Page 27 of Twisted Lies
“There’s nothing interesting about it. She’s definitely fuckable, but I don’t mix business with pleasure, especially not this business.”
“I see.”
I looked over my shoulder. “It’s not that deep, Ram.”
Ram snorted. “A fuckable stunner? Well, that’s a game changer when it comes to your track record with women.”
“I’m going nowhere near Sinthia Michaels. I don’t need the complication.” Turning back around, I continued to stare at the skyline.
My life was difficult enough, and I didn’t need any distractions, particularly now that I’d found Mom’s killer. Besides, I wasn’t relationship material. I never was and never would be.
Watching Mom getting killed had changed me, shaping me into the man I was today—a sadistic, driven, ruthless, cold, and heartless killer. I was the product of my environment. Growing up in a run-down part of Manhattan and fighting every kid on the block who would talk shit about my young, single mother, who had performed at strip clubs to earn a living, had done that to me.
At a young age, I’d seen and lived through shit most people would only see in movies. Those things were not easily forgotten—like people being gunned down ruthlessly in broad daylight or single mothers giving blow jobs in alleyways so they could pay rent and put food on the table.
I had come a long way from those days and now had more money than I could ever spend, but the fucked-up memories remained. I would never forget where I’d come from or the day when my world had changed forever, leading me to the ultimate task before me—avenging my mother’s murder.
Even after all these years, the details of that fateful day were burned into my memory… I had been doing my homework when I heard Mom’s blood-curdling scream. I remembered running from the living room into the kitchen where I saw her being pinned against the wall by a big, burly man whose back was facing me while he repeatedly beat Mom’s face to a pulp. I charged, jumping onto the man’s back while trying to claw his eyes out of his head.
I could still hear the bone-crunching thud Mom’s frail body made as the man slammed her to the floor.
The man swung around and yelled at me, “You little bastard, you’re dead!” He grabbed me by the neck before throwing me clear across the kitchen.
My head had smashed against the corner of the kitchen counter before my body bounced onto the floor.
Dazed, I slowly reached my hand up to my head. I felt the oozing thickness of gushing blood across my eyebrow, but I refused to give in to the pain. Mom needed me.
My heart had leaped out of my chest when my mother screamed, “Leave my son alone, you fucking bastard. This is between you and me, damn coward.”
The man charged at her, pulling a .357 Magnum from his beltline. “Shut the fuck up, whore. You brought this on yourself. I warned you to keep your damn mouth shut!” he yelled while grabbing her by the hair with one hand.
Turning her face away from him, the man had placed the gun to her head. It had seemed like an eternity to me as I stared at the gold ruby-and-diamond-encrusted horseshoe ring on the man’s middle finger before he fired the gun, killing Mom. He then stormed over to me with his gun aimed toward me before squeezing off some rounds, and then my world had gone completely dark.
I had been near death when Ram found me choking on my blood on the gore-soaked kitchen floor, but it had been too late for Mom. Ram saved my life, and we made a pact that day. The man who killed my mother would pay with his life.
Young, wild, and ruthless, Ram and I had risen quickly in the world of organized crime, building our empire from the bottom. As the years passed, we never forgot the man without a face, only knowing him by his ruby-and-diamond ring.
Our criminal territory had expanded. Life and money had been good, but we knew we had to get out or we’d end up like so many of our friends—dead or in jail. So it hadn’t been a hard choice to decriminalize our business and turn our lives around, but I wouldn’t rest until I made the man with the ring pay.
“Sinthia Michaels is all business, and I’m willing to destroy her business in order to take down Bigsby,” I retorted.
Ram’s face tightened. “You know how I feel about this shit. We’ve been through hell and back together, so there’s no question about me helping you take him down. But this is between you, me, and him. No one else. Cut the Sinthia Michaels chick loose.”
My temper flared. “I don’t give a shit about her,” I snarled.
I needed Sinthia Michaels as bait, and if that meant she might become a casualty in my war against Bigsby, then so be it.
“She’s already involved whether she knows it or not, and I have no intention of letting her go until I get what I want—Bigsby.” I pulled out a cigar. “Now we’ve got lots of work to do. We need to call every retailer that we own a major stake in and let them know the Sinthia Michaels deal doesn’t happen until we personally approve it.”
9
Sinthia
Less than three hours later,the cab pulled up in front of the huge building. My stomach was queasy. My head throbbed as I gawked at the structure.
I looked into the rearview mirror, meeting the gaze of the cab driver. “Are you sure this is the right place?”
The driver drummed his fingers against the steering wheel. “Lady, this is the address you gave me.” He jabbed a big finger toward the sign. “See that? McKay Corporation.”
