God, how I wanted to believe Nick’s words. For me and for Portia. Now more than ever, because it wasn’t just a dinner; it was hopefully a new beginning. With Nick not just living here, but actively participating every day.
“I do.” I force the conviction in my voice because, if I didn’t believe, how could I expect our child to believe?
The ten years Nick and I spent apart were the hardest ever. Not just raising Portia alone and trying to survive, but the emptiness, the loneliness numbing me from the inside out. Crazy how life twists and turns us around.
I stare at our beautiful tree and make a Christmas wish that tonight we would sit around the table like the family I always hoped for in my dreams.
NICK
After forty minutes, Python steers the Escalade off the road, onto a narrow paved road, which quickly becomes a dirt road lined with scrubby bushes,a few Joshua trees, and a boarded-up shack behind a huge rock formation. The shack houses one of the Serpents’ many weed houses. Although weed is legal in Nevada, it is much more profitable to sell it without all the checks and balances required by the government, including felons not being able to obtain a license.
Python pulls around the back of the shack, puts the SUV in park, and turns to me. “You ready to do this?”
I jerk my head, and we all pile out into the desert. The sun blazing down makes the stony flat ground shimmer. The glaring sun’s reflection in the distance gives the impression of a pool of water. One of the strange phenomenons of the desert.
Python and Mamba go to the rear of the SUV, flip open the hatch, and drag a disheveled Graham to a sitting position. Sweat beads on his pale, ashen face, and his clothes are rumpled and stained. Nothing like the slick player who entered our offices a week ago.
Mamba cuts the zip ties around his ankles and wrists, then drags him to a standing position. Graham bucks against his hold, but when Python flanks his other side, he stills, no match for either man. He chokes and tries to say something, but the gag won’t let him.
Mamba yanks the wadded-up cloth out of his mouth. “You got something to say, fucker?”
Graham spews a harsh cough. “You’ll never get away with this.”
Python barks out a cruel laugh. “Looks like we already did, asshole.” He waves his hand at us, then around the barren desert. “Ain’t nobody here gonna save your sorry ass.”
“Do you know who my father is? He has connections in California. Political connections.”
“We don’t give a shit about your father’sconnections.” Python rests his hand on the hunting knife strapped to his hip. “This is the only connection I need.”
Graham’s eyes go wide at the size of the steely weapon.
I step forward. “You screwed with the wrong people this time, Pierce. You’re used to scaring people into doin’ what you want, but one thing you overlooked. You can’t scare outlaws, and you can’t scare people who got nothing to lose.”
“What do you think will happen when I disappear?” Graham tries to reason. “People will come look for me, and Vegas is the last place I’ve been. My staff knows I had meetings with you at Wicked.”
“Don’t mean shit,” Python barks. “We have enough connections in Vegas to make all their questions disappear.”
“How you wanna handle this?” Python asks me. “Cobra said we can take care of it ourselves if you don’t wanna get your hands dirty.”
Back in New York, this was all in a day’s work. No emotion, no discussion, just business, but Pierce went over the line when he threatened my family and my business.
Frank motions to Graham. “I just wanna make sure the job is done. I don’t give a shit who does it.”
I nod my agreement, and Python and Mamba frog-march him to the back of the shack with Frank and me following close behind.
“Wait, wait,” Graham yells when he eyeballs the shallow grave. He digs in his heels, but Mamba and Python push him forward till he’s teetering on the edge of the sandy hole.
Leave it to the Serpents to have everything ready. This wasn’t their first rodeo or their first shallow grave.
“You can’t do this.” Graham tries to backpedal, but his leather-sole shoes slip on the pebbled ground.
“Sure we can.” Mamba yanks him around. “We do it allthe time.” Then he nods to Python. “Tell this bastard the best thing about a shallow grave.”
“Best thing about a shallow grave is when the coyotes come out at night, they don’t have to dig too deep for their dinner.” Python smirks. “And those mangy fuckers get real hungry at night. They like to tear into their dinner, leaving nothing behind.”
“Yeah, I guess you could say that’s the beauty part. They take care of any evidence,” Mamba adds with a laugh. “That is, if the cougars don’t find you first.”
“No, no, please,” Graham begs. “I’ll give you anything.”
