Page 68 of Used

Leaning against the wall outside the bedroom, I study my bare feet, breathing hard.

Fuck.

Running my hand through my hair, I lick my lips. I still taste her. Right now, I want to lie in bed with my arms around her, keeping her close to remind her I’m not always rough. Being disciplined by a man is new for her and, this early, my hold on her feels tenuous. I need to play things just right. It’s hard. The intensity of what I feel for her borders on dangerous.

My phone buzzes impatiently in my pocket. I don’t look, knowing it’ll be C again, telling me to stop fucking around and to come downstairs. Straightening up, I inhale and brace myself. Time to do the next thing that needs to be done. Miles to go before I sleep.

I force myself to get moving, the way I’ve been doing my whole life.

When I hit the main floor, I do a shot of Jack and pour myself a double Jack and Coke on the rocks. Then I head down.

Looking at my phone, I erase C’s messages without reading them. In the basement, I set the phone on the table in front of me. Anvil reaches for it, but I grab it and pull it to me. “It stays.”

Anvil and C exchange looks. Their phones are upstairs where we always leave them.

“What’s going on?” C asks, looking at my hand’s white-knuckle grip on the device.

It won’t stand, I realize. “Where’s Rachel?”

They stare at me.

“Zoe’s drunk. Where’s Rachel? Is she awake?”

‘Vil nods.

“I’ll leave my phone upstairs if she’ll watch it for me.”

Anvil nods, extending a hand.

It takes me too many seconds to drop it in ‘Vil’s hand, but I do. He goes, and C watches me like he doesn’t know me. Maybe he doesn’t. Maybe I don’t either.

Standing, I pace and drink.

Anvil returns and takes a seat.

My glass is already empty. Setting it on the table, I ask, “Enzo? When?”

‘Vil sets a fist on the table, tapping it. “Bastard broke his schedule twice and now—”

“Anvil,” C says sharply, shaking his head. “Things get done when the timing’s right.”

“When’s that gonna be? The next time one of our girls get kidnapped? When someone holds a gun to their heads or shoots at them? That’s when the timing’s good?”

C studies me. “What’s up, Trick?”

“You know what’s up. My custom suit got chlorinated and then Palermo’s man used the jacket as a rag. The guy who made it for me is in London, and I’m down to one. I can’t have something like bullet holes tearing up the one I’ve got left.”

C’s narrowed eyes study my face. “When Frank sent an army of guys after you, do you remember the message you sent, Trick?”

“No,” I lie.

“I do. ‘Vil, you remember?”

“He said, ‘Send better guys, Frank. I’m bored.’”

“That’s how I remember it too. And how everyone from Boston to Baltimore and everywhere in between remembers it because it got repeated thousands of times. Little kids in South Boston use that taunt when they play stickball. You’re a legend, Trick. You made it so.”

I don’t need to be told that I’ve lived like there’s no tomorrow. But now things have changed. Now I’ve got something I’m not willing to lose. Going to the bar, I pour myself another Jack and Coke. Opening the freezer, I shake my head. “Two and a half billion dollars between us, and we don’t have ice. How we livin’?”