Page 52 of One Love

It’s definitely an opening.

“Glitch.” This time I call out a little louder as I pick up a knife conveniently placed along the wall. Too conveniently, in fact, and I’m certain Cook used it to open this wall space.

As soon as the little door pops open, I freeze. It takes my brain a few minutes to register what exactly I’m seeing because holy fucking shit, this is anything but normal.

“Glitch, I swear to fuck, you need to stop flirting with the equipment and get your ass over here.” My eyes are glued to the sight in front of me. Fascination, disgust, intrigue, confusion. Every one of those emotions are swirling inside my brain like a perfectly timed drain, circling, circling, circling.

“What’s up, did you find—” I know the exact moment Glitch sees what I’ve been trying to understand.

“Yeah.” I whisper my answer as if this is too much for loud words.

“Jesus, man. Who does that?” I know his question is rhetorical but I feel the overwhelming need to answer.

“You were right. Harvey Cook is a psycho.” We stand in silence, letting my words linger like the rancid smell of a fart after a hefty chili dinner.

The wall has been cut out, with shelves all around and clear jars lining the space. “I’m going to take a wild guess and say that’s formaldehyde in there.” I lean in and shiver as a blue iris, wide and staring, turns on itself, the nerves still attached and swimming like tiny snakes.

“I’d have to agree.” In my peripheral, I see Glitch take out his phone, snap a few pictures, then send them to their group chat.

“What’d you tell them?”

“I think we got a twofer,” he answers, the tone of voice giving nothing away. No inflection, no shock, no disgust. Just another day at the office.

“Yep. Gambler by day, serial killer by night.” With Marco’s soldiers all being found with their eyes carved out, it was easy to put the two pieces together to get the whole picture.

Like I said, I don’t believe in coincidence.

By the time we got all the equipment out of the house, we debated on whether to bring the jars of floating eyeballs but agreed it was bad juju to carry them around in our car. Getting pulled over with over a dozen sets of eyeballs would surely call for a trip with the Five-O.

Before going to prison for hacking into a bank where blood money from at least five different wars spanning the last three decades were being kept, I was just a guy fascinated by anything with a hard drive. Passionate about three-dimensional world building and comfortable hanging out with likeminded people.

They say prison changes you but your core remains the same. Sure, I had to learn to defend myself, but mostly, I used my brain and my skills. The greatest violence I’d ever inflicted on anyone was through a screen with well-designed weapons made of pixels and imagination.

When Zavier hired the best lawyers he could buy and still wasn’t able to get the charges dropped, he did the next best thing. Made me his partner in all things casinos on the very day I walked out. Although I was arrested in San Francisco, the bank was in New York City so…Ryker’s became my home for the next two years.

I’d always known he’d grown up with the inheritance of the Greek mafia, but until I stepped foot into this world, I had no idea what that meant. Was I afraid? I probably should havebeen, but working behind my screens meant the world was in a different realm from where I sat.

At the time, I didn’t need to interact or smile and be funny. That was Z’s job. Me? I just had to be good at my job. And I am.

Except, one night, J happened and all my plans disintegrated from just that wink. That one shameless act of defiance ruined me for all others.

Now, I’m in her world and every day I discover just how dark her existence can be. I’m not afraid of it, although I probably should be. To be honest, I don’t really give a fuck. All I see is her. Every one of my senses is fixed only on her.

That’s not to say that floating eyes and swimming optical nerves don’t make my stomach revolt. They really fucking do and if I don’t ever see them again, I will be okay with that.

“So what do you think, Dima?” I spin around at the sound of Z’s voice, seeing a red Aston Martin pull up behind him and none other than Marco Mancini stepping out. To my surprise, he walks over to the passenger side door and opens it, holding out a hand for who I’m guessing is River, his wife.

I shrug at Z’s question. I’m no expert on viable land, but an apartment building facing the East River with the Manhattan skyline? I don’t need to be a financial mogul to know we’re standing on prime real estate.

“I wouldn’t say no to breakfast with this view every morning.”

Marco and River slowly make their way to us, hand in hand, and I don’t miss the way he stands proud with her by his side.

Sliding my hands into my jean pockets, I straighten my spine in response to his presence. There’s no indication Marco’s going to pull out a gun and shoot us but there’s something in his eyes, a determination, or maybe the protective instinct of a lion, that demands respect.

“Marco. Mrs. Mancini.” Zavier shakes Marco’s hand but only bows to his wife since her right hand is being held hostage. Ican’t help my smirk when she breaks free of her husband’s hold and presents her hand to Zavier. They shake as Marco and I do the same. When it’s my turn to greet Mrs. Mancini, I grin at the firm grip.

I know J considers River to be a force of nature, and I can see why. She has the grace of a swan and the presence of a hurricane and I immediately like her.

---