Page 17 of Tortured Eyes
I don’t have an answer for that other than the truth, which is so opposed to his own ideals of how the city should be run that he won’t understand it. He wanted what Carter did to the company, had been working for years to achieve it. And now it’s here, both they and the city are weak and exposed. This is the type of heat they get because of their growth into civilised society. If someone’s digging, it’s because they haven’t got control of the cops like they used to.
“You got lazy, Nate. All of you did. This is the result of giving space to those beneath you.” Stupid. My head shakes under his gaze, some part of me even managing empathy. “Shame you didn’t look sideways at the same time.”
“Sideways? Your father has tried so many times over the years to get you home. What the hell was it Vico had that kept you there?” He gets in front of my face again as if age, time, size means nothing to him. “What was it, Logan? Did he let you loose on everything, put a gun in your hand and tell you to kill everything that opposed him?”
Yes.
He gave me a chance to prove myself, let me evolve without an authoritarian stance over my head. My head rears back, safe in the knowledge that I am exactly what I am because of that chance.
“That’s not power, Logan. That’s just fucking tyranny.”
“And my father’s way was better, was it? Hold me back? Make me behave? He tossed me under Carter and said, ‘follow his lead.’ Wherever the fuck that went.” I sneer and think on that memory for a few seconds, remembering the night of that last final argument with my father. “And then you all thought cutting me out was a safe route?" He at least seems contrite about that. Not surprising. It wouldn't have been him that made that happen. "I wouldn’t do as I was told then, Nate. I won’t now either. Look at the fucking situation you’re in because of Carter.”
“We’re all in this goddamned position because of you, Logan. Not Carter,” he snaps.
I pull in a long, erratic breath at his brutal tone, dismissing the resentment under my skin and head back for the main entrance hoping he follows. This discussion, whatever the hell it is, is over. I’m not getting into it with him. There’s only one man who deserves my wrath—my father. And he’s going feel it in any way I choose.
The sound of Nate's footsteps marching behind me makes me remember his inability to stand up to his own brother. He bowed and cowed, letting that fucking man walk all over me. Oh, they argued about it, about me. I heard them, heard the shouting and vicious comments, but at the end of it all, it was still my father’s way. Still his choice for me.
“He won’t dictate to me anymore, Nate. I won’t let him,” I snarl, opening the door for him. He comes up beside me, his hands in his pockets to try calming me down. I snarl at that, too, knowing all his ways to relax me into servitude. Fuck that. My days of bowing and cowing are long gone, all of them still lost in a mist of rage and conviction.
“Nobody expects you to, Logan. But think about what you’re doing. We’re stronger together. If this detective digs in deep enough, she’ll find something. It could be something that links everything about the past. I’ve checked, and so far, six case files we’ve had buried for us have been accessed. Not just recent ones, but past cases as well. Involving Vico, too. Detective McCarthy isn’t on our payroll. Her father was at precinct nine and….”
Her name finally out in the air makes me smirk, intrigue coming strong again with the thought of her digging around about me.
“Bryce McCarthy. I know.”
“You do?”
“There isn’t a thing I don’t know about this fucking place. She’s cute.”
He looks bemused, as if he had no fucking idea I’d know something concrete. That pisses me off more than the fact he’s trying to defend my father’s actions. Maybe I didn’t know she was digging into Cane, but I did know she was digging into me. Fluke maybe, but given he’s here now, telling me she’s up in their ass, too, it’s pretty obvious what she was all over my club for.
I walk out and down the steps, eventually mirroring his pocketed hands as he walks beside me. I have no beef with this man on his own, no need to argue with him. We disagree, but out of them all, he’s the only one I give a damn for. “She might even be worth fucking.” His body stops moving, and I look back at him on the steps, my face smirking. “Or fucking with.”
“Jesus. You are like him,” he says.
“Who?”
“Your father.”
I turn away from his gaze, instantly annoyed again.
“A touch of Vico animosity over the top layer, but you're just like him when he was younger.”
My brow arches after that last comment. It’s an apt description of what I’ve become over the years, I suppose. My father’s younger head. Vico’s proclivity for fear and violence. Mix that in with some coke and I’m about ready to tear up this place in my own way. Cane name or not.
“I don’t know what game you’re playing with her but watch yourself. She’s not one to be bought off,” he mutters, walking past me to the car. “She’s a good cop. Not many of them about anymore. They’re dangerous.”
“For you, maybe.”
He nods as if that’s all he’s got left. I’m not concerned about her. She’s a woman. They’re generally malleable enough if you employ the right strategies. And if those strategies don’t work, she’ll get no further than the end of my gun pointed at her. Fucking cops, especially good ones. Hero-ass tactics trying to save the goddamn planet. This planet isn’t meant for saving. It’s meant for living in and coercing the right way for all concerned.
“Logan?”
I look back at him, feet steadfast in my own ground. Mine. Bought by me. Owned by me.
“I know you give more of a damn about us than you’re showing.”
My lip curls, disdain for his very words making my hatred all the deeper regardless of the fucking truth behind that sentence.
“I know that because no Cane is heartless. None of us. Even your father. You’re one of us whether you like it or not. You are not a Vico. You're better than his shit. Think.”
But I’m not Cane anymore either.
