KNOX: Volume 3 (2 page)

I haven’t been able to get my hands on the surveillance footage, but that’s my next mission. Not that I think the footage will reveal anything I don’t already know. This whole abduction scheme has Tony Angelo written all over it.

He knows I’m getting close to tracking him down and he’s panicking. He’s trying to gain the upper hand. He doesn’t know I’ll always have the upper hand as long as he doesn’t know my true identity. He’ll continue to underestimate my commitment to bringing him down. My commitment to Rebecca.

Right now, Tony thinks taking Rebecca will raise John’s hackles. He thinks I’m just the schmuck that John hired to keep him safely hidden. He’s right about John being riled up. I had to talk him out of launching an all-out assault on Tony’s family. But Tony’s wrong about me. Rebecca’s safety comes before John’s. Always.

My phone vibrates in my pocket and I stand from the concrete step in the stairwell. I glance at the screen and see Bruno’s number flashing. I don’t program anyone’s name into my contacts. I have an uncanny ability to remember phone numbers and dates. When I look at a phone number, I see a name and a face.

“Yeah,” I answer.

“The cops just left her apartment.”

“Thanks.”

Time to see if I can take this investigation to the next level.

3

Rebecca’s apartment looks just the way we left it, save a few missing items. Despite what Rebecca may have suspected, I don’t have cameras in her apartment. But I do have listening devices planted in her kitchen and a camera pointed at her front door. And I do remember seeing a small army of cat figurines on the kitchen counter two days ago. They’re not here anymore.

Traces of black fingerprint powder coat the counter, the refrigerator, the telephone. It doesn’t matter if they find my fingerprints. Marco Leone’s fingerprint records have been mysteriously lost. The only fingerprints they’ll find here are Knox Savage’s.
 

I touch my fingertips to my left arm where I had the tattoo of my mother’s name, Ella, covered up. You’re probably wondering why I’ve gone to such lengths to find my mother’s murderer. It’s simple. I always finish what I start.

When my mother was killed thirteen years ago, I was fifteen years old. It was a gloomy Sunday night in April. The rain was pouring down from the sky faster than the gutters could swallow it up.
 

I’d been hanging out at my buddy Jerry Mainella’s house most of the day, talking to his dad Frank. He had a project he wanted me to work on. Some off the books drug deals. I didn’t realize at the time that it was just a distraction. Frank knew I’d go straight to John after I left there to tell him what Frank was up to.

While Frank was spitting bullshit in my ears, Tony Angelo was at my house trying to beat some information out of my mother. I walked in on Tony beating my mother’s dead body over the back with the bottom of a steel lamp.

I ran to the kitchen to get a knife. Not to defend myself. I was going to kill him. But he knocked me over the head with that fucking lamp and the next thing I know I’m waking up as the medics put me on a fucking stretcher.

I always finish what I start. And I never got my chance to kill Tony Angelo.

I also never found out what information he was trying to get out of my mother.

Looking at the fingerprint dust fills me with rage. I hate the idea of anyone in Rebecca’s apartment, touching her things, other than me. For all I know, Tony could really have someone at the department working for him. That bastard could have been in here a few minutes ago.

I walk out of the kitchen toward Rebecca’s bed. It’s still unmade. I sit on the edge and grab a fistful of sheet. I bring it to my nose and breathe in her scent. Like lilac and her own personal musk.

The smell of it instantly brings back the memory of our date to Coney Island. The feeling of her body against mine as I held her so close. Watching the game on that rooftop with my nose buried in her neck. I don’t think I’ve felt that happy in thirteen years.

When we came back to her apartment afterward, I had to stop myself from fucking her. I knew that wasn’t what she wanted after a night like that. And I knew it wasn’t what I needed.

I needed to show Rebecca that she was more than just a fuck toy. Though she makes a very delicious toy, indeed. I knew we both needed something different. Something foreign to me.

As we walked into her apartment, I locked the door behind me. Then I used my phone to turn off all the listening devices in the apartment. The first time I’d done that since we installed them a month earlier.

I lead her to the bed and she immediately reaches for my belt buckle. I would normally push her hands away. I’ve never allowed a woman to take the lead in the bedroom. There are many places where my rule is law, but first and foremost in the bedroom.

I allow her to unbuckle my belt and her eyes widen. Just the sensation of her fingers on my clothing is getting me hard, but I know I have to be patient.

I reach one hand up and brush her hair behind her ear. She closes her eyes, eyelids fluttering at the sensation of my fingertips whispering over her skin. Her hands freeze on the top button of my slacks. Just one touch is all it takes to render Rebecca useless. It’s one of my favorite things about her.

I grab her face and kiss the corner of her mouth. She sighs as her hands fall to her sides. I plant a soft kiss on her mouth and her lips part just enough for me to slide my tongue inside. Her mouth opens wider as her tongue brushes against mine. She whimpers as I hold her head firmly in place and breathe her in. Inhaling every needy little sound and breath she issues.

Her hands find the button of my pants again and she hastily unfastens them. Before I can stop her, she’s kneeling before me taking me into her mouth.

Her lips are firm and her tongue is warm and wet as she grips the base of my cock and slides it in.

“Oh, baby.” I groan as I gently grab a fistful of her hair.

She’s careful to wrap her lips over her teeth as she bobs torturously slowly. Then she grabs my hips and pushes me back. She looks up at me, a devious smile in her eyes as she lays a soft kiss on the tip of my cock.
 

She massages the underside of the head with the tip of her tongue and my eyes roll back in my head. It’s too fucking good. Then she sucks on just the tip with just her lips as her tongue continues stimulating the frenum.
 

I’m about to blow when she draws me in again. I hit the back of her throat and I have to stop myself from pushing myself further in to choke her. She bobs her head just a few more times until she’s swallowed every last drop.

“I want you to fuck me,” she says, removing her clothes as she stands up.

“I’m not going to fuck you.”

“Why?”

I slip my hand underneath her hair to grab the back of her neck. Then I press my forehead against hers. I want to tell her that I’m not going to fuck her tonight because … because I love her. But I can’t force my mouth to form the words.

“Because I’m going to go slow tonight. Okay?”

She tilts her head up to kiss me. I don’t normally kiss a woman after she’s blown me. But Rebecca is not just any woman. God help me. I’m in way too fucking deep.

I slide her panties off then I lay her down on the bed. I spread her legs and immediately go to work. Sucking gently on her clit, I use my middle finger to stimulate her g-spot. When her hips begin to buck, I know she’s getting close. I continue to lick her clit as I slide my finger into her ass. She shrieks and begs for more as she gushes all over me.

Normally, I turn her over and fuck her from behind. But tonight is different. I slide up, giving her no time to recover from her orgasm as I lift her left leg and slide into her.

She wraps her arms around my neck and kisses me hard. The taste of both of us mingles and I can hardly breathe from how hot it’s making me. I rest one elbow on the mattress then I wrap the other arm around her tiny waist and lift her gently. Then I push into her, hitting her cervix, swallowing her moans.

I want to say it again. I want to tell her I fucking love her. I always have.

I always will.

But I never got the words out. Not even when she came to me, thinking that she might be pregnant with my child. I never told her.

Now she could be out there. Anywhere. Carrying my baby. She could die with my baby inside her and she’d never know.

I push off the bed and begin looking around. The first drawer I open on her dresser is stuffed full of panties and bras, arranged in no particular order. Peeking out from underneath a pair of pink panties I see a stack of pictures.

Pulling them out, I’m somehow not surprised to see a picture of Rebecca and August smiling on a ski lift. This must be the photos she took down after they broke up. I don’t know what to think of the fact that she didn’t burn them. Maybe she was going to give them back to August so he could get off on them.

I flip through the stack and it only takes six pictures for me to get down to the naughty pictures. The first one is just a selfie of Rebecca and August lying in bed naked, with only a small portion of her breast showing. The next one is Rebecca standing in front of the bathroom door naked. She’s looking over her shoulder at the camera as he takes a picture of her backside. The next picture makes me toss the whole fucking stack at the wall.

I slam the dresser drawer shut and grip the edge to try to steady myself.

The pictures were taken a long time ago. I can’t allow myself to get worked up like this. I knew Rebecca and August were together. I knew they were having sex. I encouraged it. Until I got a taste of her.

Now she’s mine. And I think August needs to be reminded of that after the little stunt he pulled showing up at the same brunch restaurant as Rebecca two days ago.

I dial August’s number and he picks up on the first ring, as usual. “I’ve got a job for you.”

4

I always arrive early to dinner meetings. If your dinner companion arrives to find you seated at the table, the first advantage of the evening goes to you. They’re already nervous because they don’t know how long they’ve kept you waiting. And I’m not the kind of man people like to keep dangling.

When August arrives at Il Conte, one of the four restaurants I own in Manhattan, he looks annoyed. He’s not nervous about arriving four minutes late. He’s bothered that he had to come here at all.

“Have a seat.”

He’s wearing one of his ironic faded hipster T-shirts today. Smokey the Bear: Only
you
can prevent forest fires. He wants me to think he’s just some small-time blogger who can’t be trusted with anything too important.
 

“So what’s this about?”

I chuckle. “Relax, August. Have a fucking drink.” I nod at Bruno, who’s standing next to Billy behind August’s chair. “Tell Mia to get us one scotch and one pint of that new IPA.”

“I don’t want a drink. I want to know why I’m here.”

“You’ll like the new IPA. You can write about it on your blog.”

Now he’s beginning to look uncomfortable. People don’t like having their choices taken away.

I smile at this thought and pause for a moment, giving him a chance to speak up. If he’s really nervous, he’ll say something. If he’s only moderately anxious, he’ll keep quiet.

He’s not nervous enough yet.

“I’ve got a job for you.”

“I’m done. You said you’d get my uncle back into Connecticut. I’m not doing anything until you deliver on your promise.”

I glance toward Billy and he nods. August looks over his shoulder at Billy then back at me.

“What? Are you going to have me killed if I don’t do what you’re asking?”

There are only a few patrons in the restaurant at ten p.m. on a Thursday night. And they’re not seated anywhere near us. But I can’t let this little cocksucker off so easily.

“I’m only going to ask you once to keep your voice down. If I have to ask you again, you’re going to be choking on your marble-sized balls. Got it?”

His mouth is set in a hard line as he shakes his head. “I should have just gone to the police five months ago.”

“Good. That’s exactly what I want you to do.”
 

He looks at me like I’m crazy. Bruno arrives and takes up his position next to Billy. He’s closely followed by a blonde waitress, Shelly, who’s carrying the drinks Mia just made for us. I don’t employ waiters or bartenders. I only employ women in the front of the house of all my restaurants. It’s good for business.

Shelly sets the beer down in front of August. Then she sets my usual tumbler of scotch down in front of me. She flashes me a nervous smile then quickly sets off toward the bar. August’s eyes follow her ass for a moment before he turns back to his beer. He’s probably contemplating not drinking it just to spite me. But he soon relents.

He takes a long swig then sets the glass down. “What do you want me to do?”

I reach inside my blazer and his eyes widen. I pull out a stack of photos and set them face down on the table.

“First, I want you to go home and cry while you jerk off to those pictures.” He stares at the pictures for a moment, but he doesn’t reach for them. “Then, I want you to go into the police station and get a copy of that surveillance footage.”

“I can’t. And you know that.”

“Yes, you can, August. And you will. Because that’s the only way your uncle’s coming back to this country.”

5

August

The box-like building known as the 14
^th
Precinct is about as welcoming as an Eastern European orphanage. And under the circumstances, it’s about the last place I want to be right now. I have no idea if the police suspect I had something to do with Becky’s disappearance. The ex is always one of the prime suspects.

But I know I have to do this. Not just to get my uncle back into the country. I have to do it so Knox can find Becky.

She may be Rebecca to Knox. But to me she’s still my Becky.

I enter the police station and find a group of four officers behind the counter, laughing it up while sipping their muddy cups of coffee. I stand at the counter for a moment, resisting the urge to clear my throat, and soon one of the officers looks in my direction.