Dirty (RAW Family 2)

Well, okay, yeah, it is. His entirety shouts “I’m a big shot,” and, hell, there can only be one of us in a room at a time.

The man, looking fit for a guy in his fifties, holds out a hand to me.

Amateur.

I don’t take it. I simply hold his gaze without blinking.

His hand falls to his side, and a small smile stretches his lips. “Mr. Falco, my name is Ethan Black.”

Another lukewarm sip of coffee. “That meant to mean something to me, pops?”

Ethan Black tilts his head to the side. “No. Not unless you’re in with the FBI.”

FBI?

I turn to look at the chief, who can’t seem to bring himself to meet my gaze right now. And with that non-gesture, hostility makes a base in my mind. I stand with my hands fisted by my sides and utter, “You lying piece of shit.”

The chief comes out of his seat at my accusation. “I did not lie.”

The heat of the moment has us talking over each other like a couple of grade-schoolers. “You done messed with the wrong guy—”

“We’re negotiating, Twitch—”

“The fucking FBI? You set me up, and I swear to God—”

“I’m not setting you up, you neurotic asshole. I’m trying to help you!”

“Fuck you! Fuck the FBI. I’m out.”

I’m already walking out the door, when Ethan Black opens his mouth and calmly states, “Sit down, Mr. Falco, or I swear to you that smart little boy of yours is never going to meet his father, because he’ll be spending the rest of his life in a maximum security prison.”

I spin so quick with a single intent in my mind, but the current influx of emotion in me makes me sloppy. My blow never meets its target and, red-faced, I watch as Ethan Black disregards my attack with little more than a wave of his hand. He sits in the chair I previously occupied and starts talking. “AJ, isn’t it? Apparently his kindergarten teacher says he’s top of his class and quick as a whip.”

My feet glued to the floor, I stand there, panting, my anger steadily thrumming a drumbeat through my veins. “Don’t.” The single word is said with enough heat to burn.

The chief, calm for the moment, begins, “Twitch—”

“Don’t you say a fucking word, old man. I’m barely holding it together.”

Enough is enough, and apparently, so thinks the chief. “If you’d shut your goddamn mouth and listen for a moment, I can explain why the chief of staff and special counsel of the FBI is standing here right now, in this room, and why you aren’t being cuffed.”

If I open my mouth right now, nothing good can come of it, so I do the only thing I can to keep the peace. I keep my mouth shut.

Ethan Black, Chief of Staff and Special Counsel of the FBI, sits taller, before explaining, “I think what Police Chief Peterson is trying to say is that you may have some information we could use. And in exchange for this information, we’re prepared to offer you a new identity, clean and clear. Pretty generous of the FBI, considering you were a known drug lord manufacturing all sorts of street candy, acting under the guise of your plastics factory, as well as faking your death. Not to mention multiple weapons charges, money laundering, theft, fraud, and the list goes on, and on, and on.” He pauses to let that sink in. “That is a pretty long list of charges, Mr. Falco. You’d be looking at life in prison, and if I had anything to say in it, a non-parole period of 100 years.”

A whole lot of shit bombards my mind at that moment, but there’s only one thing that really sticks to the forefront. “Three months.”

Ethan Black throws me a look of confusion. “Excuse me?”

“Three months,” I repeat, before adding, “You’ve got me for three months and not a fucking day more.”

The chief looks to Ethan before approaching me guardedly with a look that one might approach a wounded dog with. “Twitch, let’s not be unreasonable. Three months is simply not enough time. Hell, most stings wouldn’t be ready in that time.”

Ethan agrees, “I’m sorry, Mr. Falco. That’s not enough time.”

I push. “We’ll make it enough time.”

Ethan shakes his head. “How? There are only so many hours in a day.”

“Three months,” I stress, before muttering, “It’s all I have to give, Black.”

He must see the truth in my eyes, because after an uncomfortably long moment, he nods lightly. “Okay. Three months.”

My relief palpable, I get to work. I don’t have a moment to lose. I’m this close to getting my family back, and nothing is going to stand in my damn way. “I need a map.”

The chief’s brow furrows. “A map? What for?”

“You’re going to need to know where these men live.”

Ethan chuckles as if I just told him something cute. “We already know that information, Mr. Falco.”

“No, you don’t.” I say this with such complete confidence that both men steal a glance at each other. I lift my hand and snap my fingers. “A map. I need a map.”

The chief yells out for Detective Renley, and within minutes, I hand over the secret locations of five of the hardest criminals the planet has ever seen. Once my friends, now my enemies. It’s a shame, but for me to reappear in the world, they need to go. So fuck ‘em.

I feel like a goddamn narc. But I can almost taste my freedom, and something tells me there isn’t a sweeter taste in the world.

Oh wait. Of course there is.

Lexi.

The warm brown tone of the chesterfield sofa is exceptionally deceptive. The moment you sit on the inviting-looking couch, the chill of the firm, cold leather makes you realize that this expensive piece of furniture is here for intimidation, not comfort. And right now, it’s doing a damn good job of doling out its purpose.

This morning, when I woke for the second time, I was hardly surprised to find myself handcuffed again. It was who I was handcuffed to that was surprising.

It seemed that after my emotional outburst in the middle of the night, Julius had decided that cuffing me to the bedframe was not the smartest idea. I returned from the bathroom, walked to the edge of the bed, to the place Julius remained seated with his back against the headboard, and held out my hands to resume my position of prisoner. I wanted to show him that I could be trusted, because gaining the trust of your captor seemed to be a smart move.

My eyes desperately sought permission to wander to Julius, to explore him unabashedly, but I wouldn’t allow it. That didn’t mean they obeyed. Peripheral vision was a beautiful thing.

How could a man who looked so surly, so angry, come across as tender as much as he did unfeeling? I was unsure how to process the evening, especially the moment he took me into his arms and held me, caressed away the pain he had been the cause of. My mind told me to be wary, that this was the way things began with Dino. Yet my heart frantically held onto the sliver of hope that came with the sympathetic gesture.

Rather than secure me again, he moved back over to his side of the bed and waited patiently for my stunned surprise to fade. As I moved slowly, quietly, to lie on the opposite side of the bed, Julius sat tall and threw the covers fully over my small body, all the way up to my neck, making sure I would be warm during the night. With everything that had happened over the last few days, I was sure I’d never get to sleep.

But then I woke up, dazed and confused.

I don’t know what time my eyes fluttered open, but long, warm fingers brushed mine and anxiety set in. My eyes opened wide, and when I tried to pull away, the fingers followed. I attempted to bring my hand up, but came into some difficulty, probably because I was cuffed again and the opposite cuff was attached to a thick wrist. That wrist was attached to a strong, muscled, coffee-colored arm. When I realized I was dangling Julius’s arm in the air, I dropped my hand, letting both ours fall to the bed with a bounce.

A snuffle sounded over the other side of the bed, the mattress moved, and suddenly he was awake. Sitting up, he blinked sleepily down at me as I lay still, wide-eyed and awkward, pulling the cove

rs up to my nose.

“Time is it?” he asked, knowing full well I didn’t have a watch.

When I didn’t respond, he lifted his cuffed hand, pressing a button on his wristwatch to illuminate the screen, and then spoke gruffly, “I need to be somewhere in an hour, and Ling’s out, so you’re coming with me.” He turned to face me. “You can shower first.”

Behind the safety of the quilt, I spoke a muffled, “I don’t have any clothes.”

His eyes roamed my covered body without a care in the world. “Fine. I’ll go first. You can borrow something from Ling.”

Something told me Ling didn’t wear jeans and sneakers. With my heel punctured, I wasn’t even going to attempt a pair of pumps. “But my heel…”

I sounded like a whiny asshole.