Professional Liar Page 10

  I went to the closet, snagged a black dress with long sleeves and my highest heels. I needed to use the clothes like armor today. Appear every inch an untouchable to both Pierce and his men.

  Speak of the devil. He opened the door and poked his head in. “Are you okay?”

  I slipped on the dress and zipped up the side as he entered and closed the door behind him.

  “You alright?”

  “Fine,” I lied. My heart, my chest, my stomach, even my fingertips ached from the knowledge of what I had to do to him. He came around and pressed his lips to back of my head. I stilled and let him, then pulled out of the grip of his hands on my waist. “I have to go see the lawyer today and take care of a few more things,” I told him, not meeting his eyes. Not even looking at him now.

  I could hear the puzzlement in his tone as he answered. “Okay, well, take Fox or Gerry.”

  I sat and put my shoes on, focusing as intently as I could on the floor and my shoes and anything but him. “Shouldn’t they be here with you.”

  “One of them will be, whichever you don’t take with you.”

  “Fine,” I said, clipped and cold.

  He reached for me, but I sidestepped his hands and headed toward the door and into the main rooms. “Fox, let’s go.”

  He glanced at Pierce who came around the corner after me, and I snapped. “I said, let’s go. You don’t need to verify my every order.”

  They shared another glance, and I reigned in another verbal lashing. He followed me outside and opened the backdoor of the car. I climbed in, and he took the front seat with Holt. No doubt wanting to keep his distance.

  “I’m going to the lawyers’ office, then my father’s house,” I instructed Holt.

  We pulled away in silence, and the entire ride, I could have sworn they could hear the crinkle and crackle of my heart breaking apart in my chest. Like they heard every creak it made as piece-by-piece, it chipped apart and fell into ash. What use was it to anyone if it could get my family killed?

  I marched into the lawyer’s office and demanded the deed and keys to my father’s home, and the release of my inheritance. Something in my face must have told him not to fuck with me today. He handed over the paperwork and promised the rest would be taken care of.

  Next, we went to my family home, the house mostly packed up. Fox accompanied me inside. “Stay here,” I told him and headed upstairs to my father’s room.

  I knew exactly what I needed here. I carefully shifted his bedside table drawer open and pulled out the hand gun and clip he kept under a stack of newspapers from 1978. I checked the chamber and safety before slipping the cold steel into my handbag.

  I went back down and exited, with Fox on my heels. “Are you picking up anything?”

  I patted my bag gently. “I got everything I needed.”

  “Which was?”

  I climbed into the car. “None of your God damn business,” I told him and slammed the door in his face.

  I narrowly kept the sob from escaping me. It built in my chest, and I allowed the years of practice to take over, school my features, while I broke down inside. I had to shove the world away, keep them at arm’s length, so they couldn’t be used against me.

  Unbidden, my thoughts went to my father. His drugs, women, the drinking. For a split second, I understood something about him I’d never been able to glean.

  And now, I’d turned into the person I hated all my life.

  If it saved Pierce and Bianca, it would be worth it.

  Sixteen

  Pierce

  The second she walked out the door, I yearned to call her back. Fold her in my arms and force her to tell me what was wrong. Since I pulled her to her feet in front of three bullets, she’d been off. And I could feel her pushing me away from the bedroom. I stood in the doorway and listened to her talk to her sister. The soft scuff of the bedding hitting the wall surprised me. When nothing came crashing through a window, I gave her the privacy she deserved.

  But after I went to get her, and as she walked out of the house, she’d been distant, cold and hard, and all the things I remembered from before we married. It hurt to see it again. Last night, she’d taken my declaration of love, but didn’t say it back. We had the rest of our lives for her to do so, no reason to rush her and ruin the fragile thing between us.

  I dressed quickly and joined the guys. “These might be from the family with the weapons,” I said, turning the bullets over in my hand. They were clean of any residue or smudge marks. I doubted there’d be any fingerprints. Not as if we’d take them to the police for verification anyway.

  Gerry lined them up evenly on the edge of the granite and leaned down to peer at them. I followed him down, trying to see what he could, but they simply looked like bullets to me.

  I waited for him to speak, but as usual, I’d have to pry it out of him. “Anything?

  He shook his head and stood.

  “That’s helpful,” I told him. I didn’t like anything about this situation. This war with the Italians, and most of all, I didn’t like Kat at the heart of it. The rational part of me knew she’d need to make a stand. Declare her control and then be ready to back it up. We’d be ready to back it up.

  I wondered what the families did in the old days to take care of uprisings. Probably slaughtered whole groups and threw them in the river. Once upon a time, the Italians garnered a reputation for being ruthless. Then they acquired money, and suddenly, legitimacy colored their interactions. Now they were known more for their fashion sense and connections outside of their little group.

  “Where did Kat go?” Gerry asked. Specifically, not talking about how she’d snapped at Fox when they’d left.

  “Lawyer and her father’s house, she said. Fox told me the same as they made the trip. I think they are headed back here, but I don’t want to text her to find out.” Neither of us finished the thought.

  They returned a half hour later, and I shipped the boys back up to the loft so she and I could talk properly. Fox slipped out the patio door and didn’t look back once.

  “What is going on?” I asked, right to the point.

  She sat her handbag gingerly on the table by the door and then her keys next to it before looking up at me. The woman I’d held in my arms last night was gone. Her eyes were glazed over, a layer of ice in them as she peered at me. “Nothing at all. The lawyer is taking care of the paperwork, so I can finish the transfer of my inheritance. I also picked up the paperwork for my father’s house. I’ll probably sell it, but I don’t have time right now.”

  She twisted her hair up, pinned it, and slipped her shoes off.

  I had to trail her into the kitchen. Maybe a different tactic would be a better choice. “Are you hungry? I could make you something. Or order in?”

  She shrugged and poured a cup of coffee. I snagged the milk out of the fridge for her, but she raised the cup to her lips, leaving the coffee black, and eyed me over the rim. “What have you boys been up to?”

  “Not much, trying to figure out where the box came from. Who sent it.”

  “And did you make any progress?”

  I shook my head and scrubbed my hand over it to keep from reaching out to her. “No, nothing yet. They are good at their jobs. They’ll find something to lead us there.”

  She sat the cup on the counter and turned to face me, arms crossed under her breasts. “I know who sent it, and I intend to deal with it. Obviously the families. They are challenging my leadership and control. I need to make a statement showing them this sort of thing isn’t tolerated. It has to be brutal.”

  I didn’t like the steely glint in her eye or the sharp bite of each word coming out of her mouth. “What do you plan to do?”

  She patted my shoulder and brushed past toward the bedroom. “Don’t worry about it,” she called. “I’ll be taking care of it.”

  I followed her into our room. “No, that’s not how this works. We do this together.”

  The bedding had already been replaced, s
o she sat on the end and reached out her hands. I let out a gust of air, all relief, walking straight into her arms. She pressed her face to my lower belly and the rubbed her cheek there as she gripped my belt loops.

  When her hands snaked around to my ass, I chuckled, cupping her neck. “Is that what you want?”

  No answer, but her fingers skimmed down to the back of my thighs and squeezed. Something felt off about this. I pried her fingers away and crouched in front of the bed. “Talk to me, Baby Girl. What’s wrong?”

  She swallowed, and I watched the effort it took for her to clear the emotion from her face. I reached out and pulled her cheeks forward. “No. Don’t do this.”

  I dropped to my knees onto the carpet searching her eyes with mine. Looking for the soft beautiful women who cried in my arms last night. The same woman I knew loved me even if she refused to say the actual words. “Baby Girl…” Her nickname caught in my throat. My chest squeezed tight, and I could barely get a full inhale through me. My fingers tingled, and my entire body put me on edge to the danger. As if I could sit and witness her retreat right here in real time, and everything in me fought and railed against it.

  “Please…”

  She didn’t answer, only stared at me stone faced.

  “Please…” I begged. I begged and would plead and crawl and cower if I could keep her with me.

  “I can’t,” she whispered. “I can’t do this.”

  Tiny words, no more than a few letters, and they eviscerated me. Not because of what she said, but because she said them. I told her not to toy with me, not to threaten to leave. Her she sat, she didn’t say she was leaving, but I could feel it. She’d left me just as effectively as walking out the door.

  Our future stretched out on a red carpet. I could see it now. We’d fuck, and we’d fight and we’d never be happy. Nothing but endless nights giving way to lonely days. “Baby, please…” I tried once more.

  She glanced away now, and a hot tear slid down my cheek. I couldn’t stop it. Fuck.

  Fuck.

  Fuck.

  Another tear fell, and I pulled away from her. Putting the physical distance between us she so effectively started.

  I couldn’t stop the flood. She wouldn’t see me sob on my knees for her, not after this. We couldn’t come back from this. How many times had I thought the very same thing? How many times did she break us only to reel me back in?”

  Despite the tears, I stood and offered her one last chance to take it back. One more shot not to break me, not to break us. “Tell me you love me, and we can fix this. Just say it once, three little words to let me know you are really the woman I fell in love with.” I wouldn’t beg again. But inside my head, I begged her to say it, I willed her to say it. I prayed to anyone who listened she’d say it.

  Instead, she stood up and leveled those cold eyes with mine. “I don’t love you.”

  A bullet to the chest would have been more merciful. I squared my shoulders and looked at her one last time. She might plan to spend the rest of our lives miserable but together. I had no intention of coming back here. Of seeing her face again. She could stay. I didn’t give a fuck.

  Another tear broke free, and I walked out the door. Left her to her plans and her schemes and whatever fucking reasons she’d given herself to make this okay.

  I left the house and went straight to the car Holt left on the curb. “Take me to Murphy’s.”

  Right now, the only thing I saw cutting a hole in this pain was whiskey and bloody knuckles.

  The place looked like any other dive bar in town. I pulled up a stool, slipped out of my jacket, unbuttoned my cuffs and gestured at Baker the bartender.

  He turned over a glass and poured a finger. I put my hand on the bottle to stop him from taking it. Right now, this would be my lifeline. He glanced somewhere over my shoulder and then set it in front of me.

  I tossed back three shots in second and went back for three more.

  When my vision started to go fuzzy at the edges, Holt came in and took the seat beside me. “Hey Boss.”

  I tipped my glass at him, not wanting to speak to him or anyone, for fear I’d start hitting anything within arms distance.

  “Anything I can do?”

  My answer was to pour another drink. Then another, until the bottle started to empty and patrons began giving me a wide berth. Holt stayed at my elbow, not forcing me to speak, but guarding my back while I worked on blacking out.

  When I’d drained the last of the whiskey, I stood, intending to go to the bathroom, but I slid sideways. Holt caught me under the elbow and gestured to the back of the bar. Murphy and his gang hung out back there, and they were likely telling him to get me out of there.

  I didn’t put up a fight, but leaned heavily on him as he led me to the car. “If she’s still there, take me to a hotel. Or one of the empty houses for the girls. I’m not going back.” Some far part of my brain told me I was slurring. He likely caught about half of my words.

  “I won’t take you home. Gerry gave me the key to his apartment. He said you can stay there until you figure things out.”

  He started to help me into the car when the sound of glass breaking came from behind us. I watched Holt crumple, and I fell in slow motion a few seconds later.

  Two Italians approached in a slow gait. Bastards had balls attacking Irish outside Murphy’s bar. But no one came outside in the chilly evening light. I tried to push up onto my elbows, but one of the bastards kicked out. Their foot connected with my gut, and I rolled over to throw up at least some of what I drank.

  The other got a shot in and flipped me onto my back. I sighed and lay in the broken glass and dirt. I’d been in worse situations. Kat’s words slicing me open came to mind. In comparison, this was nothing.

  They lifted me up under the arms and stuffed me into the trunk of a car. Sober, I could have gotten out. In my state, my brain overloaded. All I could do was lay there and listen to the jostle of the vehicle on the road.

  Maybe it didn’t matter. None of it mattered. I’d be okay going out like this. My brothers would get revenge, and the world would settle on without me.

  Kat would settle without me.

  Just like she wanted.

  The car hit a bump, I bounced up my forehead connecting with the roof. Stars swam in my vision and then nothing.

  Seventeen

  Pierce

  I swam in and out of consciousness. Everything came in bursts between the jostle of the car and then the strangers dragging me into a house. I recognized the place, even if my drunk brain couldn’t pick it apart.

  Adrenaline started to pour into me, cutting some of the haze from the whiskey. My stomach rolled and angled my head to throw up on the sidewalk. When they stood me up, I could barely keep my legs under me, but I made it. They led me inside and shoved me to my knees on a ten-thousand-dollar rug. My hands were tied tight enough to cast tingles up my arm. I laughed against my will. Only an Italian bastard would execute a man on a one of a kind Persian rug.

  The Italian I met the other night, the condescending one. His name rolled in my head like dice in a cup. Adam…no…something weirder…a-something.

  “Welcome to my home, Mr. St. James.” In my head I heard, welcome to my home, Mr. Bond.

  I gave him a salute from my place kneeling on the floor. My fingers were bleeding. A warm trail of blood dripped down the side of my forehead. I could taste it in my mouth. Right now, after what I went through with Kat, this seemed like some ironic physical manifestation of the same pain. Maybe I was passed out at Murphy’s dreaming this. It seemed more fun, so I’d go with that.

  “Do you know why I brought you to my home?” he asked, hands clasped in front of him, his Armani suit as immaculate as his gleaming shoes.

  “Because you’re an asshole?” I supplied the first thought trailing through my head.

  Something hit the side of my face, slicing pain up into my eye socket. I squeezed it closed, worried my eyeball might pop out from the force of t
he pain in my cheekbone.

  “Do you want to try that again, Pierson?”

  I kept my eye closed. “Seeing as your probably about to kill me, you should call me Pierce. No one but my father really calls me Pierson.”

  Something the man wanted to be a smile curled up at the corner of his mouth. I didn’t tell him he wasn’t there yet. His villain smile needed work. “They told me you were a talker and that you were a funny bastard. I’m glad I get to see for myself.”

  I teetered from the pain, trying to relieve some of the ache as the numbing qualities of the booze began to lessen.

  “Can we get on with this? If you’re going to keep talking at me, I’m going to need a drink to get me through it.”

  “I think you’ve had enough for now, Pierce.”

  He gestured behind me, and the guy I assumed hit me in the head lifted me up and dragged me into another room. This time, he dropped me on hard stone, and I kept the groan inside. A door closed, and some shuffling to my right alerted me to others.

  “Rodrigo?” I asked, eyeing the kid tied on his knees next to me. Then my drunk brain clicked with my sober one, and I remembered seeing him before. “Wait, you’re the Cambio kid. Is Bianca here?”

  “No, she’s fine. They caught me as I was headed to see her, thank God.”

  “I don’t think God has anything to do with this place,” came a deep gravelly slightly accented voice from the shadows.

  Another man, his hands tied behind him, his feet tied in front, sat in the corner. Lucien scooted closer to Pierce. He must have only been brought here, too, if he hadn’t noticed the other one.

  He looked harmless enough. Early thirties maybe, his hair brushed the blood stained collar of his shirt. His mouth and face were caked with bruises and wounds. “Who are you?”

  “Prospero Biondello.”

  Clarity cracked through me like the breaking of the sunrise over a mountain ridge. “Fuck, that bastard is making a power play. Thinking he can take out the opposition. Since Litio isn’t here, I assume he’s on this asshole’s side?”