Fallen Empire (Dirty Empire)

“It’s hers.” Farley nods toward the terrace where Sasha Rosado and her two-year-old son, Puff Junior, sit at the edge of the pool. She has a protective arm around his body and seems to be doing her best to ignore the security guards that hover around them.

I sigh with relief. That’s a better look than gagged and teary in the back of a van for Puff’s benefit. His reaction had to be genuine in order for our father to buy it.

When I told Caleb that we were going to bring our hostages here, he burst out laughing. Until he realized I was serious.

“We said woman plus child, not woman plus child plus this… this… rat.” Caleb grimaces as the dog runs up to his shoe and starts sniffing. It has more bald spots than actual fur.

“There’d be no one there to feed it. What if it starved to death?”

“And?”

Farley’s brow furrows as his gaze shifts between Caleb and the five-pound ankle biter, trying to figure out if Caleb is serious. Obviously, Farley has a soft spot for four-legged creatures. Amusing, given I’ve seen him break the legs of plenty of two-legged creatures over the years.

I roll my eyes. My brother’s issues with dogs go all the way back to age six, when one similar in size sank its teeth into his thigh. The scars are faint but still there. “It’s fine.”

“Jesus. As if this day hasn’t been bad enough.” Caleb heads toward the bar. The dog trots behind him.

“How are they?” I nod toward our guests.

“Scared.”

To be expected. Five big guys busting down your door and dragging you out of your house tends to do that.

“And the others? How far away are they?” San Bernardino, where Puff’s mother lives, is at least a five-hour drive from here.

“An hour out, tops.”

I sigh with reluctance. “Okay, I need to call Puff then, and fill him in on the plan.”

“I guess that leaves me to welcome our guests.” Caleb sizes up the stunning brunette from above the rim of his glass for the first time, a familiar glint of interest in his eyes. “Damn. She’s a hundred levels out of his league. What’s her name again?”

“Her name is ‘mother of Puff’s child and a supremely fucking bad idea,’” I warn. “We have a ton of smoothing over to do with him and that won’t help. Stick your dick elsewhere.”

Michelle strolls past us then, offering a tepid smile, heading toward the back terrace, her dutiful babysitter Moe trailing closely behind her. A red bathing suit dangles from her fingers. I assume it’s for Sasha to borrow while she’s here.

“My options are severely limited, thanks to you,” he mutters, following her out.

I sigh. “Keep an eye on him, would you? I don’t need him making this problem worse.” It’s bad enough already. I need to call Puff before he sets things in motion that can’t be undone. He has plenty of allies in Fulcort and he won’t take this lying down.

Farley’s deep chuckles vibrates in my chest. “You have more to worry about for your brother than her. She’s a feisty one. Got nails on her.”

Shit. “Well, make sure he doesn’t lose an eye, otherwise I’ll have to listen to his whiny ass for the rest of my life.” With that, I head for the privacy of my wing to make this call, hoping Puff has his burner on him and he’s in a place where he can answer. I don’t know what to say to ease his rage. I know what he’s feeling right now and there’s no forgiving the people behind it. I can only plead empathy. Trouble is, I don’t know if a guy like Puff can spell the word, let alone show it.

Puff answers on the eighth ring.

“How’s the hand?”

“Shattered,” he grumbles, his voice laced with agony.

“Donny will get you patched up. You won’t have to wait until tomorrow. And he’ll get you some good painkillers.”

“Gee, thanks.” Hatred spews from each syllable. “What the fuck do you want, Gabe?”

This is the part where Vlad Easton would demand respect.

“I want you to shut your mouth and listen very carefully to what I’m about to tell you, and maybe we’ll all get out of this alive.”

12

Mercy

I clench my teeth and throw myself against the door for the tenth time. I don’t know if I had any chance of breaking it down before, but with the plywood Bane nailed over the hole, it’s hopeless now.

I sink to the floor, exhausted and afraid.

Vic is dead; I’m sure of it.

If he’s not, he’s wishing he was. I listened to him scream for hours, until the screams waned and then they stopped. Then the van engine came to life and took off. I assume Bane’s gone to bury the evidence of his crimes in the desert using one of his many shovels.