Chapter 11

ELEVEN

ONE MONTH LATER

“Raiden, I’m heading out!” Delilah shouts, her voice carrying all the way from the other side of the house even with “You Wanna Get Me High” by The Donnas blasting on my phone’s speakers. I lower the volume a few notches so I can respond.

“Okay,” I yell back while I finish pouring my nightly heaping glass of Malbec. Taking a quick but generous gulp of wine, I swish the boozy fermented nectar in my mouth as Delilah’s footsteps overhead become louder. “Wait up,” I shout, already topping off my glass to replenish it. I place it back on the countertop before running to catch up with D before she heads out.

Ever since the assignment ended at the Cromwell’s I decided Carmine was right, that I need to be out of the city, so I’ve continued staying with Delilah in Sleepy Hollow until I get my own place. Our mothers have been friends since they were children, so Delilah is more like a sister to me than a friend, which comes with its fair share of her trying to get in my business, but she’s letting me live here rent free and she only does it with love, so it’s fine.

I scurry past the back hall that leads to my room and the spare bathroom, all the way to the front of the house, barricading the front door so I can talk to Delilah before she heads to work.

The clacking of heels intensifies, forcing me to peer up at the staircase. In front of Delilah’s long cerulean blue waves that cascade past her collarbone, is her best friend Blair, leading the way down the steps.

“Hey Blair,” I say, moving from the door. She moves down the steps faster, reaching out and pulling me in for a hug. The chokehold of her embrace has her harness scratching at my torso. After squeezing me for what feels like an eternity, she presses her black painted lips on my cheek for a kiss.

“Hey Raiden, looking good.” She winks as she releases me from her bear hug.

“Thanks. You two off to work?” I ask. Both Delilah and Blair strip at Satan’s Stiletto and judging from Blair’s signature harness she’s wearing like she always does when she dances, that’s where they’re headed.

“You know it,” Blair responds sticking her tongue out. Her back arches and her ass pokes out as she begins to twerk.

I laugh at Blair’s dramatic antics, but I can’t help to notice the way Delilah is staring at me wearing her usual stern expression. Blair’s twerking ceases as she stands up right, moving closer to D, reaching for her hand interlacing it in hers, but it does little to relieve the agitated look that has overtaken her face. “Ready, baby girl?” she grins, squeezing D’s hand.

D nods and just as they’re about to head to the door, Blair suddenly shakes her head in exasperation. “Son of a bitch,” Blair exclaims, as her phone buzzes. Delilah and I exchange a confused look before turning our attention to Blair swiping feverishly at her phone. “Men,” she scoffs, her thumbs flying at her phone’s touchscreen with excessive speed. “I swear they can be so much work. Excuse me.” She mumbles something else under her breath, switching the phone from her hand to her ear, going right into yelling at whoever had the apparent audacity of contacting her.

Now alone, D and I exchange a quick chuckle at her best friend’s typical erratic nature.

“I went to Oogie’s for another session on my back piece,” Delilah randomly announces, pausing as if she’s waiting for me to piece something together.

“Cool, how did it turn out?”

“Fine except for the fact that Declan is back in town,” she rolls her eyes. Declan Hayes is the brother to the owner of Oogie’s Ink as well as Delilah’s ex’s dad, who she accidentally got arrested, so the disdain in her voice isn’t a surprise.

“Eek, how’s he doing?” I ask, already knowing the answer won’t be a simple ‘he’s good’.

“Oh, he’s fucking great. Getting clients back as if he wasn’t on a forced hiatus in jail,” she snaps. “And wouldn’t you know, guess who had an appointment with him recently?” Her eyes bulge, as if she’s trying to clue me in, but I already know the answer.

Suddenly that night, in the foyer of the Cromwell’s comes crashing back to me when I was staring at a shirtless Colson. “Thanks my guy Declan, who just got out of the clink is back at Oogie’s Ink….”

Fuck.

“Ay, do I really need to spell this out for you?!” she exclaims before taking a deep inhale to bring her tone down some. “You know how people are here. They talk. If it isn’t fucking bad enough that Declan is out of jail, he knows Colson. He’s his fucking tattoo artist for fuck’s sake!”

I want to say I know, but I don’t because it will only make her even angrier.

“He swung by Oogie’s Ink–which, mind you, is only a stone’s throw away from Satan’s Stiletto–and they got to talking, and wouldn’t you know, when Colson was looking through the shop’s portfolio while waiting for his appointment, your coffin tattoo that Eddie did was in there, that me and Carmine advised you not to get in such a visible spot because it could put your anonymity at risk on and after assignments. So naturally since Declan is still on his bullshit with me, fucking bitter old man,” she stops to scoff, before shaking her head to continue, “he gladly gave up that the owner of said tattoo is not Sally Hardesty, but Raiden fucking Ramos, a local.”

My pulse thuds in my ears. This isn’t good. Knowing Declan and how bitter he is not only about Delilah getting him arrested, but he’s had the biggest hard on for her and the fact that she’s fucked not only his son but also his daughter – and never him – there’s a high possibility that he spilled more than just my name to Colson, since she and I are so close.

“Fuck,” I mutter. “Does Carmine know?”

“Not yet, but you know how your cousin is. I’m sure it’ll only be a matter of time before it gets back to him. Seriously girl, you didn’t wear gloves like he told you to? Wasn’t that the deal you and Carmine made since you insisted on getting the hand tattoo?”

I don’t respond, and she takes my silence as the only answer she needs.

“Christ, Raiden! I love your headstrong ways but this shit, these little defiant fits you have, they’re going to catch up to you if you aren’t careful.”

I hate that she’s right. Sometimes I’m too bullheaded for my own good.

“It’s fine,” I reassure her, trying to work through the tinge of anxious nausea I feel lodged in my gut.

“Oh, is it? Do tell.”

“I don’t have a social media presence,” I blurt, which isn’t a lie.

Delilah closes the space between us, resting her palm on my cheek. “Girl, in this day and age, if a motherfucker wants to find you, they can and will find you,” she warns, pressing a firm pat on my cheek. She nods her head in the direction of the door, where Blair is still on the phone. “Just ask Blair.”

“It’ll be fine,” I try to reassure her again, wanting to get this conversation over with so I can drown my issues in the glass of wine waiting for me.

She walks towards the doorway and pauses. I can sense the tension in her shoulders as she draws in a long inhale. “I hope so, baby girl, I really do. But speaking of Carmine, he stopped by earlier since you’ve been avoiding his calls and texts,” she announces before making a dramatic pause.

“And?” I motion for her to continue.

“And,” she playfully bulges her eyes, “he said to stop ignoring him. He wants you to stop by Satan’s one night this week while he’s in town; he wants to go over some things with you to help you set up legitimate work now that the Cromwell gig is over.”

Delilah’s tongue clicks as she breathes a soft, sympathetic sigh. “Girl, I love you, but you really need to get it together. You need to get back to your life here, as a Ramos. The Hardesty lie is over. It was just a job. Like all the rest of the assignments you’ve been on. Stop thinking with your kitty, it’s going to get you in trouble.”

“Got it. I’ll call my cousin.”

“Tonight,” she adds, still standing in the open threshold of the front door.

I nod, about to head back to the kitchen, when Delilah’s chuckle stops me.

“What’s so funny?” I ask, unamused.

She draws in a long-winded sigh.

“Yes?” I nudge.

“All jokes aside, I can’t believe how hard you fell for that guy,” she says, shaking her head. “How many jobs have involved hot targets or siblings and no one has left such an impression on you.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I quip, wanting to head back in the direction of the kitchen because before I call Carmine, I’m going to need more than that glass of wine. I’m going to need the bottle.

Another sigh sounds as Delilah’s heels click on the floor in front of the open doorway. “Sure, whatever you say. But I think you really need to get laid.”

“I’m fine,” I lie, and it’s an aggravating reality because I’ve been in a dry spell ever since I left the Cromwell’s that night. Granted a month wouldn’t be considered a dry spell for most, but it is for me and it’s all because I can’t seem to get that sexy pendejo out of my head.

“Right, that’s why you moan his name nightly,” she blurts.

Horror paints my face, and I can feel my cheeks warming. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Your vibrator,” she says nonchalantly. “These walls are paper thin. Not that I’m a perv or anything, but I can literally hear when you use it. You don’t exactly whisper every time you-”

“Okay, that’s enough!” I shout, purposely interrupting her. I walk towards the door, gently pushing her out.

I’m officially over this.

“Aw, don’t be embarrassed, it’s cute in a desperate and delusional sort of way. But let’s just hope he isn’t crazy. The last thing any of us needs is him snooping around where he doesn’t belong” she says, heading down the porch steps to her car. “Don’t forget to lock up! Sleepy Hollow isn’t as safe as it used to be,” she singsongs but she isn’t joking. Not only have there been a slew of decapitations – which ironically has attracted even more tourists who already come here to enjoy the Headless Horseman lore – there has been a rise in home invasions and kidnappings seemingly out of nowhere.

“Got it!” I shout, already shutting the door, about to head to the kitchen just as my phone vibrates against my hip. Lifting it from where it’s tucked in the waistband of my booty shorts.

“Ay, dios mío,” I groan, opening Carmine’s message.

Carmine: Will you be gracing us with your presence this evening or are you suddenly too good for Satan’s???

Me: Cut the shit. I never agreed to work the pole.

Carmine: I never said you had to. There is more that goes into operating Satan’s than working the pole. Had you answered any of my calls the last two weeks, you would have known that.

Carmine: Last chance, Ramos. Stop by Satan’s tonight and we can discuss.

Me: Just give me one more day and then I’m yours.

Carmine: No thank you, ha

Me: Ew, not like that jackass. Sienna can keep your dusty ass

Carmine: You continually offend me Ramos

Me: And you continually piss me the fuck off so we’re even

Carmine: All jokes aside if you don’t make an appearance by tomorrow. It won’t be me you’ll be dealing with. It’ll be Sienna.

Oh fuck. Sienna, Carmine’s wife, is probably the only person who scares me more than he does. Which is saying something because I’m friends with Blair, and that girl is batshit crazy, and truthfully, I’m no calm ocean breeze myself.

Me: Fine. But I’m not doing it for you. I’m doing it for your beautiful wife.

Carmine: Whatever it takes. I’m holding you to it. Don’t fuck me over like last time. We don’t want a Cromwell 2.0

Me: Whatever

Me: Are you ever going to tell me what’s on those flash drives like you promised?

Carmine: I…can’t…hear…you’re… breaking up

Me: Puta madre! This is a fucking text message

Carmine: No. They’re in your brother’s hands now. Goodnight Ramos

Me: Whatever. Night

Carmine : Oh and one more thing.

Here we go.

Me: ???

Carmine: You followed protocol on the Cromwell assignment correct?

Carmine: Or did you think with your pussy as per usual and get distracted by NOT wearing the leather gloves I supplied you each time you went to that house??

I scoff.

Me: You wanted me to get close to Brett and get the flash drives right?

Me: So getting close to him required me to stroke his ego and cock almost nightly. How about you try sucking and stroking dick with slippery gloves on? It doesn’t work.

Me: If you’re referring to Colson and Declan’s meeting at Oogie’s, it’s fine. If Colson tries anything, I’ll handle him

Carmine: By what? Sucking his dick too? Raiden, I swear to god

My thumbs fly at the keyboard of my phone in response to how he’s talking to me.

Me: Let me stop you there. Boss or not. Our mother’s being sisters aside, you better watch what the fuck you say to me next.

Carmine: Sorry but he knows who you are and there’s only so much I can do to protect you

Me: I’m fine.

Carmine: I fucking hope so. This has the potential to get messy.

Me: Then I’ll clean it up.

Carmine: You better.

Curling my phone in my hand, I realize that I never locked the front door. I move to the latch, securing it when something slams from the back of the house. Fuck, did I forget to lock the back door in the kitchen too? Suddenly, Delilah’s warning and this not so sleepy town’s current events has me on high alert. With my heart pounding, I tuck my phone back in my waistband, and bend down to get the 9mm Pocket Pistol tucked in my boot.

I inch forward slowly, keeping my stride soft, knowing which floorboards to avoid so they don’t creak beneath my feet. Leading the way with my pistol, I head towards the noise. I search each corner of each room, but nothing seems out of place. I continue my search until I reach the kitchen, relieved to see the wine I poured still on the counter and the back door locked – thankfully. I shrug off the unease coursing through me since clearly no one is here. It’s just my paranoia, I say to myself, immediately reaching for my wine glass. Taking a long sip, I gulp the booze down, though as it pours down my throat, something tastes off. I lower the glass, angling my head to get a better view of the bottle, just to double-check that I did pour a Malbec and not one of Delilah’s sweet wines. Sure, enough a bottle of nearly empty, semi-dry Malbec stares back at me.

I take another sip, stewing on what Delilah said about Colson and Declan’s interaction at Oogie’s. Sure, Colson isn’t a good guy, I mean he’s a Cromwell after all, but I can’t see him doing something to hurt me. Not like he could anyway. And, in the off chance, he did try something, I can easily push my feelings or attraction for him aside and do what I’m trained to do…kill. I hope.

Though, as I slip my pistol back in my boot, the image of riding his cock while holding a gun to his pretty head sends a surge of arousal to my pussy that is now throbbing at the thought. “Holy fuck. Delilah was right. I need to get it together,” I mumble to myself.

Trying to shake the depraved images swarming in my mind; I take my wine with me to my room. I don’t know if it’s the adrenaline or how horny I suddenly am, but with each step I take I feel more and more lightheaded. I stumble through the doorway and place the little bit that remains in the glass on my nightstand. I feel myself beginning to drift off as another noise sounds. This time, quieter than the last.

“Hello,” I manage to say, but my voice has lost its usually fiery vigor.

White spots take over my vision as I reach for the nightstand. I know my hand is tapping at the furniture, but I can barely feel my palm. Everything feels fuzzy. My eyelids feel like they have boulders being dropped on them. I feel so damn tired.

I try to open my mouth to speak but all I can manage is a stifled gasp. As I lose to the quicksand that feels like it’s being poured over my body, I part my lips, but I can’t get words to come out. And it’s only as I succumb to the dark cloud wreaking havoc on my body that I recognize the familiar, earthy aroma that somehow pounds at my nostrils even in my fading state. It’s the same scent that made my thighs clench and my mouth run dry when it wafted my way as I scurried away from Colson that night when he said, “never say never.”