Dirty (RAW Family 2)

Nothing will deter him.

“No, Gio, don’t. Please.” My sobs are pointless. I try to pull my hand out of his hold, gasping out a weak, “Oh, God, no. Please don’t.”

But the shears inch closer, and I gasp out tired, hopeless cries, knowing what’s coming.

As he rests the open, shining, polished blades around my finger, I still. And when he squeezes them closed in one swift movement, my ring finger lands on the floor in front of me as thick red blood oozes down my knuckles, coating my hand.

So I do the only thing I can.

I raise my head to the heavens, my body quivering in distress, and screech out my agony.

Two days later…

My eyes rimmed red, with a four-day growth on my jaw, I speed up the long road to the address I obtained in ways that did not please me.

This is not a smart move, not in any way, shape or form. In fact, I am almost entirely sure I will be leaving this residence in a body bag. Hell, I even called Tonya before I arrived, just so I could hear her voice one last time.

What I am doing is reckless. That in itself is so very unlike me, but I am a man mourning.

Arrangements have been made. My sister will be a very wealthy woman when I pass on.

Because my wife…

I look across at the white rectangular jewelry box resting on the passenger seat, and the thought of what it contains makes my chest seize. Again and again, over and over, and it will continue to do so until I get this over with.

My wife is dead. I’m almost sure of it.

When Ling went offline, I knew something was wrong. She’d never turn her phone off, not when I needed her. The motel room was trashed, and the owner of The Sunflower Inn, Duane, had been knocked unconscious—his grandson Wyatt had told me.

Only one thing was found in the room, and I knew then that Alejandra was gone.

In my soundless grief, I wondered about my partner.

I know Ling has her issues, but she’s not completely stupid. Ling is reckless, not foolish. She knew abandoning her post would mean I’d kill her, and I’d not hesitate in doing that shit. Not when Alejandra was involved. Now, the situation as it is, in the span of a day, I’ve lost two women I care about deeply.`

I’ve searched high and low for Ana, not at all courageous enough to hope to find her alive, but to retrieve her body and give her peace through a burial.

My self-loathing is at a high. This is my fault. Unexpectedly, I may have pulled a Twitch.

I got too confident. Got too cocky. Started to feel invincible. And it would have been fine if I were the one to suffer, the one to die, but I wasn’t.

She was.

Right now, feeling as I am, raw and torn and broken, I understand why Twitch did it. I understand why he stepped in front of that bullet.

To save my little sparrow, I would have done the same. I would have done anything.

Yes. It’s my fault. I can’t lay the blame on anyone other than myself.

Ana was loyal to a fault. She would have never left me to find Gio on my own, and so, in an attempt to keep her out of harm’s way, I cast her out. I had the best of intentions at heart. I left her safe and with protection, and I would come to claim her when the danger had passed. After all the shit she’d been through, she deserved a life filled with love. And that was something I could give her given the right circumstances. But she was a distraction I did not need as I went about my mission and, because of my decision, I am the true cause of her demise.

It will be something I have to live with until the day I die, which will hopefully be soon enough.

I never told Alejandra how I felt about her, or even how she made me feel less disconnected, that she made me feel human again. Part of me wishes I had. The other part wishes I’d never met her at all.

The expectation of love versus the reality is two completely different things.

The expectation is that it’s all hearts and roses and feelings of warmth, kisses and long-lasting embraces filled with hope that life will be forever beautiful. But beauty doesn’t last. Never does.

Even roses have thorns.

The reality of love is being terrified of disappointing your partner, setting yourself on fire to keep your loved one warm and believing you have the ability to prevent bad things from happening to them. And the moment you realize you don’t, your soul leaves you in a most painful way, piece by piece torn from you, and love becomes an eternal enemy.

It took a day of tailing, but I managed to get my hands on one of Gambino’s boys. I persuaded him to give up details of a certain meet that was happening right now at the house Vito Gambino is sure has been kept a secret. I know Gambino’s man hasn’t told him I’m coming. I know this because he’s currently drugged and locked in the trunk of my car, missing an ear, as well as the tip of his tongue, and smelling of his own piss. He was smart enough to yield when he did. I don’t know how much longer I would’ve kept civil.

Unlike Eduardo Castillo’s home, this one does not have a monitored front gate. There is no head of security here and bar the eight-foot fence, little from stopping anyone who wanted to enter. We’re out in the greens. Gambino’s next neighbor is miles away.

I know.

I checked.

Vito Gambino’s confidence in his men is admirable. It’s a shame it’s going to be the cause of his expiration.

When I reach the gate, I dig into my jacket pocket and pull out my cell. I dial the number, and he answers right away. “You sure this the place?”

My voice is rough from lack of sleep. “This is it.”

“Righty-oh,” he responds, his tone conveying his lack of confidence. I get it. There are going to be a lot of important people here today. He adds, “Well, I’m here. Ready to go when you are, my friend.”

“Good,” I say tiredly. “That’s real good.”

With my car still running, my finger taps the disconnect button, and without another thought, I turn my body to peer backward and throw my car into reverse, backing up a good distance, far enough to take in the property before me.

I should be thinking about the cost of what I’m doing, not just for me, but for all involved. But I don’t. I don’t give a damn anymore.

This is the end of the road. The final stop. The last call.

I’m so tired. But I have a score to settle.

My hand moves the gear into drive. With a curled lip and a raging mind, I push my foot down on the accelerator, pedal to the metal. The blood roars in my ears as the wheels of my car spin, causing dirt to fly up and around the vehicle. A moment passes, and I jolt as the car begins to move, the sounds of the hard working engine echoing through my body. My chest vibrates with every rev, each one stronger than the next. Closer and closer, my target ascends, and when it’s right there in front of me, I grit my teeth and steel my grip on the steering wheel, anticipating the impact.

Boom.

The sound makes my ears bleed as the SUV crashes through the tall wrought iron gates, my car sliding out to the side from the collision. Taking my foot off the accelerator, I steer into the slide and correct the move with no effort at all. Accelerating once again, I make my way down the cobblestone drive all the way down to the main house.

The commotion has brought men

running out of the house, guns in hand, waiting for a fight. But they won’t get one. Not right now.

I’m fighting a different way today.

When the men aim their weapons at me, I raise my arms in surrender, and call out, “I need to see Eduardo Castillo.”

Just as the name is spoken, he steps out of the house and glares at me. “Julius Carter, the fuck are you doing here?”

“I need you to vouch for me,” I tell him, watching the horde of agitated-looking men around him. “I need to speak today, and since I wasn’t invited, I need you to vouch for me.”

His eyes narrow at me harshly. “Why should I? You mock my family by your presence, bringing nothing but trouble, then you marry my daughter without permission.” His lips thin. “Give me a reason to not kill you where you stand, Carter.”

When I open my mouth, the magic words fly out. “You’re looking for Miguel, right?”

Castillo’s eyes light and he searches my face a moment, before revealing quietly, “Yes. He’s been missing a week, unreachable. It’s why we’re all gathered here today, to put out a search for him.” He takes in my solemn expression, then asks a hopeful, “You know where he is, yes?”

I voice my response sensibly. “Yes. He was taken.”

“By who?” Castillo inches closer to me, eyes wide, desperation lining his question.

Feeling somewhat like a caged animal, I fight the urge to lash out. My hands still in the air, my dead eyes meet his, and I calmly utter, “Vouch for me.”

I’m not saying another motherfucking word without a guarantee of some sort.

He looks at me a long moment before turning to Vito Gambino, and telling the other man, “I vouch for him. He has the right to speak as my guest. Turn him away and show me a grave disrespect.”

Gambino looks mad as hell, but when his eyes reach mine, with a single look of fury, I silently dare him to say a word against me. Gambino jerks his head back to his men. “Put ‘em away. Let’s hear what Mr. Carter has to say. After all”—he smiles darkly at my wrecked SUV—“he did throw away a hundred grand just to get our attention.”