Cold Blood (Lone Star Mobsters Book 4) Page 11

  Oh, fuck it all. I ain’t got time for this shit.

  He wanted to let the old lady down easy, but he was at a loss for words.

  Mary came to his rescue. “Sorry, Miss Delilah, he’s spoken for. Justice has a thing for Etta May Jameson.” She patted his back. “In fact, he’s taking her to Poison Fruit for a romantic dinner tonight, on my recommendation.”

  “I’ve heard of her. The social worker, right? Don’t she live in the next town over?”

  “The very same.” Mary’s tone was light, but her gaze kept straying to the windows.

  “Oh, yes, I know her. Gorgeous red hair, great highlights, and such a nice figure.” Miss Delilah flashed a warm smile. “Well, aren’t you a lucky man? Congrats.”

  Poof. Just like that, her sexual interest evaporated, and it made Justice feel cheap.

  “Can we talk about you keepin’ an eye on Mary now?”

  “Sure, once you answer a question for me. How long have you two been seein’ each other?”

  Ah hell. And now every old biddy in town would be squawking about this.

  “We’ll talk about it later.” Much later. “Back to the original subject. Can you watch Mary for a second?”

  “Fine, keep your secrets.” Miss Delilah held up a hand, admiring her fingernails.

  “So….Mary?”

  “I won’t let her out of my sight. Whatcha gonna do?”

  “Take out the trash.” He turned to Mary. “I know you ain’t too fond of Braxton, but I want you to give him a call, and tell him to get his ass over here. He’ll escort you home, while I get this sorted out. I’ll be back at your place as soon as I can.”

  She started dialing immediately.

  Justice stalked out the side entrance of the building, and around the rear of the shop next door, so he approached the van from behind. He stayed off to the side so he wouldn’t spook the driver.

  He took a picture of the license plate and then texted it to Vick. The MC had their own tech analyst, Coyote, but since Justice was working on the mob’s dime, he might as well use their resources.

  Besides, Coyote might tell Justice to go fuck himself. He didn’t take too kindly to the mafia boys these days. Come to think of it, he had a bone to pick with just about everyone. Coyote had been kidnapped and maimed by the cartel that had been working with the outfit. They’d cut off one of his fingers to send a message to the Four Horsemen.

  Justice, what’s up? He received a text from Vick.

  Trouble. Do me a favor and run the plate. It might be from the van following Mary.

  On it.

  A second later, his phone buzzed. It’s another fake. No records found. Counterfeit license plates are a big business. I’m sending Ten and Will over to help.

  Justice groaned. I got this. I don’t need any help. Especially not from mobster fucktards.

  Yes, you do. They’ll be there in five minutes, tops.

  Justice texted Vick again, trying to cancel this meeting, but she ignored him.

  Well shit. Company’s on the way.

  Chapter Eleven

  Justice had learned long ago to never make a decision when he was panicked. When a man’s back is against the wall, he’s liable to make the wrong call. It’s much better to have a game plan in place, before walking into a dangerous situation. When things went south, and they always did, he had guidelines in place to follow without letting adrenaline lead him astray.

  A few minutes later, Tennessee Ross and Will Butler rolled up behind him on the sidewalk. He hadn’t noticed them park. At least they’d had enough sense to be sneaky about it. Justice recognized them on site. Since his club had gotten mixed up with the Lone Star Mafia, they’d all boned up on Mobster 101, courtesy of Coyote.

  He ducked into a nearby alley, and motioned to them, so they followed him. They needed to strategize without the driver figuring out what they were up to.

  Butler was a tall blond and blue-eyed man. With his shined shoes and close shave, he had a CEO vibe. Although, Coyote had discovered he’d been a mercenary, before joining the outfit. And prior to becoming a mobster, Butler had been a military pyrotechnics expert.

  Ten, as he was known, was a bit more elusive. Coyote hadn’t been able to find squat on his past, and it troubled all of them. Had he been a spook? CIA agents had deep covers. Or what if he was in witness protection and had a fake ID? Perhaps he’d infiltrated the mafia. Either way, they didn’t know anything useful about Ten.

  The mobster stood well over six feet with a long, lean build. He had thick, black hair and sported a pair of dark sunglasses. Come to think of it, he wore them in every single picture they’d found of him. Strange.

  “This the fella we’re lookin’ for?” Ten nodded in the direction of the van.

  “Think so. It would be one hell of a coincidence if he wasn’t.”

  “What’s the game plan?” Butler asked.

  “Surround him.” Justice palmed the gun in his cut. “And then take him somewhere quiet, so we can question him.”

  “How many dickheads are inside?” Butler glanced around the corner.

  “No clue. I’m hopin’ it’s just the one.” Justice couldn’t think of a surreptitious way to check either. Where’s a drone when you need one? “I’m takin’ the driver’s side.”

  “Fair enough.” Ten cocked his pistol. “I’ll take the passenger door.”

  “Which leaves me with the backend.” Butler also took out his weapon.

  “Let’s do this fast, and don’t draw any attention to yourselves.” He was used to taking charge in situations like this, and neither man contradicted him.

  They kept the approach real casual, just slowly drifting up the street, as though they were out for a casual stroll. Until it was time to spring into action. As Ten rounded the other side of the vehicle, Justice made for the door and kept the gun close to his body, in case anyone noticed.

  Although, the citizens in this town were used to keeping their heads down and actively not seeing things, like New Yorkers. When the mafia lived next door, it paid to overlook crime.

  The driver was hunched down in his seat, surveying the beauty shop. He saw the gun in the window, the driver grasped the wheel as though ready to take off.

  Justice cocked the gun. “Don’t even think about it.”

  Will jumped into the backend and Ten appeared on the other side, as silent as a cat, on the prowl.

  “How’s the back?” Justice asked.

  “Clear,” Will called. “Dumbass came alone.” Will crouched behind the man in the front seat, and pressed his gun against the back of his head.

  “Excellent.” Justice put his weapon away.

  “You won’t shoot me in front of all of these people,” the driver said.

  “Wanna bet?” Ten asked. Justice didn’t know the man very well but didn’t see a hint of hesitation in his eyes.

  “Come on, you can be a tough guy, or play it smart. All we want is some info. Why are you followin’ Mary?” Justice asked.

  “Mary who?”

  Justice shook his head. “Oh, for the love of…”

  “Give me a reason.” Ten hopped in the truck and pressed the end of the pistol against the driver’s belly.

  “Fine.” He held up his hands. “I’ll talk, just don’t shoot me.”

  Justice nodded. “Smart decision. Let’s take this someplace more private.”

  ***

  The next thing Justice new, they were on the back forty at Byron Beauregard’s Tara-style mansion, done in the antebellum style, with long Corinthian columns along the front porch. The long, winding driveway was surrounded by gigantic magnolia trees.

  The property had a rich green lawn, a rarity in Texas, with dozens of decorative flower beds, probably maintained by an army of gardeners.

  And in the rear, was a windowless shed full of lawn equipment—rakes, wheelbarrows, shovels, and now a man trussed to a chair.

  The shed had a cement floor, and the place smelled of freshly turned earth, mix
ed with the pungent scent of fertilizer. Something about the dueling odors reminded Justice of a cemetery. On the ceiling, there was a naked lightbulb, next to a chain. It was the only source of light in the room, so the space was wreathed in shadows.

  The driver was tied to the chair, his arms behind his back. He had a black eye and swollen lip already. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth. Evidently, Ten and Butler hadn’t wasted any time on the car ride over here.

  A cold chill slithered up his spine, and he started to sweat. In his mind’s eye, Justice hung by his wrists once more, while Jeff jabbed him with a knife.

  “What’s your name?” Ten asked the would-be kidnapper.

  “Fuck off.”

  “I thought you were gonna cooperate.”

  Justice wished he would. He’d taken out plenty of men, but he couldn’t torture someone for information. That skill just wasn’t in his wheelhouse, and he never wanted it to be.

  “Just tell us your name. Don’t think of it is cooperatin’, instead, consider it communication.”

  “Fine, call me Ed.” The name was obviously fake, but they had to start somewhere.

  “You’re awful young to have this job, Ed.” Butler bent down on his heels, so he was face to face with him. “You’re what? About 18? 19? That’s the right age for a soldier in our business. Who do you work for? The Louisiana Bayou Boys?”

  Ed didn’t reply.

  “What do you want with the girl?” Justice bit the inside of his cheek and steeled himself.

  Before Ed could answer, Butler socked him in the jaw, and his head rocked backward, red-tinged saliva slinging from his mouth. A droplet landed on Justice’s knuckles, and he swallowed real hard. His stomach rolled and bounced, the gorge rising.

  “Are you okay?” Ten watched him with a quizzical expression.

  “I’m fine, keep goin’.”

  “Or is it the Arkansas contingent?” Ten paused. “You might as well talk because I’m gonna get it out of you eventually.” As he spoke, the mobster withdrew a knife from his jacket. He casually scraped it up and down his arm, a couple of times and a few pieces of hair fell to the floor.

  “See how sharp that is? Imagine what it would do to your skin.”

  Justice’s leg throbbed, and he resisted the urge to touch it, to make certain the skin wasn’t laying open once more, bone exposed.

  Ten brought the blade to Ed’s face, slowly rasping it down along the edge of his jaw. Bits of hair fell to his collar.

  “Talk, or I’m gonna give you more than a close shave.”

  “I can’t. If I do, they’ll kill me.”

  Justice felt like he was about to crawl right out of his own skin.

  “Let me make this easier for you. They ain’t here. I am. And if you don’t spill your guts, I’m gonna literally do it.”

  Justice clutched his stomach.

  Ten continued. “If it’s all the same to you, I’d rather not. Draggin’ a mop and bucket all the way out here is a pain in the ass. We’re short on soldiers this week, so I’d have to take care of it myself.”

  He was about ready to lose it. Justice was drenched in sweat and gasping for breath.

  Something about being in the dark, the smell of sweat, the tang of blood in the air. He felt dizzy. Every now and then, when he closed his eyes, Justice felt like he was still coated in blood, trapped like a caged animal.

  He shouldn’t be here, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to leave either. Maybe Trick was right, and he needed to talk this over with a professional. He was no use to anyone like this, not Etta, and not his brothers, if he didn’t get himself together.

  “What do you say, Ed? Are we havin’ a conversation? Or a cleanup on aisle nine?” Butler asked.

  Ten circled the poor bastard in the chair, his knife drawn, and a perverse grin on his face. The mobster was having himself a really good time like this was some kind of sick and twisted party.

  His stomach felt tight, and heavy like he’d swallowed a lead weight. Justice couldn’t take it anymore, and he rushed out the door, braced his hands on his knees and puked.

  Screams filled the air, and Justice clamped his hands over his ears to drown out the sound.

  When he could stand again, Ten was leaning against the outside wall of the shed. His arms were crossed over his chest. Blood spattered his fingertips. Ten reminded Justice of a man who’d had an orgasm. He only lacked the messy “just been fucked hair” and a cigarette dangling from his mouth. He seemed utterly calm as if he hadn’t just been cutting into somebody a few seconds ago.

  “You okay?”

  “I’m fine.” Although, Justice knew this would most likely come back to haunt him tonight. He doubted he’d get any sleep this evening, but he’d deal with it. He always did.

  “Got a text from Mary. She’s with Braxton, but safe.”

  “Good.” He’d intended to check on her, but his PTSD had other plans. “You get anythin’ out of, Ed?”

  “Nothin’ useful.”

  “So, we don’t know who’s after Mary.” Dammit, the driver had been there only lead.

  “Not yet, but we’ll figure it out eventually, we always do.” His eyes narrowed. “You don’t seem fine.”

  “Yeah? Well, I don’t give a damn what you think.” Ever, you sick fuck.

  “You don’t like me much, huh?”

  “No, I don’t.”

  Justice thought about walking away, but he doubted his legs would hold him at the moment. Dots danced the jitterbug before his eyes, and he was so woozy, he might just tumble to the ground, ass over teacup. Justice would never live it down. If his brothers could see him now, they’d never let him back in the club.

  Ten nodded. “Not many people do. You’re takin’ all of this personally.”

  “How do you figure?” The last thing he wanted, was a Dr. Phil moment from the psycho.

  His brow furrowed, as though it were a trick question. “You’re standin’ out here pukin’ in the grass.”

  “Good point.” He blew out a breath. Justice thought he might never eat anything ever again. Even the thought of food made him gag.

  “Who tortured you?”

  He froze. “Nobody.”

  “That’s a lie.”

  “What do you know about it?”

  “I recognize the signs.”

  “How?”

  “Maybe you ain’t the only one who’s been tortured.” Ten wore an enigmatic smile.

  “Then how could you…?” He pointed to the door, at a loss for words.

  “When you get hit enough, there’s only one cure for the pain.” He lifted his crimson-tipped fingers.

  “If they beat you, join them…? Is that what you’re sayin’?”

  “I don’t mean somebody who’s innocent. Whatcha gotta do is find a real asshole, a guy who’s guilty. One who deserves the punishment you’re gonna dole out, and then give it to him.”

  Whistling a tune, Ten strolled off.

  Chapter Twelve

  That evening, Justice took Etta to Poison Fruit for dinner.

  After the day he’d had, Justice didn’t really feel like eating, but he wanted to take her out someplace fancy. After all she’d been through, Etta deserved a nice evening, and so did he.

  Mary promised it was a romantic spot and she wasn’t wrong. The winery was on the end of town, on five acres which hugged the creek. As he pulled into the drive, Justice passed hundreds of fruit trees—apples, peaches, and pears, as well as strawberry and blackberry patches. It had a charming country feel, all down home and earthy.

  When he found a parking space, he hit the kickstand. She scrambled off the bike and pulled her helmet off, and then fussed with her tresses, smoothing them back into place.

  It took all his willpower, not to take her into his arms and kiss her. Good Lord, she was beautiful, especially in the glow of a setting sun. It highlighted streaks of fire in her hair.

  After hooking their helmets on the handlebars, he walked her inside. A rustic r
ed barn had been converted into the bistro portion of Poison Fruit. It still sported the high rafters and wood, but it had been remodeled inside.

  The hostess seated them in the rear of the dining room so Justice could place his back to the wall. It was an old habit from his military days. That way he could scan the room, monitor any potential threats, and nobody could get the jump on him.

  In the center of the dining room, a brick well-like structure enclosed a large apple tree. The branches stretched up to the stained glass windows above, which depicted Eve and the apple, along with a slithering serpent.

  Justice knew a thing or two about temptation, and it was seated right across from him, in the flesh.

  Etta wore a long white dress with a blue shawl over her shoulders. He loved the flow of it, the way the dress showcased her bare legs, and he could easily imagine sliding his hand underneath the fabric.

  Speaking of which, he wondered what kind of panties she wore this evening. Maybe he could add them to his collection. It would take the edge off this bad day, that’s for damn sure.

  “This place is incredible.” She took it all in with wide eyes. Twinkling Christmas lights lined the walls, and candles on the tables gave the space a warm glow.

  Yeah, I done good.

  Etta deserved to be treated like the special lady she was. Her ex must’ve been a fool not to appreciate her.

  The truth is, there’s nowhere he’d rather be right now. Justice needed Etta in his life, and he knew it with an utter certainty, which should have scared him. It didn’t.

  But how could he convince her to give him a shot?

  She was wary when it came to love, and Justice didn’t blame her. He wanted to show her that letting a man into her life, didn’t have to mean losing herself. Their relationship could be based on love and trust, rather than control and fear.

  “What are you thinkin’ about?”

  “You.” Justice leaned forward. “How lovely you are.”

  She blushed. “Well, thank you, but I’m really not.”

  “I’m not bein’ kind. It’s an honest opinion.” He got the impression Grady had done a number on her self-esteem, especially when it came to her body. “And if you’re feelin’ generous tonight, I’d like a chance to show you later, Angel. I wanna finish what we started in the kitchen.”