18. Dante

EIGHTEEN

Dante

I shouldn't be doing this right now. I'm not technically breaking Noah's rules because I didn't have an incident. In fact, because I have Tristan, I've stayed pretty fucking calm in spite of the shit that came boiling up after seeing my parents.

Of course, Noah might consider what I did to Tristan with the plug to be an incident. Even if he let that slide, there's still the fact that I'm compromised and I know it.

In spite of all the sex, I couldn't sleep last night. As soon as Tristan was out and no longer available to distract me, my mind started churning.

It's been a while since I've thought so directly about my time with the Society. It's always there, in the background. It's the very reason I'm waging my slow, quiet war against Capelli. But I don't usually let any of the images come back to me.

Last night, they did.

Tristan was confused about why I was shitty this morning. It's hard for him when we've had good moments, moments that for most people are everyday things. Eating. Talking.

It's hard for me too—because those moments make me want more of them. Those moments make me want this thing with Tristan to be more than it is.

So it's good, really, that I was an ass this morning. We need to both remember that what we have in an arrangement, not a relationship.

I've never had trouble remembering that before.

But then, I've never met anyone like Tristan before. Sometimes, I almost want to talk to him about what I really do. But I can't imagine him being able to handle the truth. And if I had to explain why I do what I do?

I don't know if I could handle that.

I could barely handle having those images come back to me. I only got rid of them after a workout so extreme that I'm still sore.

Add to that how tired I am from no sleep then all day in the office? I shouldn't be tracking this crew of Capelli's.

But I have to do something to take the edge off because even with exhaustion, that edge is still there. Which means this is sort of, maybe, almost within the rules.

Besides, the dealer I had in containment is now a form of human sludge buried deep under the foundation of Noah's current construction project, and I have to move on what I learned from him while it's relevant.

He was part of the crew I'm tracking. They're meeting a distributor tonight, and I have every intention of making that meeting a disaster.

We're in a warehouse. I'm hiding behind a forklift, deep in the shadows. Capelli's crew leader is talking with a man in a sleek gray suit. Everyone's acting like best friends as a bag is opened and the product sampled.

Drugs are a small sideline for Capelli. Most of his crime is more white collar, but keeping some presence on the streets helps him gather information. He's not a made man, but he does business like one.

In some ways, I respect him more than my father. At least Capelli knows what he is. He only pretends to be clean with the press and with his business associates. Outside of that, he fully embraces his family's long history of mafia connections.

Unlike my father.

My father likes to pretend that he's never been dirty, as though he wasn't once partners with Capelli.

I time my shot with the movement of one of the crew. He's just scratching his nose, but when a bullet from my noise-suppressed gun skims the arm of the sleek-suited distributor, that's not what it looks like.

The distributor's men are whipping out their guns in less than a second—and so are the members of Capelli's crew.

All hell breaks loose.

And here's where I make my mistake. I should leave. I can slip out in the chaos. I've done what I came for.

But it's so cold. It's so remote. It's so fucking unsatisfying. It doesn't even begin to calm the storm raging inside me.

I'm just hanging back here, breathing hard, listening to the shots and screams, when one of Capelli's men shows he has a bit of a brain. He manages to escape the showdown and comes looking for me.

I'm so fucking relieved that I don't even try to shoot him. I holster my gun and wait until he's close, then I grab his outstretched gun hand. His gun goes off as I punch him in the chest.

He drops the gun when I break his wrist, but he's got a knife in his other hand. I leap clear of the slashing blade. He comes at me again and again. I get a few punches in. He nicks me once or twice.

I dive in under his next slash, driving my shoulder into his stomach. I smash him into the forklift. With a roar, I smash him again. And again. He's limp now, unconscious.

Furious, still unsatisfied, I pick up the knife he dropped and stab it into his throat. He never even feels it.

I shove the body away.

The fight has quieted. The distributor and his men are gone. Capelli's crew is lying on the concrete, several of them groaning.

I draw my gun and go to take care of the survivors. I put bullets in several heads before I notice that one of their number is missing.

I hear the footsteps too late. I spin, raising my gun, but a two-by-four cracks into the side of my head.

I hit the ground, my head spinning.

My attacker, who was obviously out of bullets, grabs a gun from the limp hand of one of his dead crew mates.

I manage to get a shot off, but my aim is shit, so I only wing him. His aim is shit too, and he misses me completely. I almost laugh when he pulls the trigger again and it clicks.

I stagger to my feet. He charges me, but the world is spinning, and I can't see him to shoot him.

I'm on the ground again. I twist out from under him, but he drives a knee hard into my gut. My head's still spinning, but it doesn't matter with him so close. I just have to get the muzzle of my gun against his body. When I do, I pull the trigger.

He screams and falls back. I got him in the hip. I fire again and get him in the chest. He's still not dead, and I'm out of bullets. He fights when I start strangling him, but I squeeze harder and harder. He convulses, twitches, and finally goes still.

I fall back on my ass and survey the scene, but everyone present is dead. I won't bother cleaning this up. Capelli will do it to keep it quiet.

Pain starts to throb in my abdomen, and I realize I got cut worse than I thought in my initial fight. It's fine, but I need to patch it. When I try to get up, however, I fall. I almost throw up, but I breathe until the nausea subsides.

Shit. I'm not going to be able to drive, and I have to get out of here. I briefly consider calling Kenzie, but I can't involve her in this shit. She's somewhat aware of my activities and looks away, but it's easier to look away from blood than from bodies.

I'm not about to call Noah, and Tristan is obviously out of the question. There's really only one person I can call at a time like this.

The phone rings several times before Rafael answers. "How bad?"

He's out of breath, and I can hear whoever he's fucking moaning in the background.

"I can't drive. I need out of here."

"Send me your location."