I turned around to face him, and he motioned with his head for me to help him move Flynn onto the sofa. I took him under his armpits and Brock took his feet, and we laid his limp body on the yellow couch. Brock strode to the bedroom and came back with a blanket, swaddling Flynn like he was a baby.
When it was all done and dealt with, Brock took a seat on a stool near the couch and dropped his head to his hands. Lighting a cigarette, he threw the still-burning match toward Flynn. The match jumped on the young man’s skin, putting out slowly against his bare wrist. Flynn was too out of it to feel the burn. Yup, Brock’s good-boy fa?ade always cracked around me.
I wasn’t Catalina, Maria or Red. I was an *, just like him, and he didn’t need to impress me. I already knew who he was. He was like the first scene in David Lynch’s Blue Velvet, the insect underneath the well-kept lawn. That was Brock. A cheesy, Hollywood smile disguised the outside, while he was rotting beyond repair inside.
“She came back pissed off. From Miami, that is,” he said, his eyes on the floor. “Tell me you’re not abusing her in any way, because I told her I would keep her safe.”
He told her what? What business did he have butting into my shit?
“And if I am?” I taunted, leaning against the countertop of the galley kitchen. “What if I made it my mission in life to make her miserable? Don’t pretend like you have any power over this, Brock.”
“Oh, but I do.” He lifted his head, blowing a plume of white smoke directly in my face. “Don’t forget I have the key to your can of worms. I know exactly why you married her. What you did to her mother. In fact, I know enough about you to want someone as innocent as her to stay the hell away from you, but since what’s done is done, let me explain myself slowly.” He blew another cloud, grinning behind it. “Harm this girl and I’m giving away every single secret you have to the highest bidder. And you and I both know the competition would be tight. Got it?”
Was he f*cking threatening me? Did he forget who I was, what I could do to him? Did he forget he was on my payroll, that I paid for his wife’s fancy shit, for his son’s school and for all those goddamn, David-Beckham-wannabe preppy clothes?
Not thinking clearly, and perhaps not thinking at all, I charged at him, slamming my fist straight into his face. He didn’t see it coming. The sound of my fist against his bone filled the air. Brock dropped his cigarette on the floor and stood up, swaying. He balled his fist and tried to throw a jab my way. I dodged it, and he fell on the floor, still dizzy from my punch. His nose bled all over the floor as he lay there, grunting. He rolled into a fetal position when I stood over him, took my handkerchief out and wiped his blood off my hands. Squatting down to my colleague so he could hear me clearly, I tipped his face up with my finger, looking him in the eye.
“I wouldn’t threaten someone like me when it comes to my secrets. Remember, the reason my secrets are so extreme is because I do extreme things. You don’t want to mess with someone who does what I do. If you think you have some kind of leverage on me…” I snorted a laugh, my hand snaking to the front of his neck, wrapping it around his throat firmly. “Well, it’s a mistake that could cost you a lot. More than you’re willing to pay.”
“Fuck you.” Brock spat blood toward my face, missing it by mere inches. His eyes were watering and his pretty face completely f*cked.
I let go of his neck and offered him a casual smile, lifting the burning cigarette he dropped on the floor and tucking it back between his lips. I patted his shoulder like we were old friends. “Good talk, buddy. Now, turn off your f*cking car lights. You’re gonna be here awhile.”
Slamming the bedroom door behind me, I sighed into my chest. We were going to spend some time in this shithole trying to help Flynn, but that didn’t mean I had to tolerate the idiot. A sudden urge to smash someone’s head into a wall washed over me, and I took the list from my pocket, observing it again.
1 – Billy Crupti
2 – Father McGregor
3 – The * who hired Billy?
The shit storm Paddy stirred in my life recently had made me dig up my original goal. It was easy to get lost in life when your quest was to avenge death, but make no mistake. Getting my hands on the person who had my father killed was still my first priority, still what made me tick.
Balling the yellow paper in my fist, I tucked it back into my pocket. I was close. Knew I was close. Felt it in my bones.
And I was going to show no mercy.
SPARROW
YOU DIDN’T CHEAT.
My feet thumped against the concrete and I drew in the chilly air of the dawn, Nonpoint’s “Alive and Kicking” roaring through my earbuds. I rounded a corner toward Marlborough Street, my muscles straining as I sped.
If anything, your fake husband is the one who takes his dick out on tour every time he leaves the house. You didn’t ask for that kiss from Brock. Didn’t initiate. Sure as hell didn’t think it’d ever happen. Brock’s cheating is none of your goddamn business.
My feet were burning and I felt my pulse in my neck, fast and furious. I crossed the road, heading back to the penthouse.
You don’t have to tell Troy. It’ll only bring more trouble, and it’s not like you’re suffering from a domestic bliss overdose.
I stopped in front of the revolving door leading to our building complex as I tried to regulate my breathing. I was not going to tell Troy about what happened with Brock, even though it made me feel really crappy about myself.