Page 50 of Pivot Point

Luciana

“You better beatit if you know what’s good for you, bitch!”

The man in front of me stared me down with an expression that wanted to be tough but just wasn’t doing the job. No matter how firmly he set his jaw, I could see the fear in his eyes.

I had him by the balls—metaphorically, at least.

I cocked my head at a cheeky angle. “All I’m asking you to do is listen. You don’t want to mess with me, I can promise you that. You definitely won’t like me if you do.” I craned my neck to look at the vintage car behind him. “And neither will your shiny little toy back there either.”

The man let out a growl, his hands clenching, but he stayed where he was. I’d already told him that he and the rest of Sheeran’s crew would be insomuch trouble with the Deadly Rose if they kept harassing me.

The guy, Eddie Johnston, was another of Sheeran’s top associates. It hadn’t taken long to figure out what mattered the most to him: the gorgeous vehicle behind him, some foreign make that I didn’t recognize but could tell was both classic and kept in tip-top shape.

I didn’t really want to destroy a thing of beauty like that, but I’d reduce it to a pile of scrap if that was what it took to drive my message home and protect the people I cared about.

“I said get out of here,” Johnston said in a not very convincing tone. “I don’t want to have to hit a lady but —”

“But you will, is that right?” I gave him a mocking smile, hoping he saw the crazy in my eyes. “Don’t make me laugh, asshole. Like I said, there’s a very easy way out of this problem. I don’t want any trouble. I’m not here in town to threaten your business. Convince your boss of that and leave me alone, and I’ll happily steer clear of you too.”

I raised a finger. “But if you mess with me, you can say adios to that sweet little ride. Hey, maybe Sheeran would let you borrow one of his. You think he likes you that much, Eddie?”

“Shut up,” he mumbled. Any remaining fire was dwindling in his expression.

“I’d be ecstatic to stop talking and get out of your hair. I just want to make sure we understand each other. You’re going to encourage your boss to stand down? It’ll be even worse for all of you if the Deadly Rose finds out you came at me with no provocation.”

Johnston bared his teeth at me. “I hear you, bitch. I got your message; I’ll do what I need to. Just get the fuck outta here.”

I slung my bag over my shoulder. “My pleasure. Hope I don’t have to see you again, Eddie.”

I strolled out of the garage feeling better than I had in ages. I wasn’t going to let the Harvester’s Boston crew push me around anymore; I wanted to do some pushing of my own.

Taking out some of my frustration on these pricks was more satisfying than I’d expected. They had it coming, and I had no qualms about making them squirm after the beatdown they’d tried to deliver the other day.

I slid into the driver’s seat of my Grand Marquis, wiggling into the plush seat. “One stupid goon down. And one more to go.”

The GPS directions told me that my second stop was in a residential neighborhood across town. I passed through a swanky area that housed some of the city’s rich elite—Sheeran’s kind of place—and into a stretch of slightly rundown rowhouses that must have still commanded a decent price because of their history.

The looming brownstones with their artful styling caught my eye even in the darkness. But there wasn’t much room for admiration in my gut when I thought about the asshole I’d be dealing with here.

Robert Cullen was a major player. We’d dug up connections to three different women he’d been stringing along for years, each of them believing they were his one and only. The second had given him a son he doted on when he came around, but having a kid hadn’t been enough to make him clean up his act.

He didn’t clean up much in general, it turned out. I passed his address, circled around the block to park, and made my way to the backyard with a series of furtive dashes and scrambles, only to find the yard full of overgrown grass, rusty patio furniture, and scattered, mud-streaked toys from when he must have brought his son around.

I wrinkled my nose as I crept up to the back of the house. Rafael had texted me to confirm that Cullen had headed out for some nighttime business, leaving his house unguarded. Perfect for me to set up the element of surprise—and show that I had the skills to deliver on any threat I made.

Like many criminals, Cullen was overconfident. The lock on the back door was a little too complicated for my picks, but he’d left one of the first-floor windows a couple of inches open. Just enough room for me to pop out the screen and shove the pane upward.

I rolled inside and onto my feet with a soft thump. Looking around, my mouth pulled into a grimace.

The inside of the house was worse than the yard. I’d entered into the dining room—at least, I assumed that was what the room was supposed to be based on the large table in the middle, which was heaped with newspapers and takeout boxes. More lay strewn across the floor.

If he hated cleaning so much, the guy could have at least hired a maid service, for fuck’s sake.

I crept over to the living room and found more food wrappers there, as well as several pieces of clothing tossed over the sofa. An unpleasant odor, a mix of food going bad and stale sweat, hung in the air.

Could this guy get more gross? How the hell had he managed to pull not just one butthreedevoted girlfriends?

Somehow I was guessing he never invitedthemover to visit.

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