Chapter 3

Brendon

"Beep beep, get out the way!" I said in a high-pitched, comical voice as I ran the plastic dump truck over Julian's little hand.

"Hey!" he protested. "You ran me over."

"You didn't get out of the way," I retorted.

And just like that, I was having an argument with a four-year-old.

He glared. "Mommy says it's not polite to run people over."

"Well Uncle Brendon says people who don't get out of the way get tire marks." I laughed.

Julian scowled, then reached over and yanked on my hair. The sharp pain caused me to howl dramatically.

"Hey! You're not supposed to pull hair."

He sat back on the carpet, legs splayed out, and crossed his arms defiantly. "If you didn't want me to pull your hair, you should've worn a hat."

"Touché, kid."

Goddamn I adored this kid.

I could barely hear the muffled sounds of conversation drifting down the hall from the living room. We were set up in the den, which Mom and Dad had converted into a little playroom for their one and only grandson. You would've thought the kid would end up spoiled to high heaven with all the attention we gave him, but he was one of the most down to earth little brats I knew.

Jude had already forgotten our little squabble and was now happily driving cars in a half circle in front of him, and making little motoring noises.

"When I grow up, I wanna own a big truck like this one," he said, sliding the semi back and forth against the carpet.

He had a thing for trucks. He also had a thing for fairies, which no doubt confused my brother to no end. This Christmas he'd asked for a dump truck and a fairy princess wand. He spent all day after opening his presents waving his wand and making things "disappear" and "reappear" in obscure places. From what I understand, his parents were still finding odd objects in even odder places.

"How are things going in here?" I looked up to see my brother Avery leaning in the archway.

He looked awfully smug, which I suspect was a remnant of self-satisfaction from earlier, when I'd offered to go hang out with Jude for a bit while everyone had a drink after dinner. He joked that we got along so well because I was childish and like got along with like. I'd let it slide because I didn't see the point in arguing with my brother. He was a lawyer to the bone, and took each argument to its zenith to prove his point. It was infuriating at the best of times, but he was a good guy.

"Uncle Brendon ran over my hand with my dump truck."

"Jude pulled my hair."

The kid and I looked at each other and laughed. Another reason I didn't argue with my brother about my relationship with his son was because I knew it bothered him how close we were. It had never been as easy for him to connect with kids as it was for me.

"Mommy and I are getting ready to head out," Avery said. "Maybe Uncle Brendon will help you clean up your toys before we go."

"I don't wanna go yet," Jude complained. "We were just about to race trucks."

Avery's jaw ticked but he smiled. "It's late, buddy. It's already past your bedtime."

Jude let out a world-weary sigh, like the weight of the universe rested on his tiny shoulders. I exchanged a humorous look with my brother, who winked before turning to leave me to deal with his sad kid.

"We're going to have lots of time to race trucks at our next family dinner," I said in consolation. "We're here every couple of weeks."

"I guess so," he moped, absently gliding the truck up and down the stretch of floor in front of him.

"Come on." I started piling his toys back into the wicker basket beside the couch that my parents kept for that exact reason. "Let's get these put away and show your dad how good we are at listening to directions."

Julian piled up the toys in his arms and waddled over to the basket, letting them tumble inside. I helped arrange them in the basket and tidied up the rest of the space, then grabbed Julian's hand and led him out into the dining room.

Avery and his wife Morgana were just finishing their glasses of wine when we walked in. My mom spotted us and shoved herself away from the table, pulling Julian into a big hug. She acted like she hadn't seen him for months, even though it had only been an hour or so. Based on the reddish hue of her cheeks, the old Irishwoman was drunk as a skunk. I loved her like this.

"I wish I could keep you forever," she said, squishing Julian's cheek against her own. "Keilan, when are you going to have a baby for me to hold? This one's growing up so fast."

My other brother sent my mom a flat look. "I wouldn't hold your breath."

"Maybe Brendon will surprise us all and be the next to add to the family tree," Avery said with a glint in his eye.

Everyone laughed. Everyone except me, that is.

Constant teasing was the norm in my family, so I didn't sweat it. I still wasn't going to indulge my brother's irritatingly off-the-mark jokes.

"I hear we're all heading out," I said.

Mother released Julian, who went running over to his mother's side, and walked up to embrace me in a hug instead.

"It was lovely to see you, darling," she said. "Next time I'm going to cook those scalloped potatoes you like."

I laughed. "You could cook cement and I'd still show up," I said, kissing her on the top of the head.

"Don't tell her that," Dad complained. "If it's easier, you know she'll do it."

"Now, now, Patrick," Mom scolded, turning around to make sure her husband got the full brunt of her glare. "The only one I'd actually serve cement to in this house is you."

Avery and Morgana rose from the table, and my other brother followed suit.

"We've got to get this one to bed," said Avery, patting his son's head demonstratively. "Thanks for dinner, ma."

"You're very welcome, dear. Thank you for coming by."

They saw us all out to the door, and Mother made sure she gave everyone a hug and a kiss on the cheek before waving us off into the night. We walked to our respective sports cars, parked in the cobblestoned circular driveway.

"Still happy with the Benz?" Keilan asked, nodding toward my ride.

I grinned. "It’s got one of the most powerful engines on the market. No complaints here."

Avery chuckled. "But does it have that Italian oomph?" He gazed reverently at his own car, an Alfa Romeo with more pizazz than sense.

I rolled my eyes, and so did his wife.

"Enjoy it while you can, buddy." I opened my door and grinned mischievously at him. "Morgana's gonna have you in a minivan before you know it."

While the married couple started squabbling over the ever-present issue of transportation—she, rightly, wanted something more suitable for family life—I punched the starter and roared out of the driveway.

My parents didn't live too far away from the city. They'd managed to snap up a property in Long Island's prestigious Oyster Bay Cove suburb before property prices skyrocketed, so they had a decent bit of land too. I was always jealous of their place, but there was no point in me having anything more than the two-bedroom penthouse I currently occupied. No wife, no kids, no nothing. On this particular night, I was feeling rather lonely, so I called up my best friend Peter Vasiliev on the way home to see about getting into some trouble.

"Brendon," Peter answered jovially. "What a pleasant surprise. How are you?"

"Bored," I replied. "What are you doing tonight?"

It was only nine-thirty, which meant Peter probably hadn't even left his apartment for the bar yet. Friday nights were the charismatic Russian's time to shine, and for the most part I loved seeing what he'd get up to.

"Uh, well... I've got some family business to take care of tonight. Much as I'd love to, I won't be making it out."

I'd never probed to find out more about Peter's family business because I was fairly certain he had connections to the mob. The less I knew about it, the better.

I groaned dramatically. "Come on, man. It's Friday night. Can't it wait?"

Peter whispered a curse and shouted something to someone in rapid fire Russian.

"Not today, my friend," he said a moment later. "If you're up for an adventure though, I know exactly the place for you."

Probably not a good idea, I wagered. Peter's version of adventure and mine sometimes overlapped, but more often differed wildly. But hell, I was bored, I was lonely, and hanging out with Julian tonight had reignited a deep ache in me that I was working overtime to shelve and forget about.

"What kind of adventure?"

Peter laughed. "The kind I know for sure you're going to like," he said. "I tried out this new place a few weeks ago that's a great mood helper. It's a hotel in Queens called the Fox Regent. Heard of it?"

"No," I replied. "Do they have a nice bar or something?"

Why else would he be sending me to a hotel? Peter was a hard guy to figure out sometimes.

"I don't know," he said. "I've never tried it. The real fun is going to the desk, handing over an envelope with five grand in it, and seeing what happens."

"What do you mean seeing what happens?" I asked, irritation creeping into my tone. "Are you saying this place is a brothel or something?"

"No, no," he reassured. "It's a regular hotel with regular guests and all that. It just so happens that a local Madame has an arrangement with the owner. It's probably the most discreet place I've been to. Excellent service, too."

I could practically hear the lecherous grin in his voice. I should've known better than to ask Peter for tips on how to kill boredom—not that I'd really asked.

"I'm going to pass on the brothel this time," I replied. "Although it sure sounds...fun."

I'd never paid for sex before and had no intention to. I could go out to any club right now and go home with the most beautiful woman there. Between my good looks, stacked wallet, and charisma, I had my pick of women. So did Peter, which made it strange that he frequented brothels.

"You're such a stick in the mud, Brendon," he chided. "Don't you think it's about time you try something a little bit risqué? Out of your comfort zone? I promise you it will be the best five grand you'll ever spend."

"I've got a bottle of Chateau Lafite in my wine fridge that begs to differ."

He let out a bark of laughter. "Listen, do me a favor and just go try it. How bad do you really think it's going to be, eh? It's not like the money's any trouble, and I promise you'll have the experience of a lifetime. You haven't had good sex until you've fucked one of Calypso's girls."

I sighed and rubbed the bridge of my nose. The exit for Queens was coming up on my right. I made a stupid, flash decision and took it.

"What's the address?" I asked.