Risqué by Elena M. Reyes

18

“Hijo de puta, I’m going to...fuck!” Felix De La Vega screams two weeks later, the gun he’d been clutching—hand shaking while reality sets in—is now on the floor. One bullet from my Ruger, that’s all it takes, and I chuckle at his idiotic expression.

Fear and loss; he reeks of it. Pathetic cunt.

He’s a nobody. A bloody middleman that made himself available to my aunt’s killer by facilitating a hitman while gaining a pretty penny for the connection. His hands are tinged with her blood, and we have plans for him.

“Oi, my apologies, bro. My finger slipped.”

Casper chuckles a few steps from me; his amusement rivals mine. “I’m going to start calling you butterfingers.”

“I’m not that bad.” I shrug, not the least bit repentant for the slip. If it were up to me, I’d do worse, but being a patient killer has its benefits. No one can say I’m anything but thoughtful and accommodating, and I take repayment in their screams shortly after.

While he prays, I’ll peel his skin back.

While he cries, I’ll feed it to him.

“You only have a few seconds left, Felix.” Casper’s mood changes then, his body language aggressive—from relaxed to a volcanic rush of ire that makes the man bleeding from the hole in his hand shake. He eyes my cousin, the tick in his jaw more pronounced now with each beat of the clock.

“Who are you?” Felix screams, but we all see his intent. The man’s a runner, taking a few steps back and turning his hip toward the halls behind him. His Ocean City home in New Jersey is big, has plenty of places to hide, but he won’t get far. “What do you want?”

“Your head on my mantle.” At Casper’s words, he takes off as bullets rain through the house from each of our guns. A door slams closed, and I pull out my empty clip, replacing it with a full magazine.

“Don’t shoot to kill. We have a deal.”

“We do, Callum.” Green eyes meet mine; the silent promise is all I need. Because we might be bastards—arseholes—but we’ve never taken back our word. There’s always been a certain level of respect between us, even when he was the boss, and I trust him with my life. “Watch the exits. I’ll be back with a gift.”

With that he takes off upstairs while Archie, one of our new guards and a close friend to Jeffrey, heads toward the back.

My gait is slow toward the front of the home.

Two things stick out the moment I cross his threshold: the area is quiet, and it’s warm. Sun high and no clouds, I turn my face from right to left and pick up no movement. No police sirens. No one walking down the street and no passing cars.

From the open door I can make out a bit of shouting, the heated, hushed words of desperation, but it’s the sound of a gun going off that makes me smile.

Then again.

Two, and I cock my head to the side. Immediately, Felix’s screams fill the silent afternoon with a pain-filled cadence that I quite enjoy. Loud, full of misery, but most importantly, it gets closer. And closer.

Their feet are heavy on the stairs, his whimpers rending the air until both stop at the foyer.

Casper’s eyes meet mine. So much anger in them. So much pain. “He’s being gracious and accepting our offer to ride with.”

“What a courteous tosser.” The man in question groans, his body landing at my feet after a small push from my cousin. He has a bullet wound to his knee and hand while a few bruises are beginning to form on his face. Casper went easy on him. “Do you need anything before we go?”

“Please don’t do this. I’ll…I’ll tell you everything.” His wounds are bleeding, but the flow isn’t excessive. Not enough to need any wrappings.

Crouching to his level, I tap the muzzle of my gun on his lips. Push the dark metal past his lips just a bit, not even past his teeth, and Felix gags. A few tears spill down his dirty cheeks. “Oh, I know you’ll talk, Mr. De La Vega. And I’m going to enjoy every bloody scream as you tell it.”

That’s the last thing he hears; I pull out the gun and whip him across the face with it. His unconscious form topples over, blood covering his face as Archie comes around the corner, rushing over and dragging him to our vehicle. De La Vega is put in the trunk while we exit the property without another word.

It’s time to play.

“Wake up, arsehole,”I growl out, landing a swift kick to Felix’s midsection. He’s tied up, hands up on a high water pipe with his feet dangling just a smidge off the ground inside of a borrowed property not too far from Felix’s home. We’ve let him sleep for the last five hours, gave him time to calm down after the small panic attack at his house. It’s almost funny how quickly a person can go from do you know who I am to please don’t hurt me.

In that time, while he slumbered, we’ve gone through every last connection he has in the US and back in the Dominican Republic. His ex-wife has been notified of his death; his money transferred to her account along with the two properties he’s purposely screwed her out of.

How can a man vow to love a woman, marry her, and then leave her with kids for another?

How can a man abandon his children and leave them to live in squalor while his whore travels the world on money that belongs to their mum?

That’s why he’s here now.

Greed. Cockiness. Stupidity.

Felix groans, his body swaying a bit from the blow. “W-what’s going…fuck!” he screams, the next blow from my boot landing on his ribs. It’s hard enough to crack a rib, and the way he tries to fold into the pain is a good sign of just that, but this is just the beginning.

He dodged up. Touched a woman that to the Jameson’s was sacred.

“The next time I strike, I’ll use my knife. Wake up.” Casper tosses a sleek blade in my direction, and I catch it, a butterfly version, and flip it open. The clean metal glints in the sunlight filtering through the glass panels used to make up the building’s roof. “You have five seconds to open your eyes.”

They snap open at once, and he winces from the earlier strike across his face. The area is swollen and a nasty shade of purple. He tries to move his head back, away from me, but I don’t take it personally as I’m sure it has something to do with the cold tip running down his cheek. From temple to jaw, I leave a shallow cut that brims red, but only a few small drops fall.

There’s fear in his eyes. Petrified with a good mixture of horror that seeps from the cunt’s every pore. Pathetic.

“Nice of you to join us,” I say as I embed the very tip into his skin, just an inch. “Now, are you ready to play?”

“Who are you?” He’s asking me, yet his eyes are on Casper; I look over at the latter and find him sitting atop a few boxes. His posture seems relaxed, but I know better. Can read him like no one else, and I’m not the least bit surprised to find Casper’s gun on his thigh and his finger on the trigger.

“Oi.”

“Callum.”

“We made a deal to play nice.” As I say this, I push in another inch of my blade. “We need him to talk.”

“Agreed.” Casper shoots him once, on his thigh this time. “Please ignore me.”

“Thank you.” With my attention back on Felix, I pull the knife out and wipe the bloody metal across his bare chest before dropping it. I’ll be going a different route today. “I’m ready for that story now. Why did you do it?”

“You’re Callum Jameson?”

“I am.”

“And he’s Casper Jameson.” Not a question, but I nod in confirmation. “Dios mio ayudame. Que hice.”

“You helped an innocent woman die. You have his mum’s blood on your hands.” Leaning closer so we’re at eye level, I pat his bloody cheek. “God will not save you, De La Vega. He’s gifted you to us; we are your penance.”

Tears flow down his cheeks, body shaking, but I stand back and let him have his moment.

I take a seat next to Casper and accept the cold bottle of water Archie offers me. “Thanks, mate.” He doesn’t reply, just gives a subtle nod, and retakes his position. “Any news on the wanker?”

“Ezra’s working on it. Last known location was in South America, but I know he’s not there now. No man running would be stupid enough to stay in one place for long.”

“Caribbean or—”

“We already know he lives there, but don’t know which island yet. My guess is one not too far from the US.”

Nodding, I empty half the bottle in two deep pulls. “That gives us a few choices, starting with those closest to Florida.”

“It does.”

He gives me a pensive look, and I raise a brow. “Something you want to say?”

“You okay, Callum?” His question catches me off guard and I frown, not getting it. “You’ve been a bit quiet lately. Since Chicago.”

“I’m fine.”

“Are you? Is there something I need to know?”

“I’m fine.” I make a move to stand, but Casper puts a hand on my forearm, and I pause. Look down at him. “Bro, I promise I’m okay. Trust me…nothing I can’t handle.”

“Mum would be proud of you,” he says instead of prying further, and a knot forms in my throat. For as much shit as we give each other, we know the other, and his mother was like my own. She was there when my mum decided that vacationing—or for my father, work—was more important than raising me. And while I don’t hold anything against them, my loyalty lies with Casper’s parents.

His mum’s passing hit me hard. Still hurts.

And just like her son, I’ve made a private vow to avenge her death.

The doorbell rings suddenly, making me pause inside my aunt’s kitchen, the sound loud—seems to reverberate throughout every square inch of their massive estate. My aunt is out in the shops picking up an order while my uncle’s footsteps walk toward the front door.

No one from the house’s security team rang. No one’s expected to drop by, either.

“Wait two minutes before opening,” I call out to my uncle, knowing he heard by the two taps on the wall closest to him. It’s not too loud, not enough to be heard by whoever’s waiting by the front door, but it does give me a moment. Opening the drawer beside the fridge, I grab the Glock inside and head toward the French doors.

This exit leads to the garden, and past that is a swimming pool and a small cottage my aunt claims as her woman cave. I’m quick to rush around the side of the home, keeping alert for any movement, but there’s none when I reach the front.

What I find is one of our guards, his face pained and eyes red-rimmed. A sinking feeling settles over me, my heart clenching, but I manage to walk over and use the key code to unlock the door.

Then it’s the four of us, my father, who’d been inside his brother’s office, joining us. He’s the reason my aunt went out alone today, needing to discuss some half-arsed crap or other that will never go anywhere. His brother’s no longer in charge, and Casper feels like I do; we don’t live in the past—this family is run by young blood and new ways.

Dad’s eyes meet mine then, and his expression mirrors; something isn’t right. It’s a heavy cloaking aura that suffocates, and I shift to look at the man. “Speak.”

“I’m so sorry, Mr. Jameson. So sorry.” He’s not speaking to me or Dad. His eyes are on my uncle, and when it clicks, the world beneath his feet disappears. I’ve never seen a strong man crumble like this before.

It’s heartbreaking.

This has nothing to do with Casper. The wanker is off with Aurora, and had something happened, the call would’ve come via Jeffrey or Ezra. That leaves one other person. Motherfuck. No. At once, my chest squeezes painfully tight, and my eyes close. This can’t be happening.

Words fail me. I can’t voice the questions running through my head.

My uncle’s legs give out and a fist comes up to his mouth, body shaking as a sob catches in his throat. “Where’s my wife?” How he manages to ask this, I have no clue, but he does. Voice cracking, he stumbles toward the guard and grips the man’s long-sleeved vest. One tug, and he’s face to face with Jameson senior, with his glare—eyes red while his body language is pleading. “Where is she? What happened?”

“I’m so sorry, sir. Mrs. Jameson’s vehicle was attacked, and she’s been taken to the A&E with multiple gunshot wounds.”

“Get the car,” my father shouts, moving to help his brother close the door and walk down the few steps onto the circular drive. I’m on autopilot. I can’t get past the feelings coursing through my veins. This is something I’ve never experienced before: fear. A choking, bloody helplessness.

Not for me, but for her. Her husband. Her son.

And I vow to do what I must to keep my family standing no matter what the future brings.

I’m pulled from the memory by a choking cough. Bloody spittle flies out of Felix’s mouth, landing on the cold concrete below his feet.

He looks tired, his wounds a nasty red.

“Something you want to say?” I ask, looking toward Archie and giving him the signal to drop the lever. He does so. De La Vega’s body drops to the ground and his ankle turns at an awkward angle. It’s dislocated, and the accompanying scream is almost as satisfying as Aliana’s taste. Almost. “Speak.”

“We can come to an agreement.” Gritting his teeth, he twists in pain while finding a position to sit in. Sweat beads at his brow, and his chest heaves. “Please. I can help you.”

“How can you help us?”

“I can tell you what I know.”

“And what is that?”

“I’m the one who—”

“How well do you know Mauricio Hernandez?”

“In passing.” Felix swallows hard, his hands fisting on his lap. “I know someone he does, and vice versa.”

“Is that true, Casper?” I ask, feigning stupidity. Even before picking up this sack of shit, we knew of his involvement and how well he knows the hitman.

“Negative. Not what he said earlier.”

“So I’m dealing with a liar, then?”

“Aye.”

“All right.” Turning my face toward my cousin, I point toward the black bag near him. “Toss that my way…” he does, and I catch it with one hand “…And Archie, we’ll be needing the bench now. Go ahead and set it up near the back.”