Settling on my heels, I slid the gun back into its holster. Hecko was beyond needing to be threatened. “Tell me why he had him killed.”
I'd adjusted to the dark enough to see the emptiness in Hecko's eyes. “I told him I was done,” he murmured softly. “He wouldn't need to clean up after me ever again... no more dead girls, I promised...”
Nausea swam in my guts. I fought the desire to probe further, to learn about what awful things Hecko had done in his past. Or at least, I hoped it was in the past.
I slapped his cheek, squeezed his lips until I felt him come alive. “Hecko, what was the reason?”
Something wet rolled down his chin; saliva. “Frankie was going to make a deal, he was going to betray the Diani family... I heard him, he said it, and I...” Squeezing his eyes shut, he groaned. “Why the fuck would you do that? Uncle Frankie, why the hell... why...”
Ice exploded in my veins. Uncle Frankie. “You're his nephew?”
“Please,” he whispered. “I told Lars everything Frankie planned. He promised he'd leave me alone if I kept my mouth shut. Fuck, I just wanted to be left alone... I really wasn't going to hurt anyone again... I swear...”
I could understand, now, why this guy had been drowning himself in drink when I found him. Hecko had let his own uncle be murdered. His guilt had to weigh heavy.
But I didn't feel bad for him. He'd admitted to me that he had a taste for hurting—killing—the girls in the clubs he loved to frequent.
He was scum.
And I couldn't let him live.
“Lars Diani,” I said. “Where can I find him?”
His chin dipped to his chest. “Charity Ball... coming up. The Dianis like to donate, make a... a lot of friends that way. Lars doesn't usually go, but... but sometimes he does.”
A charity ball? That seemed easy enough to investigate.
Hecko was coughing again. I smelled the vomit on his tongue, knew more was coming up. Casually, I snapped my palm over his mouth and held him tight. He was too weak to struggle.
“If you squealed on Frank,” I said into his ear, “You'll squeal on me.”
My blood was on fire; in my grip was someone's life. The flickering, warm heat that kept us all moving. I held it close, crushing it until it dissipated in that grim alley.
When his body was discovered, it'd look like he'd choked on his own vomit.
An accident.
I was thrumming, my body all electric and wild. One step closer to helping her get her revenge. That pleased me more than I'd ever expected it to.
I was only supposed to be doing this because we needed time. We had to get that letter that would condemn us to jail—or worse.
But as I left that alley, my steps were springy. I ached to utilize the power I felt.
I wanted to taste and hold and claw at a woman—one woman.
I couldn't wait to see Marina again.
- Chapter 16 -
Marina
––––––––
Grunting, I pushed the crate of glasses into place. My hair was in a bun, strands still escaping and plastering themselves to my face.
I really should not have been helping Kite organize the bar, but I'd caught him grumbling about everything that wasn't getting done because, and I quote, “Jacob was out pretending to be Batman.”
No single brain cell of mine should have felt sympathy for this man. It's just... well. I don't know. Sometimes Kite could be a brute, and other times I saw something soft and tender and hurt behind those black marble eyes of his.
So here I was, stacking boxes behind the bar on a Tuesday morning. No one else was here besides Kite, not even the bar tender whose name I'd learned was Anabelle. Apparently, as much as she was willing to put up with, she refused to load and restock before her shifts began.
Wiping my hands on my jeans, I looked over the bottles behind the bar. The two men who owned the Corner Velvet stocked it with some high quality stuff. Grabbing a bottle of Johnny Walker, I eyed the mostly empty contents.
“How strong are you?” Kite asked, staring at me from the hall.
Twisting his way, I blinked. “I guess it depends. What do you need me to do?”
Nodding his head, he motioned for me to follow. He had on faded jeans, a tight shirt stretching over his back muscles.
Pacing behind him, I studied how his shoulder blades flowed. He reminded me of a big jungle. Power and grace coiled beneath the surface of his perfect skin.
Kite stopped, pointing down at a staircase. “I never arranged the kegs that came in the other day. It's hard with one person, care to help?”
Flexing an arm, I pulled my sleeve higher to display my bicep. “I'm here to help, little lady.”
Kite rolled his eyes, but the edge of his smile was fantastic. Working like this, with him, made everything feel so... normal.
Following him into the basement, I gazed over the walls of huge containers. There was a wine cellar built into one side, the glass panel blinking with its temperature.
Everything else was oak barrels, as far as the eye could see.
The floor was solid under me, which was good, because bathed in the shadows of those wooden containers, I was starting to sway.