Page 18 of Surprise Baby for the Enemy

Other than that, we know nothing about him. I still make note of the cross streets of some of the businesses that have pledged themselves to him. That gives me an idea of where he considers his ‘territory’ to be.

More importantly, I can use this intel to track him down. If I can set up a meeting, I’ll tell him to back off and leave the Warwicks alone. If that doesn’t work? I’ll need to know what car he drives. After the meeting, I’ll catch a glimpse of his vehicle, and memorize the license plate, find out where he lives, and spy on him. I’ll track his every move. Then, when the time’s right, I’ll strike when he least expects it. I won’t just catch him off guard; I’ll finally put an end to him.

I’ll need a gun, of course. Damn, this is a good plan. If my dad had taught me all the mafia skills like he did my brother, I wouldn’t have to resort to tv shows. But what I did learn from him and my brother- what they’ve dedicated their lives to- is killing to protect the family. And that’s exactly what I’m prepared to do. For once I’ll be useful to this family and won’t feel so fucking alone.

The doorknob suddenly jiggles, and the lock clicks.FUCK. I don’t even have time to replace Silver’s file before the door opens and Iris freezes on the threshold, a steaming cup of her precious assam tea in her hands. She blinks, and her alarm turns to frustration.

“You can just ask me for a key to this room, you know,” she says, coming to the desk and setting her tea down with a clink. I see her eyes take notes of the way the letters are splayed out on the desk, laid differently than how she left them.

“I didn’t want you in my business,” I say, aiming for playful, but it comes out sharper than I intended, snapping Iris’s attention toward me.

Oh god. She has no idea what I’m planning. And I absolutely cannot tell her. I need to do this alone.

Iris plants a hand on her hip, her brow furrowing. “What’s going on, Raleigh?” Her eyes flick to the file I’m gripping, the name ‘Silver’ carefully concealed beneath my fingers.. Then she looks back at my face, and I know she can see it- the unease I’m failing to mask. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” I say, far too fast. “I’m fine, Iris. I just wanted to-”

I fiddle with the file, and the edge of the stiff paper slices right across my palm. I hiss and drop it on the floor. Iris takes a step forward, and I take a step back, stumbling into the filing cabinet behind me.

God, I’m worse than a cornered animal. I have to get out of here, or I’m going to break my most sacred rule and cry in front of Iris. Again.

“I just wanted to know for myself,” I say, which is true enough. Iris finally sees the name on the file, and her eyes soften.

Fuck. I’m going.

Without another word, I flee past Iris and slam the door behind me.

I wait until it’s past midnight to leave my room again to be sure Iris is in bed. Then I drive my Bentley off the estate, down the hill, and into the heart of the city. I’m repeating the street names I saw in Silver’s file to myself over and over as the buildings deteriorate around me. The potholes under my tires get worse. The street lamps get dimmer.

I don’t like the idea of parking my Bentley in this neighborhood, but I’m also not interested in walking more than a block at this hour of the night. Weighing the risks, I pull my car up to the mouth of an alley between a pawn shop and a nail salon, both of which have boarded up windows, and park. Across the street is one of the local grocery stores that have pledged themselves to Silver’s questionable rule.

The two hollowed out businesses I’m right next to- didn’t.

I grab the candy apple spray paint sitting in my passenger seat and step out of the car. I keep my shoulders back and my stride long, exuding confidence, determined not tolookafraid of this dark, desolate neighborhood. In the alley, I find Silver’s triangle mark with the jagged bottom line. It’s been painted in silver, of course, over the exposed brick of the wall.

For the first time I realize that the top of the triangle is supposed to be the hood Silver keeps up at all times, and the jagged bottom line is meant to be a smiling mouth.

Ha, he’s got good brand recognition, I’ll give him that.

And I’m about to give it a little makeover.

I shake up my spray can, the rattle of the marble loud in the empty alley. Is Silver watching me right now? I keep both ears out for footsteps, for scuffling movement deeper in the alley. Nothing. Either I’m alone, or Silver’s choosing not to interfere.

Giving the spray can one last shake for good luck, I paint a big fat “W” over Silver’s mark. As the chemical smell wafts up, a wave of nausea rolls through me, making my stomach churn. I force myself to focus, leaving the number I got from my newly acquired burner phone beneath the graffiti. When I’m done, I toss the dripping spray can on the ground, trying to shake off the dizziness, and head back to my car.

I don’t sleep for the rest of the night, and by morning I feel exhausted. I head to the bathroom to splash some cool water on my face, but that’s not nearly enough. I pat my skin dry with a towel, apply a touch of moisturizer, and dab a bit of concealer under my eyes to hide the dark circles. Luckily I’m done freshening up before my burner phone starts ringing.

Fuck, I’m honestly shocked that worked. Adrenaline shoots through me as I snatch the phone off my nightstand. I practiced these words a thousand times as I lay uselessly in bed last night. I can do this.

I answer the phone.

“Hey there, handsome,” I say, giving myself a megawatt smile in the mirror to be sure Silver can hear it.

Despite my bravado, a chill goes through my entire body when I hear the rasp of Silver’s voice.

“You know me, but I don’t know you.”

“This is Raleigh Warwick. You know, oftheWarwicks?” My arms and legs are trembling, but I clench my jaw so my teeth don’t chatter and keep going. “Gotta say, I’m impressed you survived the kill squad that ripped through your house a few months back. I think it’s about time we had a chat. Face to face. Establish some ground rules.”

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