Rachel Dyken - Entice

“It’s what?”

“Phoenix tried to protect me,” Mil whispered. “I didn’t know that by taking his protection, by going to school, I was damning him to hell. He was too deep in to see his way out. He found out too much — he discovered the connections my father had made — and by then it was too late.”

“What connections?”

“I can’t say.” Tears formed in her eyes as she looked at each of us in turn. “Please don’t make me say it. Please.”

“Mil.” Nixon’s voice was cold as death. “Please don’t make me force you in front of Chase. Don’t turn me into the villain.”

“Don’t think I’ve ever heard him say please,” Tex muttered.

I think he was trying to lighten the dark-as-hell mood, but it wasn’t working. I debated on whether or not to try to punch him in the throat or just wait until Mil was done confessing, not that I could do anything with my arms pinned, but still.

“Nixon.” Her voice shook. “My family has broken every single one of the rules for the Sicilian Mafia. Every last one. They’ve stomped on them. They’ve spat at them. But worst of all, they’ve decided the only way to get even with everyone is to do the worst possible thing a member can do.”

“Look at another man’s wife?” Tex said under his breath.

“Tex,” we said in unison, all of us clearly annoyed.

“Exposure.” Nixon cursed a blue streak and stood. “Tell me you don’t mean exposure. Tell me your family isn’t hell-bent on flushing every last member of our families out of the country. Tell me they haven’t made a deal.”

Mil lifted her head, tilting her chin in defiance. “That’s just the thing. I can’t.”

Tex gripped me harder. I tried to get free, cursing in the process, nobody moved.

It was their worst fear. It was mine.

Our lifestyle, our legacy, our money — property of the US government, compliments of one of our own families.

That’s where jealousy got you. A shiny seat in prison next to every last family member you used to joke around with at family dinner. Only the De Langes would come out smelling like roses while everyone else burned in hell.

Nixon

She wasn’t telling the whole truth. Every time I questioned her, she bit down on her lip, her eyes always focusing on the floor to the left, and then her body language would change. She’d tap her foot or turn her knees away from me toward Chase.

He was the key to everything.

Because if he could get Mil to trust him with her heart, with her life, with her secrets, then it would be possible to save everyone before the shitstorm hit our family.

He’d hate me for it.

But Mil never had to know, and as far as I was concerned, it was good relationship therapy. Pretend to be in love — hadn’t he done that a few months ago? Only, it wasn’t fake — it was as real as death.

“Okay.” My knees popped as I got up from my seat and tucked the gun back in my pants. “Let’s just say I believe you. Your family’s in some deep shit. You know everything there is to know — the dirty secrets, the lies, and whatever else they have up their sleeve this year. What exactly,” I paused my face pinching in irritation and hatred, hopefully scaring her and getting my point across in dramatic fashion, “is your brilliant plan?”

A rosy blush spread across Mil’s face. “I hadn’t exactly gotten that far yet.”

“Oh?” I raised my eyebrows and gave her a mocking look. “And why’s that? Wedding plans trump life and death situations?”

“Ass,” Chase muttered under his breath. I shot him a glare. He shook his head. Fine, I knew I was pouring salt on a wound, I knew I was making it worse, and it was working like a charm. “Tell me, Mil, were you so focused on yourself — your own worries, your own fears, your own damn plans to have the happily-ever-after — that you forgot all about the lives hanging in the balance?”

Her eyes darted between Chase and me. Then she closed them as a tear trailed down her cheek.

“Pathetic,” I muttered under my breath. “Are you crying because I’m right or because you’ve finally realized you are the last person on earth who should be a mafia boss? After all, you are a woman.” Yeah, had Trace been there, she would have slapped me.

“Go to hell!” Chase shouted. “Leave her alone, Nixon! Damn it.” He fought against Tex, finally freeing himself and then pulled the gun from Tex’s pants, all before Tex knew what the hell was going on. Within seconds, I was staring down the barrel of a gun, Chase’s finger tense on the trigger, his face filled with rage. “It’s been a long night. I suggest you leave.”

“Or what?” I leveled him with a menacing glare, baring my teeth. “You going to shoot me? Threaten me? Kill everyone in this damn room, because I hurt her feelings?” I pointed at Mil and laughed.

Chase’s eyes narrowed. Shit, he was catching on.

I ignored the gun pointed at my face and turned toward Mil. “They will break you. They will find you. And when they do, they’ll pull every last finger from your hand. They’ll waterlog you until you beg for death, and when you finally see the light of heaven calling you home, they’ll damn your soul to hell before you can seek forgiveness.” I paused. “Maybe those are the things you should be thinking about. Forget pretty dresses. Forget the happily ever after—”

“I will shoot you,” Chase said in a cold voice. “If you ever speak to her like that again, I won’t just put one bullet through your head, friend. I’ll put two, just to make sure you’re dead.”

“Not such a good shot anymore, eh, Chase?” I teased then motioned for Tex to follow me out the door. “Seems like you both have a lot to think about. You know, they say the first year of marriage is the hardest.” With that, Tex and I walked out of their room, the door clicking shut behind us. I snapped my fingers; the men already had the mess cleaned up and bodies removed.

Once we were in the elevator, Tex muttered, “Mind telling me what that was all about?”

I waited for the elevator to stop and for our two men to walk out into the lobby before turning and answering. “She needs a family. Someone to trust. It can’t be you, and it sure as hell can’t be me.”

Tex’s eyes widened an inch. “You’re breaking her on purpose.”

“Of course,” I said smoothly as we made our way through the lobby, classical music played in the background. “And we’ll stand by and watch as Chase puts Humpty Dumpty back together again, hopefully saving everyone’s lives in the process.”

The doors opened; the crisp night air was a welcome change from the emotionally-charged hotel room.

“How do you figure?” Tex asked.

“Because in the end, every girl wants a hero, and I just made Chase hers.”

* * *

For the last few weeks, ever since I’d miraculously come back from the dead — Trace stayed up until I got home. I’d told her I wouldn’t leave her again, but it didn’t matter. I wouldn’t put it past her to sew a damn tracking device in every piece of clothing I owned.

It was close to eleven by the time we got back to my house. The lights were on in the kitchen. I walked in and found Trace drinking wine and playing cards with Mo.

“Who’s dead?” Mo asked without looking up from her card game. “Rummy!”

“Shoot!” Trace took another swig of wine.

They seemed normal, we seemed normal, but we weren’t. Who asked that?

I walked over to Trace and kissed the top of her head. “Nobody important.”

“Says the guy who’s aged ten years in the past two hours,” Mo muttered.

Trace looked up, her eyes squinting as she gazed at my face. “What really happened?”

“Death.” I shrugged and took a seat next to her. “Lots and lots of death. Hey, you going to finish that?” I stole her wine and drank the rest of it.

“I’m heading to bed.” Tex took off his jacket and stared awkwardly at Mo.

“Okay,” Trace answered her eyes darting between Tex and Mo. The silence was deafening.

“Like right now.” Tex was still staring at Mo, while she studied her cards as if they held the cure for cancer. “As in, I’m going to bed, to sleep, by myself.”

I groaned.

Could they not bring their drama into the house?

“Sleep tight,” Mo said through clenched teeth, slapping her cards hard against the table. “Oh, and be sure to lock your doors. Wouldn’t want any more skanks accidently falling into your bed like last time.”

“Mo—”

“Goodnight, Tex,” I interrupted him and shook my head once. He threw his hands up in the air and stomped off down the hall.

“Well, that wasn’t awkward,” Trace sang.

“Sorry.” Mo slumped in her seat and leaned back, crossing her arms. “I swear I don’t mean to be dramatic, but if that man looks at me one more time, I’m pulling a knife on him.”

“Him or his parts?” I inquired, raising an eyebrow. “We both know you’re a fan of torture… wonder what you’d go with.”

Mo seemed to think about that. “Both. Definitely both.”

“Damn. Mind filling me in?” I reached for the wine bottle and poured another glass. It wasn’t as if I was going to go to sleep any time soon, not after all that adrenaline pumping through my system.

Trace leaned against me while Mo started talking.

“As you know, we broke up.”

I nodded.

“And then got back together again.”

“Wait, did he know you were back together?” I asked.

Mo rolled her eyes. “Yes, you ass. Do you want to hear the story or not?”

Was that a trick question? I held up my hands in surrender. “Fine, continue.”

“Anyway…” Mo leaned forward, playing with the edge of the table cloth. “We decided to take things slow.”

“So what’s the problem?”

“Stop interrupting me, Nixon, or I swear it won’t just be Tex at the opposite end of my knife.”

What the hell? I glanced to Trace for help but she seemed to be just as shocked as I was. Mo rarely threatened me — she had to be pretty freaked out to actually be serious about her threats. Either that or pissed.

Mo’s eyes filled with tears. “I heard them first.”

“Aw, hell.” I reached for my gun. Trace put her hand on mine and shook her head.

“I thought Tex was talking on the phone or something, and then I heard laughter. I was curious, so I knocked on the door. When he didn’t answer, I let myself in.”

“Mo—” I groaned.

“What?” She shrugged. “I figured it was my right. I mean, we’d been dating for almost a year on and off.”

“So he was with a girl?”

Mo rolled her eyes dramatically as if I was just as bad as Tex.

Trace winced.

“What am I missing?” I asked. “I don’t speak girl.”

“You don’t speak guy either, but we still love you,” Trace joked, jabbing me with her elbow.

“You speak scary mafia mojo.” Mo rolled her eyes. “And he wasn’t with one girl.”

“He was with a guy?” I asked, confused.

“I swear, sometimes I wonder how you’re the leader of our family.” Mo groaned into her hands. “No jackass, he was with two girls. As in two slutty girls, both in barely any clothing, in his room. Alone. With Tex.”

“Was he—”

“You don’t need to finish that sentence.” Mo took a deep breath and leaned her elbows on the table. “He was. They were. And I may have assaulted both of them.”

“The girls?”

“And Tex.” Mo shrugged.

Trace snorted. “He’s lucky you didn’t shoot him in the—”

“Trace.” I nudged her.

“Sorry.” She blushed and sighed against my chest. “But it’s true.”

“So now you’ve heard it all.” Mo ground her teeth together. “You know what sucks though?”

The room was silent except for the droning rhythm of the dripping faucet. Each drop that landed in the stainless steel sink may as well have been a bomb going off in that room. Mo flinched; her eyes darted to the table as if she was confused about her own emotions.

“I could have loved him,” Mo said quietly. “I could have married him. He could have been my future, instead of my past.”

“Do you want me to talk to him?” I reached across the table and grabbed her hand. “Maybe if he says he’s sorry…”

“Tex can ride up on a giant white horse, spouting Shakespeare, and I’ll still want to pull a gun on him. Thanks but no thanks, brother. I’ll deal with it on my own, in my own way.”

“Which doesn’t include going to prison, right?”

“Please.” Mo rose from her seat. “Like you’d ever allow me to get caught.” She waved goodnight and walked down the hall.