Chapter Two

 

 

 

Devon could hear his teeth grinding over the whirl of the machines. Standing in his largest warehouses with the pathways between the rows of workers who were lining up in front of him like dominoes, all he wanted was to shoot every person in the room, starting with Lucky, the idiot who couldn’t tie his shoes without his mommy’s help. The punk was built like a horse—six foot and some, barrel-chested from pumping iron and with a head just as thick. His jeans were down so far that Devon doubted he could run without them falling and tripping him in his oversized, unlaced boots. Dull, stupid, but occasionally effective. Of course, this time he fucked up.

“Why is this so complicated? Why? I wanted one thing! One!” Devon shoved the man backward two feet then got right in his face. This close, he could see the disgusting yellow of his teeth. “And you couldn’t even do that!” He released him to get the stench of bad breath and body odor away from him.

“Mr. Blackmore, to be clear, we did the best we could with what you gave us. If we’d only—”

“You didn’t try hard enough!” Devon’s scream was loud and sharp enough to stop production. He spun to the women nearby. “Get back to fucking work! Do I look like I pay you to listen to my conversations, bitch?” He dragged one worker up by her black hair, shook her then threw her to the ground. “Get back to work.”

“Mr. Blackmore—”

Devon spun around and grabbed Lucky by his filthy white T-shirt. The gangster had muscle, but he wasn’t used to anyone getting the jump on him and was too stupid to even realize when he’d fucked up.

“I don’t give a shit how much you tried. You didn’t get the job done, did you, asshole?” Devon took out his Sauer then shot the punk in the head. Lucky isn’t so lucky after all. He dropped his hand and watched Lucky crumple to the floor. “Now, get me someone who can get her. You understand me, Murphy?”

Murphy hadn’t moved. His big arms remained at his sides, his suit still in perfect condition. He might not have the brains needed but he had loyalty and sometimes common sense. Both had helped him survive so far.

Not surprisingly, he didn’t blink at Lucky’s bad luck. “I understand.”

“If I want shit work, I can pay a hell of a lot less than this fucker was asking. Get his ass out of here. I want results, boys,” Devon muttered, straightening his jacket. All around him, work had resumed. It was odd how fear made everything run smoother. He breathed in deeply, imagining that the air was tinged with it. “Send in one of those new girls. I need a shirt. Mine’s now ruined, thanks to the very unlucky Lucky.” He started for the better part of the warehouse, his own hidden gem amid this shithole.

“Devon,” Murphy called, wincing when Devon stopped and turned around. “There’s a man in your office waiting for you.”

“Son of a bitch,” Devon snarled. He took a deep breath and ran his hands through his hair in frustration. He had to keep his head on straight if he wanted to get back what belonged to him. Nicole wasn’t an easy woman to catch, and he wasn’t a patient man. He’d have to wait if he wanted his prize, which was going to be her on her knees.

He shook his head to get his brain back on track.

Two of his men had taken Lucky by the arms and feet and were carrying his heavy weight out of the back door. He’d have to double check that they burned the body. He couldn’t afford any heat, not at this point in his operation. “A man. Do we know more than that, Murphy? Do we let any Tom, Dick or fucking Harry in here?”

“No, sir, we don’t.” Murphy fiddled with the change in his pockets. He never could keep his hands still when things got messy. “He’s come with a white card, or we’d not let him past the door.”

Devon nodded and started for his office again. He needed a blow job and a new shirt. There wasn’t time for his dick or his new clothes, though. A white card meant a possible payday. Money was always worth more than a slut on her knees. A white card could mean his waiting was over. He surveyed the assembly line of money going through the process called laundering and wagered his entire year’s take that this time he was getting what he needed. He could feel that tingle in his bones that always led him right at the track. What I want most… Is that what I’m going to get?

Nicole Masterson. On her knees, back, stomach, dead, alive… It didn’t matter. Preferably alive, though, so he could kill her himself, after he humiliated her in every way possible.

“Good. That’s real good. I hope he’s been given some refreshments while he waits.” Devon stripped off his jacket with a curse. Free of it, he began rolling up his sleeves to hide the blood.

“He’s in the red room. Toni’s taking care of him.” Murphy checked his guns before preceding him into the elevator.

Devon glanced at Murphy’s nervous expression. Murphy fingered his gun and shifted his feet. “What’s got your radar up?”

Murphy snorted and nodded downward to the operations floor. “You killed a man. We can’t always cover that shit up as easy as you think.”

Devon laughed. “That’s what I pay you for.”

“Yeah, well, now this…when Lucky couldn’t score? It makes me uneasy.”

“Everything makes you uneasy,” Devon scoffed.

“That’s why we’re still alive, coz.”

Devon agreed but crossed his arms, impatient to find out if he’d finally hear what he wanted more than anything else in the world.

The elevator opened on his office suite. He’d paid millions to the most renowned architects and designers to create a space in this godforsaken warehouse to resemble his family’s home, which had been destroyed by David Mathew Andros the second. He’d even had the chandelier duplicated and the irreplaceable Persian rugs replaced. Money could buy anything. He’d learned that in the fifteen years since his father had lost everything and their lives had sunk into the pit of humanity.

Two seconds into the room and Devon knew all his hard work had finally paid off.

An elegantly dressed man with the air of power waited for him. Connections in this world were essential. His father had always said, ‘Without connections, you could find yourself dead on a warehouse floor and no one would give a rat’s ass about it.’ Devon lived by those rules. Whoever the man was, he had the air of someone who knew he was top of the food chain. More, he had the balls to sit, casually waiting, almost bored-looking, for Devon’s arrival. So, a tough guy.

“You have her,” Devon said, not bothering to ask.

The tough guy lifted one shaggy eyebrow and glanced from Devon to Murphy and back. Devon could almost see the man’s mind working out the situation. The blood was still on Devon’s cuffs, even if he’d rolled them up to the elbow. There were probably splatters on his shirt.

“I have where she’ll be and when,” he clarified in a quiet tone that spoke of a great deal of power. Devon appreciated that. He didn’t use the subtle. He used the direct threat of death with the volume of his shouting. It worked for him, but he could recognize another technique and admire the style. “I’m to take you there.”

“Take me there,” Devon repeated, unable to process that for a moment. Anger returned, making him grind his teeth again. “No one takes me to what I want. They bring me what I want.” His temper flared hotter at the mere idea. “I want Nicole Masterson! On a plate, at my door!”

The man simply crossed one leg over the other at Devon’s shout. He tipped his head sideways, as if to say that made sense to him, but it wasn’t the way the deal was falling out. It was an apology understood between two powerful men. “This time, you’ll have to make an exception.”

“Why would he do that?” Murphy asked, fingering his gun.

“Because if he doesn’t, he’ll lose this chance. There’s only one person that can go where she’s going and that’s Mr. Devon Blackmore.”

Devon nodded to Murphy. His second took his hand off the gun at his hip. Toni, the only woman not in his service for her obvious gifts and his high sex drive, mixed him a Martini at another nod from him. Devon loosened his tie and undid the top two buttons of his shirt. He accepted the drink and lifted it to his lips, sipping the cool, crisp, slightly spicy concoction. Toni was one of the best bartenders ever to learn the trade. He lifted it to her in salute before he turned to the man who was going to give him what he wanted.

“She’s going to the island.”

“She’s going to the island,” he confirmed.