The murdering motherfucker.
“So, what’s the deal with you and Andy Carter?” Raoul’s question is casual, though I sense a keen interest in my answer.
I shrug. “Seems like a good way to get to Whitlock. And Broderick Carter too.” I keep my eye on the bag, though my next blow doesn’t strike as true as it could.
“Seems like a good way to get yourself into a whole world of trouble, if you ask me.” Raoul steps away from the wall and moves closer to hold the bag. I scowl at him, and my next punch knocks him back half a step. “But I guess you’re big and ugly enough to suck it up.” He chuckles. Dario has moved to join us, a sweat towel in his hand as he wipes the perspiration from his throat and chest.
“Carter’s a piece of work,” he mutters. “Pretty impressive for that woman of yours to have turned out as well as she did.”
“She’s not my woman.” I kick the bag…hard.
“Woah!” Raoul laughs openly. “Hit a nerve, huh?”
“Sure looked that way last night, brother.” Dario narrows his eyes on me.
“All part of the act.” Even I don’t believe myself when I say it.
“Well, I’m all for it, whatever you’re planning,” Raoul says. “That Whitlock cunt’s been a thorn in our side for too long.”
“Damn right there.” Dario nods. “It was fine when he and Carter were just laundering cash for the family. But when they started muscling in on our turf, things got messy. And now it looks like he’s angling to use Carter’s clout to take his network global. Hotels, restaurant chains, legit businesses – all a front for stealing our fucking money.”
I step back from the boxing bag and Raoul tosses me a towel.
“Get cleaned up,” he says. “I’m taking you to Prism.”
“Prison?” Dario barks out a laugh. “I’d like to see you try. Many before you have failed.”
“No, you dick. Prism. The club.” Raoul flips him the bird. I run through some stretches, cooling down. Raoul’s young enough to think he’s immortal, but I’ve already seen the wrong side of 35 and I don’t screw around with my muscles and joints anymore. Not when I have a woman back home who’ll expect me to keep up with her tonight.
“What’s at Prism?” I ask Raoul. The prospect of hanging out in a mobster’s playground doesn’t appeal much. Probably also because of the woman back home.
“Got a contact meeting me there. Some guys with a mole in Whitlock’s operation who’s been feeding them info. He has some news on one of Whitlock’s adventures with the law.”
“Yeah? What’s that?”
“Clean up and you’ll find out. I’m not sitting around here with you fuckers when there’s something much sweeter and tastier waiting for me out there.”
Raoul’s already out the door as Dario and I exchange glances.
“I’m sitting this one out,” my brother says. “Nikki’s waiting back at the suite, and I promised to read to the babies.”
“Read to the babies?” I cock my head. Dario’s twins aren’t due for months.
“I read to them through her belly, okay? I heard that it’s good for their mental development.” He glances around sheepishly, then fixes me with a stare as if daring me to laugh at him.
“Right,” I say simply. It’s hard to believe that just a few months ago, my towering half-brother was using those dark good looks to charm half the showgirls in Vegas. Now he’s “daddy material.”
I exchange a brief half-hug with him before heading to the changeroom. Raoul’s already bellyaching before I’ve stepped out of the shower.
“What’s taking you so long?”
“Quit your bitching. You got in here before me and you’re still not done. What the fuck is that in your hair anyway? Styling gel?”
“Chicks dig it.” He’s unrepentant, snatching up the keys to my Lincoln Continental. “Can’t understand why you gotta drag your ass round town in such an old man’s ride. Oh wait…I forgot! Youarean old man.” My rolled-up towel hits the back of his head, messing his fancyass hair.
He punishes me by taking over the driver’s seat when we get to my car and weaving through traffic like a fucking Nascar racer. When he pulls up to the curb in a nondescript side-street, he flashes the lights twice and a man steps from the shadows.
“A pleasure to see you, sir,” he says quietly. Raoul hops from the front seat, tossing my keys to the guy with too much ease for my liking.
