22. FRANKIE

My brother didn't scare me. I didn't even think he'd be a good shot even with the gun facing the back of my head. I put the car in drive. We were still at the scene of a crime, and I didn't want to get caught up in all of that.

"What happened when I left?" I asked, glancing into the rear-view mirror at how messed up my father had made his face. The indent marks from the knuckle dusters almost visible. "And how the fuck did you leave so fast?"

"Tommy did this," he said. "You know how dad has always pit us against each other. Well, I told him to do it, and then I'd make everything right."

Cal shuffled around in the seat, the bag on his lap. I knew what Sandro had come here for. "Ok," I said. "You're gonna try and get back into dad's good books by giving him the drugs you had stolen from him in the first place."

"You have them?"

"Cal." I nodded to the nodded the bag. "Give him what we got."

"But I thought," he let out softly.

"You thought what?" Sandro asked. "You were going to take these back yourself, clear your name, give back the drugs, and ask the family to make you a member?" He scoffed.

"Don't talk to him like that," I said. "But you really don't need a gun to ask."

"I was the one who helped him get these locations set up, I'm the one who was getting a cut."

"Grant is dead," Cal said, handing the bricks of cocaine to Sandro in the back seat. "After everything he did, it's the least he deserved." He grumbled to himself, pouting. "Now, where do you want dropping off?"

Sandro glanced down at the bricks, the ones with the holes in were expelling out onto his slacks. "I have an address, we're going to get—" before he could finish what he was saying, he put the breaks down. Sandro's hand pushed forward. I grabbed the gun and twisted his wrist, disarming him.

"Ok, little brother," I said. "Get out of the fucking car."

Cal grabbed a gun from the bag and cocked it, placing it in Sandro's face. "Now," he said. "Your brother might not, but I've had it being pushed around. So, take that, try not to get caught by the cops coming down every street, and have a nice life."

Sandro was stunned. He'd never been one for hand-to-hand combat, or even shooting a gun. It was almost like he hadn't seen this coming. "I—"

"Have a nice life, Alessandro," I said.

"Aren't you coming back?" he asked, taking off his jacket to bundle up the bricks inside. "Families fight. You can't leave because of what happened. I'm not leaving, and they did this to me."

I shook my head. "They gave me a choice. And I made it. Dad can try and send whoever he wants, but if he thinks for a second that I'm not going to stick to my guns, then he's sorely mistaken. I wish you all the best."

Once Sandro was out of the car, I sped off.

Cal's hand was shaking as he put the gun down. "I wasn't going to shoot him," he said.

"It's ok. I'm glad you didn't. As much as I'm leaving them, I didn't want to leave them with one dead son as well," I said.

"So, that's it?" he asked. "We're really going to leave your family?"

It was a tough call to make. "I've got money hidden away. And we're going to take the rest of the drugs we find in the other two houses and I'm going to give one half to my father and the other half as an apology to the Irish mob. A peace offering from me. I know they're after. Grant had probably set that entire thing up for me to be caught killing men on their territory."

"I thought we were going to sell it," he said. "You know, it's got a street value of five million you said."

"That's if we find it all, and Sandro just made off with a couple hundred thousand," I said. "But this is just me and you now. I don't need a lot of money; all I need is you." As we came to a stop light, I gave him a kiss. "And of course, an island with a nice white sandy beach, we need that as well."

"You're retiring?" he asked.

"Think of it as becoming my own boss," I said. "Making money for what I'm naturally good at. I'm so used to doing it for free for the family. I know there's a market for it. And people pay a lot of money." This wasn't something I'd planned on doing because of Cal. This was something I'd thought about doing many years ago. The idea that my life was always going to be the same, every single day, without any progression. I woke up, I trained, I hurt people, I ate, I drank, and on days I was feeling especially lonely, I got laid. Then the cycle started over.

"Don't do it for me," he said. "I don't want your family to hate me more than they already do. And—and your mom is going to never accept me if I take you away from her."

"I'm not," I told him, driving aimlessly. "And it doesn't matter what they think, my mom has always tried to break us up because of who I am. If anything, it saves you from not going to anymore Sunday dinners."

He sighed. "Ok. But if she asks, I'm telling her this was all you."

"It is all me," I said, reaching out for his hand. "Now, there's someone you should probably talk to. And he also has the other addresses."

"Sutton," he said. "Where's your cell?"

I had wanted to take the drugs and sell them off in bulk myself, but when I saw the lengths my brother had gone to take them from me, I knew I could give them to my father myself, at least then I could consider it a parting gift. And the gift for the Irish Mob was to make sure they didn't put a bounty on my head, or to buy them out of whatever bounty there was on it currently.

Cal and Sutton talked about what had happened as we went to the third address. It was on an unsuspecting cul-de-sac. There was a white picket fence. I wondered if this is where Grant thought he could take Cal and live happily-ever-after in.

Nobody was in the house. Although I knew Sandro was on his way. It seemed like once I was inside, I knew immediately where the drugs were. Inside those same worn-down sofa cushions. I got them all out into the trunk of the car and made it away without any neighbors coming to check on us. There was visible blood on me, but from a distance it might've appeared like some type of arty shirt design.

"Done already?" Cal asked as I hopped back into the driver seat. He had his ear to the cellphone still. "Sutton said you need to be more careful and stop doing your own thing when people are trying to help."

My black facial expression said enough. I looked him up and down. "Tell Sutton to mind his business, and if I wanted his advice, then I'd ask."

Cal pressed his lips together to form a thin smile as he tried so hard to hide his adorable smile. "I'm not saying that to him. Oh. I guess he heard you." He snickered. "I'm thinking that after we've done everything today, we should go back to New York to see Sutton and he can help us plan our next steps."

That plan had more legs than my current plan of winging it, and not knowing how either party was going to react to me dumping a couple kilos of cocaine on their doorstep. "Fine," I grumbled. "But we leave as soon as possible. We need this to blow over."

"Sutton says we can charter a private jet to one of the Caribbean Islands."

"Let's talk about that later. We need the final address." I stroked the back of my hand against the side of Cal's cheek. There was still some of the powder on his skin, making him look like he was about to crumble in some lighting. "And then we need to get you out of that, and I need to fuck you, just so that ownership is clear to anyone who comes looking again."

Cal smacked his lips. "Yes," he said., nodding obediently. "Oh. Sutton heard all that as well."

"Tell Sutton to stop being a sexual deviant and get the address."

The final location was a little further north in New Jersey. A two-hour car ride. Today had exhausted me, and I was starting to feel the effects of it as both the adrenaline of saving Cal mixed in with the cocaine I'd consumed, I was heading off a cliff into come down territory.

Cal was playing games on my cell when he must've felt it from me. "Are you ok?"

"I'm good. Just need to focus."

"I'm glad you found me," he said. "Truth was. I didn't know what was going to happen. But I used everything you taught me."

"Everything?" I asked.

"Well, not everything." He giggled, wiggling his brows at me.

* * *

Nineteen Months Ago

Cal was being impossible. He tapped out of everything we did. He wanted to fight and prove himself, but he couldn't. I never hurt him physically with any of the combat training we'd started. I threw him in at the deep end of it, when I probably should've started him easy. But those men could make an appearance at any moment. We had to be ready.

We trained near softer objects like the sofa in the living room and the bed in the bedroom. Both places that we could push each other without getting hurt.

And each time, those places ended up devolving into other types of action.

Cal's arm strength was weak, he pushed me, and I stayed completely still.

"Come on," I said. "You won't always have a weapon. You need to use these." I grabbed both of his hands and made them into fists. "Go on. Punch me. Push me. Try and move."

He gave it his best shot, punching me could've done him more damage than me. I'd given him the lessons and taught him how to fold his fingers in and how to stretch out his arm to deliver the perfect jab.

"No, no, no," I said, grabbing him once more. I could've lifted him and tossed him around like a ragdoll. "You know that's not how you do it. And don't just blindly throw away those punches. You need to deliver those blows to places on the body that are always weak. Like finding the soft part in a piece of armor."

Cal's eyes grew wide as he looked at me. "You mean, like your balls?"

"If you want to live, and if you ever want to play like that again, you'll stay clear of my balls, but every other set of balls, feel free to kick," I said.

"Ok, and what if I did this?" he asked.

"Did wha—"

He pounced on me like a spider monkey, wrapping his arms and legs around my torso. "And then I can—eeee—try and—ahhhh," he strained himself, trying to bare his weight down on me so that I would topple. "It's not—eeee—working."

"This move is bad for a number of reasons," I said, carrying him on me. He pushed his back up against the wall. "Now you're trapped. What are you gonna do?"

He kissed me.

"No."

"Yes," he said, going in for another kiss and instead biting my cheek. "That's what you did to me yesterday."

"Your other cheeks."

He giggled. "I think we've done enough work. Look." He flopped his head down against my shoulder and let his body hang loose. "Ugh. See. I'm done for the day."

"It's only the afternoon," I told him, giving his neck a bite. He wiggled around between me and the wall. "Now, how do you get out of a situation like this?"

"I—I don't," he said, trying to bear his ass down against my groin. "I make the best of a tight squeeze."

"Cal," the roughness in my voice stopped him from moving.

"Sorry," he grumbled. "I'm trying to take it serious, but I don't want to think about it."

"You have to," I told him. "You have to think about it. You need to think about it until you can turn it into a strength. So, what are you going to do to get free?"

He huffed, his breath becoming hoarse. His brows pinched together, and then glassy tears formed across his eyes. He let out a roar and with both hands, he twisted my nipples. I immediately backed away. He fell from my body.

"I did it," he said, sniffling and wiping his tears. "You didn't say nothing about the nipples."

"Let's go again," I said. "This time. No nipples and no balls."

"Nipples should be fair game," he argued. "Free the nipple! He started to strip, pulling his T-shirt up from over his head. He swung it around. "Free the nipple!" he chanted as he raced around me making circles. "I'm coming for your nipples now!"