Page 42 of Alliance

With no support, my body crashes to the ground, my arm banging off the coffee table as I slump down. I heave a breath, my lungs tasting the oxygen as if for the first time. It takes a few panting breaths before I can finally breathe, the fog lifting from my head. I roll onto my side, my fingers grasping against the floor.

“Do as you’re told, Lana,” Davis growls, hovering over me. “Or you won’t like the consequences.”

Chapter Nineteen

I’M WIPING THE GREASE FROMmy hands onto a rag while admiring the new pearl white Lexus Jimmy just drove into the shop when Sam walks in. He whistles low as his eyes scan across the pricey vehicle. “Chop or overseas?” he asks, shoving his hands into the pockets of his gray dress slacks. Sam has bed head, or at least the hair of someone who runs his fingers through it nonstop, but the rest of him looks polished. He has on a pair of pressed slacks with a button-down tucked into them, foregoing the tie and jacket, probably because even in January, NOLA is hot.

‘Overseas,” I tell him, tossing the dirty rag onto a bench behind me. “Boss.” I nod my head to him in a short greeting. It’s the formalities in this organization that hold the most weight. Men with power like to be reminded that they’re in charge, they like to make sure that every single soldier knows it. And if you don’t, he’ll make sure you do.

Jimmy, the kid who drove in the Lexus, learned that the hard way. He clutches his right hand whenever he sees Sam, as if he can protect it from the damage that’s already done. The kid tried to steal a part from one of the cars he stole and Sam found out. He strolled into the shop with a drill in hand, had his men hold Jimmy down and then drilled through the nails and fingertips of two fingers. Cody, one of the other guys who works in the shop, told me the story in a hushed tone while Jimmy was out stealing a different car. In his words, “Jimmy was fucked up after that.”

He moves to the back of the shop, walking toward a tool bench and pretending to grab something. From working with him the past month, I’ve learned his antics. He probably doesn’t need a damn thing, he just doesn’t like to be around Sam.

If someone drilled a hole through my fingers, I don’t think I’d want to be near them either.

“That’ll make a decent penny,” Sam says, a smile rising on his cheeks.

He’s not wrong though. One of his men will be here within thirty minutes to pick up the Lexus, putting it in a shipping container and sticking it on a ship. The captain will take a stack of hundreds to add the container, no questions asked.

At the port in Europe, another man will grab the container, load it up and from there, I don’t know the rest of the details. It’s better that way, if I can’t connect the entire process. If someone picks me up, the most they can get is what happens in my shop. Sam might be the only one who knows the entire process, but once the car is out of the States, even he doesn’t know all of the hands it exchanges.

The money from the car gets wired to an offshore account, and from there we’ll split the profit. Jimmy will get a cut for stealing the car, I get a cut for running the shop, and Sam will take the rest.

I can’t complain though because the money that ends up in my hands is a lot. Far more than when I worked for Marcus. A month with Sam and I’m already set up well.

“How’s the kid?” Sam asks, directing his attention from the car back to me.

For being one of the toughest criminals in New Orleans, Sam has a soft spot. I told him I was struggling to get the new PlayStation for Anthony, the only thing the kid wanted for Christmas. The new model was sold out everywhere. Next day, he had a man drop off a truckload of them. Hijacked the truck delivering the electronics and suddenly we had a hundred PlayStations ready to resell and one ready to be wrapped up for Christmas.

So despite the holes in Jimmy’s finger, I wasn’t afraid of Sam Costello. He valued loyalty above all else, and as long as I was loyal to him, I trusted he’d be loyal to me.

“Thrilled.” I laugh. "Ma’s a little pissy she can’t get him away from the TV, but you should see his ranking in COD.”

Sam laughs. “Good.” Something flickers in his eyes for a moment, and he ticks his head to the side, gesturing for me to move away from the car and out of the earshot of the men.

I follow him without question to the corner of the shop. “What’s up, boss?” Since putting me in charge of this shop, Sam had given me dozens of side projects. Selling stolen goods, fetching shipments, shadowing deals. I do each task with no complaints. Seeing each mission as a step closer to that golden button, to the possibility of not having to sleep with a gun under my mattress.

Sam drags a hand through his dark hair, messing it up further. “Have you spoken to Lana?” he asks. Talking about his cousin is a weird topic between us. He’s pushing me toward her, and I haven’t quite figured out his end game. I can’t believe it’s because he wants her to be happy or that he thinks I love her. Men like him, like his family, don’t value feelings such aslove.And they’re selfish. Everything has a dollar amount next to it, even Lana.

I have to think that he has a plan, some kind of angle he’s working on. I just don’t know what I have to do with it.

My phone burns in my pocket. I text the burner phone every morning and every evening. The only times we talk is when she’s hidden in her room. Otherwise, she keeps the phone off, tucked away in a drawer where her family won’t find it. It’s weird, I think, to have a relationship based on only talking at two specific times a day.

And only through text message. I haven’t heard her voice since the last time she was in my apartment, her body tucked under my sheets. But that was over a month ago. I think of the image daily though. More than just the sex, I love revisiting the face she makes as she cums around my cock. But also, the smile etched across her cheeks as she took a bite of the grilled cheese I made her.

The messages on the blue lit screen aren’t enough for me, but the other option is nothing. So I take what I can get.

I pull my cell from my pocket, opening up my chat with Lana. Last message was at 9 am, she never responded then.

“Not today,” I tell him, sliding the device back into my pocket.

Sam chews on his lip for a second before regaining his composure. It’s funny, he’s always put together. I’ve never seen an ounce of fear or worry on this man except for the brief second just now.

“What’s going on?” I ask. “Is she okay?”

Sam sighs heavily. “It’s a little worse than I anticipated,” he says, the words leaving his lips in a calm demeanor, giving me no inkling into what worse actually means.

Thoughts race through my mind. Is she dead? Hurt?

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