence, I heard the sound of a shovel, the rhythmic thud echoing through the night like a heartbeat.

I approached the sound, the gun at the ready. As I rounded a corner, the scene before me was like a nightmare.

Cami held the shovel in her hand, scooping dirt, at the sound of my footsteps, she turned, then leaning on the shovel, she murmured, "So, you wanna tell me about Remington Dinelli?

"We need to talk," I said, my eyes searching hers.

"What's there to talk about?" she replied, her gaze avoiding mine. "You got what you wanted."

The words hit me like a slap. "Cami, that's not what it was about."

"Isn't it?" she challenged. "You used me, Brian or should I call you Remington."

I stepped closer, my eyes boring into hers. "I never meant to hurt you."

"But you did," she whispered, the pain in her eyes a knife to my soul.

"Cami, please, let me explain," I begged, my heart in my throat.

"No," she said, her voice firm despite the tremor that ran through her.

~~

This city was a place where the line between good and evil was as blurry as the neon signs that lined its streets. It was a city that had chewed me up and spit me out more times than I cared to remember, a city that had taught me to trust no one.

And yet, here I was, fighting for someone who didn't trust me anymore. I knew she was hurting, and I couldn't blame her. I'd fucked up.

"Cami, don't do this," I pleaded. "We're partners."

But she was already shaking her head. "We're not, Brian," she said, her voice trembling. "You've got your secrets, and I've got mine."

The air felt like it was closing in on me.

I looked at her, her eyes a stormy sea of confusion and betrayal and I reached for her. But she stepped back, the shovel her only barricade.

"Don't," she began, her voice a whisper that seemed to carry the weight of the world.

"Cami," I tried again, "it's not like that."

"Isn't it?" she retorted, her eyes flashing with accusation.

I took a step closer, my hand outstretched. "You don't understand," I said, desperation clawing at me.

But she didn't budge, the shovel planted firmly in the ground. "I understand plenty," she said, her voice brittle. "You're the son of the man I killed. A fucking Mafia Don! You couldn't do it, so you set this whole fucking charade up, so I would! The pickup, the body, the book..."