Page 9 of His Black Onyx

Chapter 5

Nate

I'm met with Daveed's probing scrutiny and a dubious side eye from Mike when I step into the room that is serving as our temporary communal room. We haven't used this safe house in a while and couldn't even be sure it still had power and running water when we drove up here. The Covey likes to play it safe when it comes to hideouts and regularly switches things up, adopting and abandoning vacant properties as they see fit. This particular shed is on the outskirts of Boston, close enough to one of our main headquarters yet still far enough away to be hidden from the officials as well as the families.

The families. I'm still doubting the boss's decision to chum up with the local mafia, and so is everyone else. The reasoning behind it appears logical at first, but the risks that come with it trump anything we've done so far. It's in the Covey's nature to play by its own rules, outside the confining rule of law, but the fucking mafia takes it to a whole new level.

We've been on edge about this from the beginning, but it became so much worse when our deal was threatened by an impending death that no one saw coming just a few years back. It would be a tragedy outside this world, but it's even worse here, in the world of societal outcasts whose job is a dangerous liaison with danger.

It's a fucking disaster.

"So, what now?" Daveed probes, raising one of his thick eyebrows as he juts his chin in my direction. "She fine in there?"

I shrug as I pull out a chair from the table he's sitting at, turning it around so I can take my seat on it backward. I rest my elbows on the top of the backrest and spread my legs, facing him.

"She's not fine," I say. "Obviously."

Daveed scoffs, crossing his inked arms across his chest.

"Yeah, obviously," he groans, mocking me. "I mean, what the fuck did you expect? How do you think this is ever going to work?"

"It has to work," I insist. "You got a better idea? Because if you do, I would love to hear it!"

His expression darkens as he regards me, and I can tell that the thoughts are grinding silently in his mind. Mike joins us at the table, taking a seat next to Daveed so he can face me, imitating my way of using a chair to assert dominance. Mike has always been the calmer of the two, more rational and more prone to comply. He's not a leader but a follower, and he not only knows that but is perfectly fine with it. Even his physical appearance—a shorter frame, narrow shoulders, comparatively weak arms, and the way too thin hair—undermines his position as a simple henchman. However, he's a reliable henchman, and what he lacks in muscle and leadership skills, he makes up for with a sharp mind and loyalty that is hard to find. He does what he is told and usually doesn't question the orders I, or anyone else, direct at him.

The fact that even he is questioning my move to seize that girl only speaks of how fucking insane this idea is—and how desperate we must be to even consider it.

"I'll admit, she looks just like her," he says, casting Daveed a cautious look from the side before he turns to me. "But seriously, how's this supposed to work? They're not expecting a portrait or... I don't know, a mute statue or something. The girl will have to–"

"Play a role," I finish his sentence. "Yes. I know that. And she knows that, too."

"You already told her?" Daveed interjects. "And what? She just went along with it?"

I shake my head. "I'm sure I can get her there."

That's a lie. But what the fuck am I supposed to say? If they realize that I don't even trust in this plan myself, how the hell are they supposed to go along with it? I need their support, especially when it's time to inform the boss about our move. We only have a few days to get ready for that meeting with him. Only a few days to get the boys on my side—and to get her to a point that I can work with.

That's all I'm asking for. That's all I need. For now.

"How?" Daveed’s thick brows arch in bewilderment. "How the fuck are you going to 'get her there'?"

"Through fear," I respond. "I threatened to kill her family."

"Family?" Daveed blurts out. "Fuck, Nate, we don't even know who the hell she is! How are we ever–?"

"She doesn't know that!" I cut him off, raising my voice enough to make Mike flinch. "She doesn't know that my threats are empty. And she obviously has parents she cares about. I can always go with that."

Neither Mike nor Daveed look convinced. They exchange a telling look, but neither say a word. I can't blame them. The Covey doesn't operate on empty threats. We always know what we're doing and are the ones in control, used to having the upper hand.

"Do you even know her real name?" Mike asks the question as if he is afraid to hear the answer.

I nod. "I didn't even have to ask. She told me voluntarily, thinking it would make me realize that somehow I made a mistake and kidnapped the wrong person."

Daveed is about to interrupt me, but I stop him with a wave of my hand.

"She'll come around, I'll make sure of it," I assert, hoping they believe my words even if I don’t. "And if she doesn't, we'll get rid of her and return to our original plan B."

Sullen silence envelops us like a heavy blanket as my words echo through the empty room. There's nothing here but an old table, four crappy chairs, and a leftover kitchen counter with a solitary kettle on its top. The wallpaper is coming off at several places, revealing the first signs of mold that is slowly eating its way through the entire house. I resent being here, and I can't wait to get back to the city. Everything about this place speaks of the hopeless desperation we find ourselves in, and it’s not the kind of environment I’m used to. Even in my darkest days, I’ve lived better than this.

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