Tease Me Once by W. Winters
Declan
They say we’re brutal for this very reason.
“If he doesn’t make the payment …” my brother Carter states and his knuckles tap on the hardwood maple desk in a rhythmic way. The pace is even, as is Jase’s head when he nods, agreeing with the unspoken consensus. “ …let’s make it very public,” Carter concludes, stressing the word very.
“Very,” Jase repeats with a glint of a smile. As if it’s comical to murder someone in a manner that’s worthy of making the six o’clock news.
There’s a sinking feeling in my gut, paired with a heat that dances along the back of my neck but I nod as well. This is what happens when someone screws us over. They’re made into an example, and lately the examples have been adding up.
Anytime there are shifts in power, we’re bound to encounter challenges. They start off with small pushes against firm boundaries. We’d be naïve to think our enemies aren’t constantly checking for cracks and tampering with well-defined barriers. If you let someone get away with one thing, they’ll know they can get away with more.
“If he’s even an hour late,” Carter says, then gestures and Jase nods once again, this time adding, “Agreed.”
My gaze moves from Jase’s freshly shaven hard jawline to the bags under Carter’s eyes. The recent arrival of Carter’s firstborn, my nephew, has caused a stirring of betrayals.
My mother used to say, “Family will be the death of me.” I don’t remember much of her. She passed away when I was a kid, leaving the five of us behind, but I can hear her saying those words now. Her voice dripping with sarcasm as she rolled her eyes and tackled a never-ending cycle of dirty dishes and laundry.
There are only four of us now, and there’s no doubt in my mind she would mourn for the men we’ve become.
Family may be the death of me, but they’re all I have and I would give my life for them.
There’s a bright flash against the paned window in the far corner of my office. Lightning strikes down, sending a streak of light through the expansive room. Even the darkened wood floors shine bright for a moment, revealing the polished and pristine surfaces. The room itself is free of clutter, and decorated with masculine tones of grays and browns. Black and white photographs Addison, Daniel’s wife, took years ago are scattered around the room. Some of my late brother Tyler, and some of family before we became who we are today are in frames on the floor-to-ceiling shelves to my left. But the others are merely modern cityscapes of the places my sister-in-law has traveled. She helped me design the space.
Without her, lavish details like the gleaming bar cart and cut glass drawer pulls would not exist. Nor would the feminine touches designed for comfort, like the softness of the throw blanket on the corner chair, upholstered in buttery smooth amber leather.
“If Aaron doesn’t pay, we’ll make it obvious what our stance is moving forward.”
“Execution style will do it,” Jase states firmly, bringing the conversation back around. His dark eyes reach mine. Instinctively, I nod in return. They know whatever they choose, I will enforce with them. I’m the youngest, the most in debt in my mind. Not that they would ever hold anything against me. I’m more than aware I came out the lucky one, given what my oldest brothers endured after my mother died. The brutality of my father, then the barbarity of living through tragedy after tragedy.
“In the Romano alley on Fifth,” Carter says and finalizes the location.
“He could still come up with the money,” Jase suggests, although he smirks at the thought, glancing down at his cuticles.
“With fifty thousand? Only if he steals it from someone else,” I comment, knowing damn well it’s within the realm of possibility and if it happens, someone else will kill the debtor. “Which I would greatly prefer.”
There’s a chorus of rough chuckles.
“That settles it then,” Jase states although he shares a glance with Carter to be sure there’s nothing else to discuss. It’s nearly midnight and my evening is just getting started, although they’ll go home and fall into bed with their wives who love them dearly.
With a deep exhale, Carter agrees. There’s no more business to discuss.
“Give Aria a kiss for me, will you?” I tell Carter easily.
Jase’s smile matches that of Carter’s as he stands, slipping his hands into the pants pockets of his gray suit.
“It’d be better if you came home.” Carter adds, “She misses you.”
Jase piles on, “You should come home more often. We’re starting to think you prefer it here.”
I huff a humorless breath, although an asymmetric smile kicks up my lips. “It’s quiet here and we all know there’s work that needs to be done.”
They go home to loving partners and children. I stay here, cleaning up the messes left behind. Monitoring the cameras that capture shit they shouldn’t. Keeping tabs on the residents who peek outside their windows late at night and need to be reminded we’re on their side.
The mafia only survives because of community. Crooks and murderers get away with their sins because of those who turn a blind eye, and those who support them.
Rubbing my eyes with the back of my hand, I say, “It’s a fucking full-time job.”
“You need help?” Jase offers and the sincerity rings clear in his tone.
“No. I need to figure out the last thing we discussed. Then I’ll come home.”
That sinking feeling in my stomach rears its ugly head again and both Jase and Carter’s eyes darken, their lips setting into a thin line at the reminder.
There’s a rat somewhere, leaking information to the feds.
“If you need anything,” Carter murmurs and shrugs on his black jacket. It’s bespoke and looks expensive as hell. Probably because it is. Both of my brothers dress in suits, stay cleanly shaven when in public. They represent the family well.
Daniel mostly sticks to the family estate, and I reside here most of the time. At The Club. My club. Everything I need is at my disposal.
Including concrete rooms in the basement, and alcohol upstairs for when I’ve finished tasks like taking care of late payments.
“Is there anyone or anything else I should be aware of?” I question with Carter’s back to me, his hand on the doorknob. He’s quick to turn back around, Jase at his right. His dark eyes narrow as he thinks. My brothers look so alike. Tall, domineering. When they smile it’s infectious, and when they’re less than pleased, it’s intimidating.
I see the way others react to them. I’m more like Daniel, quiet and preferring to keep to myself.
If anyone sees me, they wish they hadn’t. That’s how I prefer it.
Carter shakes his head and then peers at Jase before asking, “Am I forgetting anything?”
My chair protests with a groan as I shift my weight to focus on Jase, resting my ankle across my knee as I lean back.
“If anyone else comes in late on payments, we do the same.”
“That was a given,” I comment, knowing this weekend is going to be a bloody one. “It would match our reputation.”
Carter says, “Our reputation is all we have.”
“And each other,” Jase adds. Carter nods, and again I note the darkness under his eyes from lack of sleep.
They say we don’t wait, that we don’t give second chances.
They say we’re murderers and thieves. We’re gangsters and lowlifes. Although, to be fair, we received those last two labels when we were only children. Poor and alone and not a sin worthy of hell yet to be made.
I think God would have forgiven us back then. We were barely aware of the world in those days. But now? We run this hell on earth.
“I’ll tell Aria you’re coming home this weekend.” Carter’s statement sounds like it’s a question as he opens the door. Both of my brothers wait for my answering nod.
With that I bid them farewell, my gaze flicking to the whiskey in the corner of the room. To get through tonight, I’m going to need a stiff drink or two.
There’s a common phrase people like to say: “Blood is thicker than water.”
Its meaning has been twisted over time to convince others that family is most important. More important than anyone else. Because family is blood. The quote it’s derived from entails the exact opposite: “The blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb.” The quote is meant to strengthen the bonds of soldiers on the battlefield. Those you spill blood with are closer to you than anyone else.
I’ve spilled more blood in the last decade than I ever thought possible alongside my brothers. There’s not a damn thing in this world that could ever drive us apart. Blood and water, they are one and the same. We have killed for each other, we only survived because of it and the bloodshed will never stop.
It can’t. If it does, it will be because we’re buried under ten feet of dirt and only a stone will ever speak for us again.
Pouring three fingers of amber liquid into the tumbler, I throw it back. Tonight is just one of many similar evenings in the very near future. I can feel it in the very marrow of my bones.
