“Try 10-14-46,” Paul said. Blake’s birthday. A guessing game it would be then.
Adam typed in the numbers to no avail.
“What about 10-19-86?” Carlos suggested. The day Dorian killed Adam. The keypad pinged harmonious tones as Adam tried the combination. But still, nothing.
“01-19-75?” Dan suggested. The day Blake murdered his last living cousin in order to take the reins of the Blake Family empire. More lyrical pings on the pad, but still nothing.
“Fuck!” Adam shifted on his feet. “It won’t fucking open!” He jostled the door, trying with all his might to pull it open.
“T.B. just pulled up in the driveway,” Dan said.
Adam was just gritting his teeth and preparing to rip the safe off its hinges with his bare hands (yes, it was a bad plan…no, he didn’t care) when Carlos and Paul wrenched him back by the shoulders.
“We gotta go,” Paul said as Adam resisted their pull.
“No!” Adam yanked himself from their grip and sat staring at the safe, once again trying to pry it open with just his fingertips.
Adam could feel Paul and Carlos gripping his arms at all angles, desperate to pull him away, but he wouldn’t go. Not without that fucking book. It took enough to convince his friends to try this in the first place, there wouldn’t be a second chance. He was getting that book now, goddammit! Even if he had to rip his–
“Victory day…” Mercedes’s quiet whisper came through his ear, stunning them all to silence. “Um, December 7, 1986,” Mercedes whispered. “So, uh, 12-07-86.”
Adam shook the tightness from his chest and put the code in. His fingers shook with each slow input, each beep of the numbers. As much as he wanted it to open, at the same time he fucking wished it wouldn’t. Because somehow he knew exactly what that date meant.
Adam, Paul, and Carlos tensed as the safe popped open neatly with a whoosh of air. Inside it sat Blake’s white book, alone around empty shelving, resting softly against the dark metal.
“That was it,” Carlos said solemnly as he rushed ahead to snatch the white book from the safe. And though it was a victory, it certainly didn’t feel like it.
* * *
Dorian stood center in the country club dining room, tall against the sunken floor and looking out the large windows into the garden. Tired from a long night of campaigning at the very same club, he couldn’t hide his annoyance at being called there so early on a weekend, not that he would ever have to hide it with his position.
Over his shoulders and down the hall he could hear the whispers of two lower-level associates. He couldn’t quite make out what they were saying, nor he could see them, but he could hear their quick-whipped sentences and the shakiness in their throats.
“I can hear you out there. Get in here if you’ve got something to say,” Dorian said. He folded his arms and turned his attention toward the door. “Get in here, now!”
The two lower associates sheepishly brushed into the room, their heads downcast, begging to avoid the frightening catch of Dorian’s eye.
“What did you call me here for?”
Wide-eyed, they looked only at each other before quickly looking back to the floor.
“What is it?” Dorian said. “Don’t make me ask again.”
“It’s about Yani, sir,” one of them said suddenly, wincing as he did.
Dorian waited for them to say more, but they didn’t. Fuck’s sake. He enjoyed the fear, but right now it was just irritating. He rolled his eyes when he realized they weren’t going to continue. “Hurry the fuck up and spit it out.”
“Yani’s dead, sir,” the other one said. “We found him in the baker’s kitchen this morning.”
Dorian cleared his throat.
“Yani’s dead?” Dorian asked, sure that he had heard wrong. A smile pulled at his lips. A nervous twitch of sorts.
“It looked like a struggle, sir…he was stabbed.”
What in the fuck?! These two little lying shit faces were about to get their heads blown off. Dorian reached for his gun and charged at the two of them. “What did you fucking say?” He narrowed his eyes as he pressed the gun against the temple of the one who had spoken such heinous words.
“He’s dead,” the guy repeated, though he stuttered through it this time. And then the smell of piss soaked the air. Dorian dropped his glare. Seriously? The guy had pissed himself.
