THIRTEEN
MASON
The gym’s deserted. Cold. The place isn’t exactly sealed against the elements, so every time a gust of wind blasts the place, the breeze finds its way through the many cracks and gaps, setting a chill to the air. I prefer it this way. At least now, while I’m training, I won’t overheat. I haven’t worked out properly in what feels like months. My body is tired, strained, exhausted from all the toxic shit I’ve been pouring into it, followed by the street fights I’ve been seeking out night after night. No more, though. This morning with Kaya… I wasn’t expecting her to set my head straight. I thought her presence in my apartment was going to make things even worse for me, but I feel…I don’t really know how I feel. All I know is that I’m not consumed by the urgent need for a drink as I hammer my fists rhythmically into the speed bag hanging over my head. And I know, later on, when darkness falls, I’m not going to be roaming the streets of Seattle looking for someone who’ll beat my ass unconscious.
My shoulders buzz with pain as I pivot from side to side, landing my hits with precision. My back thrums. My arms are on fire. It’s good, though. This is good. The air feels fresh and crisp in my lungs. My head feels like it’s in a good place. I was irritated when Zeth told me he wanted me to come in and clean this place every morning, but halfway through my list of tasks, I suddenly realized why the bastard gave me the job. Cleaning is a rote, mechanical thing. It requires very little mental focus. So when I was running a cloth over the mirrors in the changing rooms, when I was scrubbing the sinks, when I was pushing a broom around the vast gym floor, all I had was time to think. I wouldn’t have bothered fucking showing up if I’d been wise to his plan from the get-go, but right now… I needed that time to have a chat with myself. Figure things out. Get to know myself a little better after all of this hurt and pain.
Normally people don’t start showing up at the gym until mid-afternoon when their shifts at work end, so I’m surprised when the roller shutter rises and two guys…in suits…saunter in off the street. What the fuck? These boys do not look like they’re here to work out. They look like they’re here to rob the place or something. I mop my face with a towel, tossing it over my shoulder as I head over to meet them.
“Can I help you?”
The taller of the two—longer hair, high forehead—releases a bark of laughter when he sets his eyes on me. “Jesus. What the fuck happened to you? You look like you just got lynched.” That’s a fair comment. I’m not wearing a shirt, after all, and my chest, ribs, and back are dotted with an array of ugly fading bruises, cuts and scrapes.
“Your momma still thinks I’m pretty,” I say. Low, stooping to a “your momma” comment, but this guy has pissed me off already. His face is annoying. The way he’s looking at me is annoying. His accent is faint, but it’s obvious he’s not from Seattle. He’s west coast, through and through. Running his tongue over his teeth, he shoots a look at the guy standing next to him. Neither one of them look particularly happy.
“We kinda share the same mother,” the tall guy says, jerking a thumb at the other guy, apparently his brother. “And she died a while back. We’re not overly fond of people implying they’ve been fucking her, because…well, that’s just gross. And hurtful.”
The other guy nods slowly. His hands are in his pockets, his chin raised, his eyes spearing straight through me. “It makes us sad.”
Uhhh… I honestly have no clue how I’m meant to react to these two. I can’t tell if they’re fucking with me or if they’re being serious. “If you’re looking for Zee, he’s not here,” I say.
The shorter of the two finally blinks. “We were just with him actually. He sent us over here to wait for him.”
Well, that’s weird. “Why?”
“Because his girlfriend’s been kidnapped, and her mangled dead body has potentially been left to decompose in a dumpster somewhere,” Tall Guy says.
Closing his eyes, the other guy turns his head slowly to face his brother. He doesn’t open his eyes again until he’s halfway through his sentence. “I don’t think…you’re meant to just…blurt that out like that to strangers.”
“Fuck you, man. This guy obviously knows Zeth. He’s not a stranger.”
They bicker between themselves, while I try and process what Tall Guy just said. “I’m sorry? Sloane’s been kidnapped? And who the hell are you?”
“Theo,” the shorter of the two says. He jerks his head at his brother. “And this is Sal.”
Holy fucking shit. The Barbieris? Zeth was on his way to deal with their father. He never mentioned anything about bringing back these two. I marshal my facial features into what I hope passes as neutrality. “Who’s taken Sloane?”
“Well, it wasn’t us,” Sal says. “Not that we wouldn’t have probably tried to kidnap her eventually. Someone beat us to it, though.”
Theo glares at him. “Can you please…just…”
“I will knock you the fuck out if you look at me like that again,” Sal warns.
“Excuse me. I need to make a phone call.” I probably shouldn’t leave the brothers alone, but I’m not getting a lick of sense out of them, and I really need to know what the fuck is going on right now. I dial Zeth first, but he doesn’t pick up. Michael answers just as I’m about to quit the call and try Sloane, herself.
“Two guys have just shown up here claiming to be the Barbieri brothers, and they’re saying Sloane’s been kidnapped.”
Michael’s pained sigh is enough of a confirmation. “She was taken yesterday,” he says, his voice hard-edged and tired. “We’re on our way over there now. We’ll explain once we arrive. Don’t let Theo and Sal leave. We’re going to need them. And you.”
******
The Barbieri boys have been sparring for twenty minutes, knocking the shit out of each other inside the cage, when Zee and Michael eventually show up. They have a woman in tow—a very sick woman, who, by the looks of things, needs to lie down desperately. Theo stops and turns from what he’s doing when the roller shutter flies up, and Sal takes the opportunity to punch his brother in the back of the head.
“You only just arrived?” Zeth asks, his tone full of fire. “I sent you over here three hours ago.”
“We went for some clam chowder,” Theo informs him, rubbing the back of his head. “Sue us.”
“I’ll do worse than that,” Zeth growls. He’s practically vibrating as he stalks across the gym. Looking to me, he assesses me from head to toe. “You’re sober.” It’s a statement, not a question.
“Yes.”
“Hungover?”
“No.”
“It’s a Christmas fucking miracle. I need you to drive me somewhere. Go get changed.”
I look at Michael, hoping for some kind of intervention on his part—I still have no idea what’s happened to Sloane—but he just gives me a wary look that tells me I should get moving, so I do.
When I come back, out of my gym gear, Zeth and Michael are poring over a map, laid flat on the front reception desk. Theo and Sal are stare malevolently at me as I approach the group of men. “Is she safe?” I ask. “Is she okay?”
“We don’t know,” Michael replies. “But we do know where she is at least. For now.”
“Where?”
Michael picks up Zeth’s phone and hands it to me. The screen is open on a text message:
Redwood Cubs baseball field. 8pm. No earlier, no later. Sloane is in one piece right now, but fuck with me and that will change. –Alaska
“Alaska? Why the fuck would they take her to Alaska?”
Michael takes the phone back, scowling. “Not Alaska, the place. It’s from Alaska, the person. One of Julio Perez’s concubines. She’s certifiably insane and has a temper a mile wide.”
“Why would she want to take Sloane?”
Zeth rumbles under his breath. I’m asking too many questions, but fuck it. Sloane has always been good to me. Kind. She took care of Millie when she needed it, and then she took care of me. If she’s in trouble, I want to know exactly what kind, and with whom.
“Who the fuck knows,” Zeth says, pressing his fingers into his eye sockets. I’ve never seen him like this before, so…on edge. He’s always so in control. Frighteningly so. He never loses his cool, which makes him even more dangerous most of the time. At the moment, he looks like he’s about to crack and splinter into a million jagged pieces.
“Please stop looking at me like that,” he says, giving me a sideways glance. “I’m trying to fucking think. I can’t do that with you staring at me like you’re waiting for me to burst into fucking tears.”
“Sorry, man. I’m just…I’m worried about her, too, okay?”
His hard expression softens a little. “Alaska wasn’t like Julio’s other whores. She was his own personal mistress. We just heard from a friend. He told us that he just got back from South America, and that he killed Julio a couple of weeks ago. Apparently Julio traded Alaska, and she was sent to work in Ecuador. When our friend got there, she was nowhere to be found, though.”
“So she escaped, came back to America…”
“Found out Julio was dead, and has apparently decided she is going to take over his entire empire,” Zeth finishes.
“Huh.”
“Ballsy bitch,” Theo interjects. “I like a woman who knows how to take a hold of the reins. I’m looking forward to meeting her.”
“You’re not going to,” Zeth snaps. “Neither of you are coming with us. You’re staying here. Don’t worry. You can eat all the fucking clam chowder you want.”
A shadow falls over Theo’s face, but it’s Sal’s reaction I find most curious. He jerks back, like Zeth has slapped him, and then a slow, secret smile plays across his features. Zeth’s gaze turns to tempered steel. “Don’t even think about following us,” he says coldly. “I don’t care who you are. I don’t care who your father is. If you so much as breathe in the direction of this baseball field, I will personally fucking end you in the most horrific way imaginable.”
Sal holds up his hands. “Wouldn’t dream of it, boss.” Of course, he sounds like he’s lying. He does very little to conceal his contempt for Zeth’s command. These Barbieri brothers are mad. They’d have to be to provoke Zee in such a way. Michael shifts from one foot to the other, the tiniest shift of weight, barely noticeable, but I’ve spent a long time around the man now. He’s usually so unflappable. His composure is solid, like the foundations of a bombproof building. As with Zeth, to see him so shaken is enough to disturb me. They must really believe this Alaska woman is willing and able to cause harm to Sloane.
The injured woman, who hasn’t said anything until now, sways on her feet. She looks like she’s about to collapse where she stands. “What am I going to be doing while you’re meeting with this woman? There has to be something I can do.”
“You’re going to wait here for us to call with news. You’re going to rest. Eat. Drink. Sleep. If you start to feel worse, you’re going to call an ambulance and head right back to the hospital,” Michael says in a clipped tone. “You’re not going to do anything stupid. In fact, you two,” he says, pointing at Theo and Sal, “can stay with her. Make sure she doesn’t pass out.”
“Our father didn’t send us here to babysit,” Sal hisses. “He sent us here to help you deal with your DEA problem. And for you to show us the city’s darker side, Zeth..”
“Find out where Lowell is, then, if you absolutely have to do something,” Michael tells them, shrugging,
‘This…” Sal spreads his arms wide. “Is unacceptable.”
Fire flares behind Zeth’s dark eyes. A fire completely without a heat. The kind that burns cold—cold enough to freeze you to your core. He’s never turned that look on me before, not even after breaking into his gym time and time again, and I’m sure as hell glad of that fact. He turns, taking a step, so that he’s nose to nose with the Barbieri. “You’d better find a way to make it acceptable, motherfucker. Or you and I are going to have a problem.”