Page 51 of To Catch A Rook

I pulled into the average paved driveway with weeds growing up through the cracks. Turning off the car, I took a minute to sit in the dark before making the call.

“You’re late.”

Antonio answered in Spanish, his smooth tenor clipped in annoyance. At the tinkle of crystal through the line, I imagined him pouring a glass of his favorite exorbitant scotch. I hoped to poison it one day.

“Working on a case.” I grunted, a subtle reminder I had other responsibilities—to his benefit—keeping me from being at his beck and call.

“And this case is more important than me?” His words were mocking, but his tone was flat.

“This case will throw the heat off our next set of problems,” I countered and sank into the fabric chair of the sedan, closing my eyes. “The Rodriguezes have aligned themselves with Alvarez. Aaron came to me with the message.”

The stillness on the other end was deceptively calm, but the sound of shattered glass came a second later.

“Aaron came to me,” I amended, massaging my temples in anticipation of the inevitable headache, “and wants to work out a deal. He wasn’t a part of the decision and will trade his life to work against them. He has some contingencies in place to make that happen.”

Another pause.

“A man’s loyalty to his family should never be questioned.” Antonio’s words were said with a finality I saw coming from a mile away. “If Aaron chooses to turn his back on his family, he will choose to turn his back on us.”

I didn’t care about Aaron Rodriguez one way or another—but he meant something to Hillary. She wouldn’t forgive me if I was the one to put the bullet in his brain, but I wouldn’t be able to protect her if I disobeyed a direct order.

I weighed my words carefully. “Perhaps his family has turned their back on him.”

“A man who does not hold his parents' honor is not a man.” Antonio’s response brooked no arguments. “Kill him to send a message and frame Alvarez for the crime. Two birds with one stone.”

The directive sealed Aaron’s fate; there wasn’t a damn thing I could do about it.

“As you wish.”

My father continued, the sentencing a man to death for someone else’s choices of no further concern. We all held the Carloscallousness close to our hearts, but Antonio’s was particularly pure.

“Assemble your brothers. We will start cleaning out the filth of Alvarez and his company.”

I hung up the call and scrubbed my palms across my face. Blocking out all emotion, I considered the task ahead of me. It was just another nail in my coffin—when I finally met my end, there was no place for me but the bowels of hell.

It was only a matter of time before I joined Aaron there.

“Oy, Conan.”

I slid onto the weight bench right next to the barbarian as he tried his best to bust a bicep with the weight he was pressing.

I barely got a head turn from the sexy oaf, all sputtering and sweating like a Canadian lumberjack. If I didn’t already know how the fucker felt through my arse cheeks, I’d be tempted to give it a go in the shower again before he headed off to behead people, or whatever it was mobsters did after the gym.

“Little birdie told me you made a‘special request’”—I took out my best obnoxious air quotes—“to have my membership dismissed.”

The Viking still wouldn’t make eye contact, but I caught him sneak a little peek at me through the mirrors ahead. I stared into the reflection of that icy blue eye of his, not able to contain my grin.

“Couldn’t imagine why you wouldn’t want to work out with your cock-cozy,” I announced with mock indignance, raising my voice with each word. “Aren’t I a great cock-cozy, baby?”

The bar with all the weight of a small grizzly slammed back down and my buff target shot up from his seat, skin glistening and chest heaving—the sex appeal of this man really was top-notch. He glared at me like he hoped his eyes were laser beams and they’d cut me in half.

“Evidently, you have friends here.” Kellan’s voice was gravelly, unamused and unimpressed.

“That I do, my broody barbarian.” Me and the Cheshire Cat had matching smiles this morning. “But don’t you fret. We’re going to be seeing a lot more of each other, mate.”

I winked and hopped off the bench, taking in the angry, sculpted sight of him for one last blissful second. “I’ll see you in the shower? If you”—obnoxious air quotes again, just for good measure—“‘do that’ anymore.”

I chuckled all the way down the hallway to the cardio room, eager for a good run before I attempted to make good on my promise. Sweaty shower sex was the best sex if the cartel baddie would give me round two. A man could only hope.

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