Page 69 of Tortured Eyes
“Give it up, Red. Admit it. You just wanted a feel of me again. Here? I’m reasonably open to public fucking.”
“Stop it.”
“No. Don’t want to. I’m enjoying playing with you.”
“Because everything’s a fucking game, isn’t it? Like the time at the house. Play me one way, make me think you’re helping, and all the time it was your hands doing the damage?”
Her eyes turn venomous, making me yearn for that vicious touch of hers on me again. “You’re lucky I bothered playing at all, Bryce. Normal protocol would have been to put you out of your misery for instigating what you did.”
“Why let me go and send the packages then?”
“I’d rather talk about fucking.”
“Logan,” she admonishes.
She sounds like Mother. I baulk at the thought, reaching for more wine and rolling my eyes at the thought of being chastised. Maybe we should just get fucked up again and forget which side of the law we’re on. It’s a damn sight easier than this… whatever the fuck it is that we’re doing.
“Give me some more info on why you sent the files.”
“Because you needed to know. It’s naïve as fuck of you to think that this world we’re in can be controlled by cops alone. Most of your colleagues are corrupt, and the governing bodies above you certainly are. Without the likes of me, you’re screwed out there on the streets. Even your father knew that.”
"You leave him out of this."
"Why? Because you don't like the thought of Daddy, the hero, being part of something you don't understand?"
"No. I just don't want his name uttered when I'm acting like an idiot. I should be arresting you, not having dinner."
"Having dinner with me is the smartest thing any cop could do. Think of all the information you could get to help you work your streets better. You're lucky I'm feeling talkative."
“Chicago’s been doing just fine.”
“Only because Emilio Mortoni had control of those streets to a degree. Now, it’s fucked again, all because you decided to get your pretty ass involved in something that was way above your pay grade.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
“It means I’ve got to go home to put things right because Emilio’s dead. Eight of my guys are already on their way.” She looks confused. I shake my head. “You don’t get it, do you? See? Naïve as fuck. Emilio dead means the side cartels see an opportunity and are trying to gain traction. Your streets are a mess because of that, and there’s no one to clean them up anymore short of cops. Cane has nothing to do with the streets anymore. Hasn’t done for years. They’re clean. No muscle available to deal with the problems that cops can’t. You’ve seen the information now, seen the deals that those who don’t adhere to the law make to protect the city. There’s reasoning behind everything, even if the law can’t acknowledge it.”
“You make my job sound irrelevant."
“It isn’t irrelevant. It’s just part of a chain, but the laws you abide by hinder your ability to deal with problems. I wanted you to see the chain from the other side, respect it for what it does.”
“Respect you, you mean?” That thought never crossed my mind.
I shrug and lean back as the waitress arrives with food, waiting for more questions. It gives me pause to mull her features over, trying to work out what it is that I do like about her. She’s ballsy, brash, in my face. Too fucking beautiful as well. I smile at that, acknowledging it for the first time as she flicks her hair off her shoulders and looks at the food with a frown. Freckles on her skin. No need for makeup at all. Wide, full, blush red lips that I can still remember kissing, enjoying. Maybe I like her passion, her sense of commitment and hunger to protect her streets. Gritty. Determined.
Angry.
“And you care what I think?” she asks, softening her tone.
“What?
“You want me to respect you. Means you must care what I think,” she says, cutting into her food.
The comment throws me for a second, making me consider it more than I have done. Do I? I can't think of anyone other than Samuel who gets that accolade anymore. But I did go out of my way to send her that info. Wouldn't usually go out of my way for anyone unless I gained something by it.
"Apparently so," I eventually reply.
“Why?”
