Текст книги "Elect"

Автор книги: Rachel Van Dyken

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Текущая страница: 10 (всего у книги 17 страниц)

Chapter Twenty-nine Phoenix

The door handle turned. So this was it. I was going to die. I wish I could say I wasn’t terrified. Would it hurt? Would I even feel pain and fear? Or would it be over so fast that I’d just feel nothing but my body finally resting? Nixon walked into the light. He had a garbage bag in one hand and his gun in the other.

“Phoenix.” Nixon said my name slowly, purposefully. Aw shit, he’d come alone. Which meant I was going to get a hell of a lot more than a bullet to the head. Visions of knives, bloody knuckles, and syringes came to mind.

“Nixon.” I couldn’t help the shaking in my voice. I knew what was coming, I wasn’t totally fearless.

“I’m giving you one last chance to tell me the truth.”

“Never was really good with the whole honesty thing.” I smirked. “I think I’ll take my chances with death.”

“Damn it!” Nixon kicked the table next to me and then with a curse threw it over onto its side, causing dust to explode into the air. “Why is it,” he said, voice strained, “that out of all the shit we’ve been through—now’s the time you’ve decided to develop a conscience?”

I shrugged, trying to act indifferent.

Nixon gripped my shirt and pulled me to my feet then slapped me so hard across the face I felt it all the way down to my toenails. The sting throbbed as he pushed me backward, making the chair that was attached to me twist my arms in such a way that I’m surprised nothing broke.

I’d seen Nixon pissed and I’d seen him calm as hell when he was interrogating, but this side of Nixon? It was nothing short of desperation.

“I can’t,” he finally whispered under his breath. “I’m sorry, Phoenix. I know I promised you, but I can’t.”

With a final shake of his head he walked over to the exposed bathroom in the corner and began grabbing towels. He ran water into a large bucket. Seconds later he was dumping the bucket over my face, and for a second I thought he was going to waterlog me. It took me a few minutes to realize what he was actually doing—cleaning me up.

We in the family had always been strong Catholics, but never in my life had I ever understood the absolute humility of washing of a sinner’s feet—until Nixon began cleaning the wounds on my face.

Words wouldn’t form on my lips as he continued to clean my cuts. He moved to my hands next, wiping the mixture of dirt and blood. He didn’t say anything and I still wasn’t able to talk without losing my shit, so I sat.

Funny, when you’ve hit rock bottom, you never imagine someone may throw you a rope. But that’s what he was doing. Nixon looked into my watery pit of dispair, and rather than killing me inside it, he offered a life raft, one I didn’t deserve.

“So.” Nixon dipped the washcloth into the bucket and wiped my cheek one last time. “Someone will be here tomorrow to…”—he shrugged—“see you.”

“The guys,” I answered, finding my voice.

Nixon didn’t answer. He untied my hands and pulled fresh clothes out of the trash bag, tossing them at my face. “Put these on, then sit back down.”

My hands shook as I slowly peeled the bloody clothes off my body. My movements felt slow and awkward; my wrists hurt like hell after being bound. When my dirty clothes were off, I took a seat on the metal chair and slowly pulled the fresh-smelling hooded sweatshirt over my head. The jeans were another matter entirely. I winced as pain shot through my hands at having to pull the rough material over my exhausted and mangled body. What should have taken me seconds took at least ten minutes, but I hadn’t felt that clean in days.

Nixon pulled a granola bar out of his pocket and handed it to me. What the hell was up his sleeve? Either he was fattening me up before death or he really was a freaking saint. Damn him.

I basically swallowed the granola bar whole and waited for Nixon to grab his gun again. Instead he cuffed me back to the chair and walked toward the door.

“Is that it?” I called. “You’re just going to leave?”

His hand was on the doorknob. Without looking back he answered, “You were one of my best friends, Phoenix.”

“What’s your point?”

“Every friend deserves to die with a little dignity, wouldn’t you agree?” He turned, meeting my gaze.

“Not me.”

He smirked. “Well then, thank your lucky stars I’m not the one making calls on Judgment Day. Try to get some sleep. You’ve got a long week ahead of you.”

“I look forward to our bloody meeting tomorrow,” I called back.

Nixon’s face fell. With a nod he opened the door and left. Confused as hell, I could only sit and wonder why.

Chapter Thirty Nixon

I pulled up to the building and made it three steps before I heard the sound of footsteps lightly tapping against pavement. It took less than a few seconds for his men to grab me by the arms and drag me the rest of the way to the large wooden door.

“What do you want?” a man in a thick accent demanded.

“He’s here for me,” a crisp voice said from the doorway.

I looked up into Luca’s eyes. “That I am.”

“Do you have what we discussed?”

“Right here.” I pulled out the journal. “Let’s talk inside.”

He nodded and we walked into a small kitchen.

Luca poured me a large glass of wine. “You work faster than I expected.”

“I had help.” I sighed and pointed at the journal. “I’ll keep your secret if you keep mine.” It sounded like a taunt, when it was more like a plea.

“And what do I have to gain in this little exchange?”

I took a large gulp of wine. “You’ve been trying to cover it up for too long, Luca. At least admit that much.”

“It has become… trying.”

“She should know you’re her great uncle.”

“Trace does not need to know these things. It is best to keep them… private.”

“Like how you fell in love with her grandmother? Things like that?”

Luca slammed his fist onto the table. “That woman should have left well enough alone! To write about it in a diary is beyond my comprehension.”

“Wasn’t as if she could tell anyone.” I sighed. “But, you have the diary, you have something you need… and I still have a problem.”

“The killers? You haven’t found them?” Luca paced in front of me. “I thought that you were coming to celebrate! Finally, we can put the past behind us, yes?”

“Soon.” I drummed my fingertips on the countertop. “I have discovered some information about my parentage.”

“And?” Luca took a seat. “Why does this concern me?”

“Because my real father killed Trace’s parents.”

“I see. And who is he?”

I played with the stem of my wineglass. “You wouldn’t believe me even if I told you. I need more proof than someone just telling me. I need to catch him.”

Luca nodded and took a tentative sip of his own wine. “You mean to catch the fly.”

“I mean to make such a damn good web that everyone within forty square miles will know he’s a rat, but it’s complicated.”

“Our business always is.”

“Right.”

Luca pulled out a cigar and sniffed it. “Let us speak plainly. What can I do for you, Nixon?”

My heart hammered in my chest as I looked into his eyes and said, “I need you to kill me.”

Chapter Thirty-one Chase

I watched him leave and did nothing. I wasn’t sure if I had a right to be pissed; after all, technically they were dating, right? Or were they? Even I was confused at this point and all I really wanted to do was drown myself in a bottle of something.

She was in his bedroom.

Sleeping.

And I knew I had to go get her and bring her into her own room. How could he be so careless? What if Luca would have come by? It was strange that Nixon would just leave her in the bedroom without telling anyone. What if they had eyes on the house? Or worse yet, what if they had someone on the inside watching the whole damn time? Shit.

I walked into the room and lifted Trace into my arms. I covered her as best I could and set her carefully onto her own bed, then lay down next to her.

Well. Nobody ever said life was fair and by the looks of it, I’d been dealt a pretty shitty blow.

Nixon had slept with her and then left.

Nixon didn’t do things like that. I did things like that. The feeling in the pit of my stomach didn’t dissipate.

Trace moaned next to me. She moaned his name, not mine, and the knife went deeper into my heart.

“Sleep, Trace. It’s okay, you’re safe.” I tucked the blanket around her body and sighed when she turned to me and wrapped her arms around my stomach, thinking I was him. And for the first time in my life, I wished I was.

* * *

I awoke to a loud banging on my door. The clock on the desk said seven a.m. Who the hell would be waking us up this early? And how did they get in? Tex knew not to pound on my door that early and Nixon—well, I guess he could be pissed.

Sighing, I swung my feet from the bed to the floor to stand when the door burst open.

“Dad?” I rubbed my eyes. “What the hell are you doing here?” Normally my dad was good about texting or calling before he stopped by, so as not get shot on the spot. We never took any chances—even with family. Which meant only one thing. Something was wrong. Maybe Nixon let him in? I shook my head to clear all the thoughts swarming around.

His eyes fell to Trace and then back to me. She was starting to wake up, but no way was I letting my dad see that she was barely wearing any clothes. I pushed her down and covered her further with the blanket. “Nixon?”

“No.” I swallowed the emotion in my throat. “It’s Chase.

“Dad, can’t you see I’m a little busy?” Irritated, I glared at him and then pointed back at Trace.

“This could not wait.” His eyes looked tired. Bags hung beneath his lashes and the lines around his mouth seemed more pronounced. He’d always been a good-looking man, but right now he just looked old.

“What is it?”

He kept looking at Trace. Why the hell was he looking at her? She was covered in blankets, for crying out loud! I sighed. “I don’t have all day.”

“It’s Nixon.”

I could feel air in the room tense around me. It was one of those moments where it literally felt like time stood still. I watched my dad flinch as I looked down at Trace and then back up into his eyes. Please God, I didn’t mean it. Please let him be okay. I finally found my voice and asked with a croak, “What about him?”

“He’s dead.”

Chapter Thirty-two Chase

“How we treat the dead says an awful lot about how we live. For the strong and able to serve the helpless dead…” I choked on the word “dead,” and my hands shook as I continued reading, “to honor the frail remains…” My eyes fell to Trace, her body was slumped against Tex, her eyes hollow, as if her soul had gone to the afterlife right along with Nixon. “… Reaches deep inside us to something basic to humanity—Paul Gregory Alms.”

Early afternoon light danced around the Holy Name Cathedral, almost as if mocking the darkness around everyone. There was standing room only. In the two days it took for us to plan the funeral, never once did it occur to me that it would be such a public affair. Families traveled from Sicily to offer their condolences. And people I hadn’t seen in years were coming up to me and shaking my hand, as if that made it better. A damn handshake? To bring back my best friend? Hell no.

Mo had wanted me to give the eulogy. I didn’t deserve the honor—hell, I didn’t even deserve to be in the same room as Nixon’s casket. I’d tried to go through the motions, making decisions for Mo, but I was dying inside right along with her.

“Nixon was my best friend.” I licked my lips. “He was one of the good ones. The type of guy you never wanted to piss off but, at the same time, wanted on your team. Everything he did was for others. ‘Selfish’ was never a word in his vocabulary. I think, if we take anything away from his unnecessary death, it’s that he lived life to the fullest, but he lived it for others.” My eyes locked with Trace’s. Tears poured in rapid succession down her cheeks. “He lived for those he loved, he died protecting what was most precious to him. And for that, he earns a place in heaven, because when it came down to the very end, he was willing to sacrifice everything for family—for blood. I don’t know how long I’ll be on this earth, but my prayer is that I go out just like that—fighting for the only true thing in our existence.”

I folded the paper and stuffed it back into my pocket. Taking the steps two at a time, I made my way to Trace’s side and sat. She gripped my hand so hard I winced. I hadn’t left her side since we received the news a few days ago, and I sure as hell wasn’t going to leave her side now.

The rest of the funeral was depressing as hell. I watched as the priest said a final prayer about not understanding the ways of God, but it was seriously falling on deaf ears.

It was like his mouth was moving but I couldn’t understand the words coming out of it. I tried to stay strong on the outside. I put my arm around Trace and held her close. She was shaking in my arms. I wanted to fix it.

I was so damn pissed at Nixon. How could he go and die on us? With every fiber of my being, I wanted to jump into that damning hole and open the casket. I wanted to shake him, I wanted to hear him yell at me and tell me to do my damn job.

But he was dead.

And I was alive.

Holding his girlfriend.

Mo was inconsolable. She leaned against Tex and refused to even look at the casket. She hadn’t eaten all morning and kept saying that if Nixon had died she would have felt it—apparently it was a twin thing. When one was in danger the other felt the loss.

It took us two hours to convince her he was gone. Even then, she refused to believe us and began screaming his name up and down the halls.

Trace locked herself in the room.

Between the two of them, I was ready to lose my damn mind, not to mention the fact that I’d just lost my cousin and best friend. I was a wreck, ruined, and I wasn’t quite sure I’d ever be the same again.

Apparently Luca had lied to all of us. Nixon had gone over to plead our case, and offered himself up like a lamb to the slaughter.

Mafia lesson number one, don’t do the noble thing. You’ll just end up dead. Nixon wasn’t stupid. He’d known it was a suicide mission, but he went anyway, leaving me to pick up the pieces.

According to my dad, he’d confessed to his own father murdering Trace’s parents and said he sought punishment for all wrongdoings. Luca had said a life for a life, and he’d meant it. He meant to make an example out of Nixon—out of all of us.

One bullet to the head. That was all it took. The sick bastard even did it from behind. Nixon had to know it was coming, though. Anyone with a brain would have. And he’d just stood there… he stood there and did nothing. He took the fall.

The morning of Nixon’s death my dad received a package with a picture of Nixon’s dead body. The ring he used to wear—Nixon’s family ring—was enclosed.

I was in such denial that I didn’t believe it, not until my dad showed me the picture.

When the priest finally stopped talking, we all got up from our seats and slowly followed the crowd outside. The procession to the gravesite was so long that the police had to direct traffic. Trace and I rode in silence the entire way. I didn’t know what to say to make it better—nothing would make it better and that was the problem. A piece of her was missing, buried in the cold, wet ground, and I was left trying to fix a heart that was broken in half.

* * *

Later that evening when we finally returned from the funeral, I ran to the bathroom and lost everything I’d eaten that day. I’d never been so violently ill in my entire life. I was in the bathroom for an hour before Tex finally came in to tell me that Trace needed me.

I found her in the corner of the room rocking back and forth. She was staring at the damn picture. Who had been so careless as to leave it on the counter in the first place?

Guys always have this insane need to fix things. I wanted to pick up her heart and hold it in my hands. I wanted to revive her, but how do you revive someone when your own heart is breaking at the same time?

“Trace?” I knelt down in front of her and pried the picture from her hands. She wasn’t crying, which freaked me out. Shouldn’t she be crying? I mean, I had even cried.

“I don’t understand,” she whispered.

I pulled her onto my lap and held her. “I’d be lying if I said I did, Trace. I have no idea what the hell he was thinking.”

Seriously. What. The. Hell. Was. He. Thinking.

He took her virginity. At least I’m assuming he did, and then he went and got himself killed? Knowing full well that going to see Luca made that a huge possibility.

For once in my life I was so ridiculously pissed at him. Angry that the one guy who’d been a selfless monk for the past few years had done something that rash and stupid.

Which just proved again how desperate he’d been for any piece of Trace to take with him into the afterlife. And if I was completely honest with myself, I would have probably done that and more. And I wouldn’t have regretted a damn thing. Not that I could tell her that.

“What do we do now?” Her voice was so quiet. Shit, she was freaking me out.

“I don’t know,” I answered truthfully. “Go to school, pretend like we aren’t dying a little bit every minute he’s not with us. We live, we move on, and we make him proud.” Geez, I sounded more together than I felt.

She nodded and then a tear slipped down her cheek, followed by more. Her arms went tight around my neck as she sobbed. “Don’t leave me, please don’t leave me. I can’t—Chase, I can’t do it. Please, please, please!”

Her teeth began to chatter as she clung to me for dear life.

I held her so tight it was hard to breathe. “Never, Trace. You hear me? I’m never leaving you. Got it?” I gripped her as hard as I could and crushed my mouth to her cheek. It was impossible for me to show her how important she was to me—how keeping her safe and happy was my number one priority.

“Say it again. P-please say it again.”

I pried her arms from my body and cupped her face with my hands. “I swear to you. I will never leave your side.”

“Okay.” She exhaled a shaky breath. “Okay.”

I have no idea how long we stayed like that, but it was long enough for my legs to fall asleep and for Trace to stop hiccupping.

“Chase?” Tex knocked on the door and let himself in. “We need to take care of something.”

“All right.” I helped Trace up and led her to the door. “Go hang out with Mo. I’ll come get you in a bit, okay?”

I could tell the last thing she wanted me to do was leave; her eyes begged me to stay, but this was the job. Death or no death, we had a job to finish. Finally, she nodded and walked off like a zombie down the hall.

“Hell,” Tex muttered under his breath. “I don’t know how she’s able to even function at this point.”

“Shock,” I muttered. “Not the choice I would have made, Tex.”

“Me either.” His brow furrowed. “But since he’s gone, we need a new boss. There’s some confusion on who’s next in line so while the men discuss and meet, we need to go take care of one final loose end.”

“What loose end?”

Tex cursed. “Phoenix.”

“I hate this family. I hate what they’ve made of us. We’re too young for this shit.” I scratched the back of my head and walked to the kitchen counter to grab my gun. I checked to make sure it was loaded and put on the safety.

“I’m going with you,” Mil piped up from behind us.

“No.” I stuffed the gun in the back of my pants and pulled my shirt over the gun to cover it.

“Yes.” She slammed her hand on the countertop. “He’s my stepbrother. He’s… he’s family. Just let me go with you, please?”

“So you can save his sorry ass?” Tex spat.

“So I can save yours, you prick.” Mil pushed against Tex’s chest and then turned to glare at me. “Family sticks together, and I’m the only sure thing you guys got right now.”

“How do you figure?” I snorted.

Grinning, she pulled out a note from her back pocket and handed it to me. It was in Nixon’s handwriting. Holy shit.

“Because,” she sighed, “he left instructions.”

I almost didn’t want to open the letter. Shaking, I handed it to Tex and told my stomach to stop heaving, otherwise I would pass out from lack of food and dehydration.

“What’s it say?” I asked as Tex opened it. His grin grew as he continued to read, until finally he started laughing. I couldn’t tell if it was hysterical laughter—you know, the kind of laughter people get when they’re about to lose it—or if he really just thought the letter was funny. He wiped at his eyes. And handed me the letter.

“See for yourself, but Mil’s coming with us.”

I snatched the paper out of his hands and scanned it.

“ ‘She’s a smart bitch. Protect her at all costs. Where you go, she goes. She’ll help you put Phoenix into hiding. It’s the only way. I’m sorry—for everything. Nixon.’ ”

I laughed, but mine was more bitter, more painful. If I listened really carefully I could almost hear Nixon’s voice in the room, and that sucked. He didn’t deserve any of this.

His entire life had been spent protecting others and in the end, when it was our turn to protect him, when he needed us most—we’d failed.

“Let’s go.” Tex grabbed the keys. I followed him with my head down. I didn’t feel like I could meet anyone’s eyes and not want to shoot myself. Was it just last week that I was contemplating betraying Nixon just because I was in love with what wasn’t mine?

Yeah.

It should have been me. I should have taken the fall, because in the end, Nixon had more to lose and I had nothing. What a freakishly depressing thought.