42
Zayne (30 years)
“Why do I get the feeling your head’s not in the right space for this?”
I looked up from my laptop and stared at Kat. “Because it isn’t.”
“Pardon my insensitivity but I think a good fuck would put you in the right mind space,” she scoffed. “You know maybe change that permanent ball sac your face has become.”
There were only two people in the world that could get away with just about anything with me. Kat and Declan. Anyone else would probably need either balls of steel or a death wish. “Pardon my insensitivity, Kat but you can go fuck yourself.” She flipped me the bird. “By the way, between you and Remo have you two decided who’s stringing who along? You know, since your pussy hairs are longer than the ones on his balls,” I mocked.
I went back to looking at my laptop screen and could hear her laughing all the way to the elevator. Shaking my head, I smirked and shifted my gaze to the window of my new apartment.
Almost eleven months had passed since Ria disappeared without a trace. While Declan and I still had feelers out there, there’d been no bites. It was like she’d vanished off planet earth. Between Kat, Declan and Sam, they’d pushed me into starting something new as a distraction. I did.
Two months ago, I packed my bags, moved to New York, bought a new apartment, and was in the process of opening a new club. Renovations were almost complete with another month to go. Between that and my other occupation which I now did solely because I could, I was constantly sidetracked. Although, there were moments I’d get lost in memories and wondered if I’d ever find her again.
Maybe Kat was right, a good fuck could set me free but for some reason, my heart had placed a permanent shield over my eyes which always seemed to drop when I was in the company of a woman.
“You ready to go, boss?”
“Give me a second, Jenson.”
I shut down my laptop, grabbed my phone, and followed my driver out the door. While I still enjoyed driving my Dodge Challenger, hiring Jenson had been at a whim. On my arrival into the Big Apple, Remo introduced me to his brother Lorenzo, an influential mafia head and a perfect ally in this place. Although they owned a thriving club, The Serpente in the heart of Manhattan, they’d introduced me to key players to get my club off the ground. Jenson had worked for Lorenzo as a bodyguard, and he’d offered his services to me.
“Where to first?” Jenson met my gaze in the rearview mirror.
“To the club, we need to get some measurements.” I could’ve easily asked Kat to get it done but I needed to decide where I wanted stuff. Fuck, killing people was far more fucking fun than starting up a business. While I wasn’t taking on many contracts until the club was up and running, the last one, about a week ago was pulled, at the last minute, reason unknown. That one had come via Declan and he was still looking into why the client withdrew. Not like it bothered me but it messed with Declan’s usual calm.
Grinning, I walked into the club. It took me less than twenty minutes to get what I needed. On my way down the stairs, a sound caught my ear. I cocked an ear to listen. It sounded like a moan coming from the space I’d allocated for my office. Frowning, I headed in that direction. The building had stood empty for some time, leaving it open to vagrants. It had taken a while to move them out and I might be a hard ass when it came to killing people, my view on the homeless, however, was different. Kat and I worked on making sure we got them to some of the hostels in the city.
I walked into the wide space and glanced around before my gaze fell to what looked like a soiled mattress in one corner of the room. “Hey, buddy,” I called out. “You need to leave, this is private property now.” Nothing. I moved closer. “Hey, b—” My eyes adjusted to the dimness. “What the fuck,” I cursed, staring down at a woman’s battered body. Dropping to my knees, I switched on the flashlight on my phone. “Hey, girl, can you hear me?” I leaned. “Fuck!” It looked like someone had taken a fucking sledgehammer to her face. I touched her shoulder and a soft moan crept out of swollen lips. “Shit.”
I dialed 911. While I waited, I stared at the woman, my body filling with an indistinct rage. While I might be the last person to judge, I would never stoop to anything this sick. I killed for money, but mine ended in one kill shot, rarely two and only if the fucker was deserving of it. Whoever had done this, was personal. A lover, a cheating husband, a spurned woman but it was brutal, archaic savagery, leaving the woman broken, battered, and possibly ruined. Even if she survived, how would she recover from this?
I wanted to kill the bastard, rip his insides. The more I looked at her, the deadlier my rage grew. Every bruise, every cut, the congealed blood, it all nurtured the bloodlust building in my veins. This could’ve easily happened to Ria and I’d never know. If it did, I prayed that like this woman, some decent man found Ria and was taking care of her. The wail of sirens echoed through the empty building and willed the girl to live.
Thirty minutes later, I waited for the attending physician to give me a report. I didn’t have to stay. The cops had already taken my statement and I was free to go but something held me back. Perhaps it was thoughts of Ria and what she was going through or might’ve gone through, perhaps not. But I’d waited.
Now, as I exited the hospital, Jenson waved me down. I wondered if the woman had family that would come looking for her. She’d slipped into a coma and the doctors couldn’t make a prognosis for the moment. A day, a month, or a year was how long she could stay in that coma. Shaking my head, I climbed into my car. Seemed like I’d found a permanent distraction other than my club.
