Page 4 of Beautiful Rush
He jerked his chin toward my Escalade. I knew what he wanted, and this would work in my favor. He climbed into the passenger seat and spoke before his door was even closed. “You got any gear on you?”
“Nope.”
His right leg bobbed up and down. “Just enough for a few lines.”
“Let me see if I can get you fixed up.”
“Thanks, man. Appreciate it.”
I called Dmitri. He answered on the first ring. “Got Eddie with me.”
I turned the phone on speaker and set it next to me on my seat so Eddie could hear the conversation as I pulled out of the parking lot.
“Cocksucker.” Dmitri spouted off a few more choice words as Eddie fumbled with the door handle in an attempt to get out quick. He’d rather take his chances, drop and roll from a moving vehicle than face Dmitri. I hit the gas and the doors locked automatically, preventing his escape. “Bring him to me.”
Eddie shook his head, his face filled with terror as I drove toward the club. I had no intention of dropping him off for Dmitri to deal with, but Eddie didn’t know that. As we neared the club, I slowed down as if I planned to stop.
“Why don’t you let me shake him down?” I said. “Save you the hassle.”
Dmitri paused for a beat, considering my offer. “Two grand. Not a penny less.”
Eddie opened his mouth to protest. I shot him a warning look. He shut his mouth. Whatever Eddie owed, probably a fraction of that, was nothing to Dmitri. It wasn’t the money. It was the principle for him, so if Eddie didn’t fork over the money like he’d promised, Dmitri would make him regret it. If Dmitri got hold of Eddie, he wouldn’t be walking out of the club on his own two feet.
“Tomorrow it will be ten grand and his balls on a silver platter,” Dmitri said.
“I’ll take care of it.” I cut the call and spoke to Eddie. “I’m hoping for your sake you won your bets tonight.”
I knew he did, or I wouldn’t have made the call. I saw him put his arm around Keira, a shit-eating grin on his face as he flashed the cash.
After I dealt with Eddie, I delivered the cash to Dmitri then reported back to my handler, Nick Casarico. He’d worked undercover for ten years before he got out.
“Remember who you are. It’s easy to lose yourself. To get caught up in the criminal lifestyle,” he’d warned me.
Some days I had to find a way to make the ends justify the means. Some days the lines between right and wrong blurred. Eddie was a bottom-feeder on the food chain. But what I’d done tonight had been yet another way to prove my loyalty to Dmitri.
Thirty minutes later, I cruised by her apartment building, scoping out the security guy at the front desk in her lobby.
Bad fucking idea, Deacon. Stay away. Keep driving.
Five minutes later, I was sitting in my parked car a few blocks from her building, trying to talk myself out of doing something stupid. There was too much at stake to blow my cover. Too much at stake to get distracted by Keira Shaughnessy.
I’d done a good job of staying away from her for the past six months although God knows I thought about her. Worried about her. Checked up on her without her knowing about it. I’d read everything I could find about her father’s trial. Poured over photos of her. Chuckled at the one where she held her middle finger in the air, a defiant tilt to her chin.
From the day I met her until the day I left without a word, we’d only known each other three weeks. I thought that walking away would be easy, just like it had been with other women in the past.
I should have known she’d be different.
3
Keira
Feet propped on my balcony railing, I stared out at the rooftops of Williamsburg illuminated by a full pink moon and listened to the lyrics of “Hurricane” pouring from my speakers. Halsey sang about being a wandress. A one-night stand. Going down to Bed-Stuy, a little liquor on her lips. I took a sip of ice-cold vodka that I’d stowed in my freezer for tonight’s occasion and let my thoughts drift to him. I sifted through my memories, trying to figure out why his cameo in my life story had felt more like a leading role.
Kosta. His real name was Deacon Ramsey. The first time I ever laid eyes on him, I was selling jewelry at a pawn shop and he was tailing me.
The next time I saw him, a few days after I’d handed over the flash drive with enough evidence to get my dad arrested, was at Killian’s gym. I’d donned gloves, determined to punch the guilt out of my system. Deacon was working out and volunteered to be my human punching bag.
“I wouldn’t want to hurt your pretty face.”
