Chapter Three
I actually talked to her.
Ten woke up with a grin on his face.
If you’d played this differently, you could’ve woken up beside her.
Ten shook his head to clear it. No, it’s too soon for all that.
He’d been keeping an eye on Aggie for the past several weeks, stood outside her window, night after night, until they’d finally made contact. Ten didn’t know what the fuck had gotten into him, but he couldn’t get the woman out of his head, not since he’d run into her on the roof of the hospital.
Something about the way she’d danced, balancing on the ledge, brave and bold caught his eye.
A few times, she’d glanced out into the darkness as though sensing his presence, but she’d never checked. Until last night. It must’ve been fate, if he believed in such romantic nonsense. He’d never been taken with a woman before, and yet something told him Aggie was special.
She was a real beauty, too. Aggie was twenty-seven with dark brown hair which fell to the middle of her back. She had long arms and limber legs. Her body was willowy but strong, a dancer’s build.
And she was troubled, too, just like him. She tossed and turned in bed most of the time. Ten knew all about being tortured by nocturnal visions. He’d had trouble sleeping for years until he’d learned to cope with the onslaught of unwanted visions.
Ten thought they might have a lot more in common, once they got to know each other better.
“Merrow?”
His cat, Smokey, leaped upon the king-sized bed. Like the name suggested, she had a thick gray coat with bright blue eyes. She was fuzzy, like a Gund teddy bear, and he rubbed her ears. There was something reassuring about caressing a cat—the soft fur, her low, rumbling purr. It relaxed Ten in a way human contact couldn’t.
Smokey bunted her head against him, and he’d actually looked up the term. When a feline rubs its head against a person, it’s called bunting. He fancied himself an expert on cats.
“Did you sleep well? Are you hungry?” She woke him up at six am for her first can of cat food. He never fed her the dried stuff, only the best for Smokey.
“Merrow.”
“I’ll take it as a yes on all counts.”
When he threw off the covers and stood, she leaped in front of him, guiding Ten into the kitchen, in case he’d forgotten where it was.
He had an all wood rustic cabin, built to his specifications, just like the one he’d seen in the travel magazine all those years ago. It was nestled on the vineyard grounds, and it was the only space he’d ever called home. The cabin was basic but suited his needs. He had a master bedroom, an office, bathroom, kitchen, and living room.
As he stood at the counter, opening the cat food, Smokey twirled around his legs, purring and rubbing. He set the dish down in front of her and she tore into the wet food, like she’d been starved for ages. Shaking his head, Ten headed to the bathroom to get ready for the day. Ten splashed some water on his face, brushed his teeth and hair, and put on a fresh suit.
Ten fancied himself a gentleman, or at least he wanted to be. He liked the finer things—a well-made suit, a rich cup of coffee, classical music, and good literature. It was all window-dressing of course.
Underneath this refined façade, lay a host of barbaric tendencies.
He had a meeting in an hour, and he wasn’t looking forward to it. After a quick check to make sure Smokey had clean water, Ten headed out the door.
***
Let’s hope it goes fast today.
Once a week, the Lone Star mobsters met in a shop named Jumbles in Crimson Creek. The town was named for the meandering stream bisecting it, and the bed was filled with jagged red volcanic rocks. When the water was high and rushed over those scarlet stones, they looked bloody, like someone had been murdered in the water.
Fitting, considering the circumstances.
The mafia had a foothold in the tiny town. There was a distinct lack of scrutiny—the Creek only had a sheriff and a part-time deputy, and they spent most of their time ticketing people for speeding.
He parked along the street and headed inside.
Jumbles specialized in used merchandise. Compared to the rest of the shops on the strip, it looked junky. A black guitar lettered with the store name hung above the awning, which had seen better days—at one time it’d probably been white, but now it was a rusty brown. Nearly everything in Texas got coated with prairie dust, and it had to be wiped off every so often.
Inside, all the merchandise was piled up. One old bookcase held door knobs balanced on wooden slats. On one wall, there were old longhorn antlers and mirrors situated next to dusty, still life paintings. Another wall held books—children’s board books nestled beside forgotten bestsellers. One unraveling straw basket contained a collection of what looked like old maps.
Ten worried one day he’d brush against the wrong item, and the whole thing would come crashing down like a bunch of dominoes.
And Mossy would charge you for all of it.
At the front counter stood Moss Mosley, better known as Mossy, a tall, imposing man. He had thick salt and pepper hair, a trimmed beard, and full lips. Deep grooves were carved into his forehead, and he was sixty-eight years old. He wore a pair of raggedy jeans, a black V-neck beneath his gray plaid flannel shirt, and a swirl of dark ink decorated his clavicle. Around one of his wrists, he wore a leather cuff.
At one time, he’d been the most feared hitman in the outfit. Now Mossy fenced stolen goods, puttered around Jumbles, and had a whole born-again thing going on since his wife died. Next to him, sat a curse jar and he fined people for swearing in front of him.
Ten thought it was a case of too little, too late. He’d spent decades thieving and murdering, and now Mossy expected to make his way into heaven with a few empty gestures. Ten wasn’t worried about what fate had in store for him. As far as he was concerned, neither heaven nor hell existed. And when he died, he’d simply return to the earth.
“Mossy,” Ten said with a nod.
“Ten.” His lip curled. “See you in there.”
He got the impression Mossy didn’t like him much, not that he gave a damn. Although, he couldn’t recall doing anything to the man. Maybe he was just a cranky old cuss?
Shrugging it off, Ten walked down the hall to the boardroom.
He crossed to the sideboard and grabbed himself a cup of coffee. Unlike the junk shop out front, this space was pristine with a mahogany table and leather chairs. It looked like a meeting room in any other legit business, except a star and two pistols had been engraved into the center of the table, symbols of the northern Texas outfit.
Ten peeked into the pastry box on the counter. Inside were two dozen pecan pie tartlets, each of them the size of a fifty cent piece. Bringing sweets to the meetings had become something of a tradition. He took a couple, to go along with the cup of joe.
On the walls hung several quotes from some genuine psychos. “Before all else, be armed,” by Machiavelli. “Let your plans be dark and impenetrable as night, and when you move, fall like a thunderbolt,” by Sun Tzu. “You can get much farther with a kind word and a gun than you can with a kind word alone,” by Al Capone.
Unlike the Italian mafia, the Lone Star boys had a more fluid organizational structure. The members weren’t all connected by blood, though some people like Beauregard and his father were. Potential Lone Star Mafia members offered themselves up as soldiers and worked their way up the ranks.
Back in the day, Ten had started out as a grunt and then eventually ran his own crew. Although, he still performed some hitman duties, since he had a gift for getting retribution.
“Good mornin’.” Byron Beauregard sat at the head of the table with a sheaf of papers in his hand.
“Mornin’.” They’d never liked one another, but they had a cordial rapport.
Most of the people in the outfit thought he was likely to snap any second, and they were right.
Byron wore a dark blue suit with a gray paisley tie. He stood around six-feet tall with blond hair and blue eyes. Like the rest of them, Byron was a mobster, but there was something downright angelic about him, even if a pair of horns held up his halo.
Until recently, he’d been the Underboss. A few weeks back, Tucker Cobb had met an untimely end, and then Byron had become their new leader. The man had been all sweetness and light ever since, as though a heavy burden had been lifted.
Ten had no doubt Byron had taken out Tucker, which didn’t bother him at all. Tucker was rumored to have murdered his own son and daughter-in-law.
And, he was kind of a dick.
Good riddance, I say. Don’t let the door hit ya where the Lord split ya.
“Have a seat.” He indicated a chair to the left of the table and Ten took it.
“Don’t mind if I do.”
“How’s Jane?” Ten asked, making an effort to appear interested.
Byron had settled down with Jane Hunter, the outfit’s former lawyer. They’d recently gotten hitched, and the two of them had an adopted daughter, Brady. Brady’s mother had been taken out by a serial killer, but the little girl had been adjusting to her new circumstances remarkably well.
A smile curled his lips. “Happy as a clam at high tide.”
“And she still likes the job?”
Jane had taken a position with the Innocence Project, working to free people who’d been wrongly convicted.
“No, she loves it.”
He got this soft look in his eyes whenever he spoke about Jane. Ten wondered what it must be like to have someone in your corner. As a child, he’d learned to depend on only one person, himself. It was lonely at times, even though it was much safer that way.
“And how are you?” Byron asked.
“Fair to middlin’.” Although Ten would’ve said he was fine, even if things had gone sideways. He liked it best when no one knew his business.
Just then, Jasper arrived, and he sat beside Ten. Jasper Tan was tall and broad-shouldered with pale skin, dark eyes, and black hair. Due to his heritage, Jasper called himself “whasian,” a mixture of white and Asian.
Jasper glanced at Byron. “Have you heard anythin’ about Mary?”
“She’s in the wind, and I think she’ll stay scarce.” His features hardened. “You’d best get used it.”
“You’d think she could drop a fella a line now and then.” Jasper folded his arms over his chest. “Just so I know she’s okay.”
Recently, Mary Cobb had been kidnapped by the Sin City Mafia. Rumor had it, she’d run off with Chase, a former member of that outfit, and they’d settled someplace else. Jasper had taken it hard because they’d been best friends for years. He’d been guarding her for a long time, and they’d formed a strong bond.
Ten was happy for her. Mary had been studying medicine, and she didn’t fit in with the rest of them. Ten hoped she found some peace because she wouldn’t have liked living the mobster life, anyhow.
Next in the door was Victoria Hale, a young woman in her twenties. She had baby-fine black hair pulled up into a bun, pale skin, and blue eyes behind tortoiseshell glasses. Vick had an hourglass figure with large breasts and curvy thighs and wore a red skirt with a white silk shirt. She sat beside Jasper and gave him a quick kiss. They held hands underneath the table.
Jasper and Vick were an item. They’d moved in together and seemed to be in love. Ten bet they’d be getting engaged soon.
And then Dixon Wolfe walked in.
Dix served as Negotiator for the Lone Star Mafia, which meant he mitigated conflicts between members and reported directly to Byron. Before Cobb’s untimely death, he’d been equals with Byron and they’d both worked for Tucker.
Although, the new structure didn’t seem to bother Dix. Ten got the sense he hadn’t been looking to move up in the outfit. Besides, he and his former mistress, Belle Nunn, were getting hitched, so work was less of a priority these days.
Ten preferred to stay on the sidelines, an observer in the group.
Dix sat across from him. He was a tall man with thick, dark brown hair bracketed by streaks of silver. A dense layer of stubble coated his cheeks and chin, but it wasn’t quite a beard.
“So while we’re waitin’ for everybody to arrive, I’ve got some news.” Dix pulled out a blurry black and white ultrasound image. “I finally got permission to tell everyone Belle’s pregnant.”
Ten understood the secrecy. Some couples chose to keep it to themselves for the first few weeks, in case something went wrong.
“Congratulations.” Byron slapped him on the back. “Fatherhood is a wonderful thing.”
Dix gave Byron a great big bear hug. They’d been friends as well as colleagues for a long time.
“I’m a might long in the tooth for a brand new baby, but I can’t wait.” His eyes were suspiciously watery, and he blinked the moisture away.
Dix had lost his first wife, along with their child. Ten didn’t know all the particulars of how it had gone down exactly. Dix kept his private life under wraps, and Ten wasn’t one to ask questions either.
“Congrats, Dad.” Jasper shook Dix’s hand.
“I’m so happy for you!” Vick raced around the table and hugged him. “I’m gonna buy you so many baby clothes—you have no idea!”
He smooched her cheek. “Don’t go overboard.”
“Whatever.” She waved away his concern. “And I’m throwin’ the shower, too.”
Ten offered a tepid nod of acknowledgment. He didn’t know what to say.
The congratulations went on for quite a while and Ten tuned the discussion out. He’d never get married or have a child of his own. Hearing others chat about their families bothered him.
Eventually, Mossy and his son, Salty, filed in the room, along with Rebel Jackson, Braxton Beauregard, Colt Dawson, Hayden Swift, Will Butler, and Raleigh McCoy. They all took a seat, and Byron stood to address the group.
“I call this meetin’ to order.” And then he began yammering on and on, strutting across the room like a proud peacock.
Sweet Jesus, he’s a chin musician, waggin’ that tongue of his.
After walking them through old and new business, he asked for updates, and there weren’t any. Things were slow in the Creek at the moment.
“I have a piece of new business before I forget,” Byron said. “I’m releasin’ the Four Horsemen from their agreement to work with us.”
There was a loud gasp from the group.
Byron used the term “agreement” as if the bikers had been given much of a choice. He’d blackmailed them into working with the outfit. From what he’d heard, Byron had shot an FBI agent and framed Axel’s momma for the crime. He’d used her weapon to do the deed, and her fingerprints had been all over it. Axel was the Four Horsemen’s club president, so they’d had the entire group in their pocket.
“I don’t get it.” Jasper’s brows had backed up into his hairline. “What happened to you? Was it a Grinch thing? Did your heart get bigger all of a sudden?”
“Watch yourself.” Byron scowled.
“Sorry.” Jasper shook his head. “But it’s weird.”
“Their reluctance is provin’ too much of a hassle and I thought we should find more willin’ partners.”
Privately, Ten wondered if it was Jane’s influence. She’d once been an officer of the court and still had a conscience, even if Byron didn’t. Or maybe the outfit was headed into a new era. Sure, they’d still break the law and make bank, but maybe they’d do it in a kinder, gentler way. It suited him fine, as long as he got to kill someone now and then.
“Any objections?” Byron raised his eyebrows as he surveyed the room.
Dix spoke up. “No, we never liked ‘em much anyway, so cut those boys loose. We’ll find somebody else to do our dirty work.”
“Very well.” Byron grinned. “I have another, even better, announcement. Remember Agent Hawthorne?”
They nodded.
FBI Agent Jim Hawthorne, or Thorne as he preferred to be called, was the head of an organized crime unit. He’d set up shop in their proverbial backyard. The agent had a real hard on for the outfit, trying to catch them in one illegal activity or the other. They’d been tiptoeing around for months, but the heat had never died down.
“Accordin’ to my sources at the bureau, he’s headed back to Washington D.C. to take a teachin’ position at Quantico and the task force will be disbanded any day now.”
They all hooted and hollered.
It almost made Ten smile.
Finally, things were gonna go back to normal around here.