Never Have an Outlaw's Baby: Deadly Pistols MC Romance (Outlaw Love) (42 page)

My fingers clenched until they turned numb. The tingling spread. It felt like I'd left my body and I was observing the surreal scene from somewhere on high, adrift in total confusion.

“Go ahead, niece. Do it. Make your old man proud. He'd want you to rid this world of evil. It's what I deserve for pushing him into an early grave.”

I snapped back into my body and gasped. Would've dropped the blade if I didn't have such a death grip on it. Did he really just say that – a confession I hadn't asked for?

So, at least one of his atrocities was true – the one that hurt me most. My own father, killed by the man in front of me, the man I'd always trusted.

“Why, uncle? Fucking why?” Hot tears stung my eyes.

For the first time in my life, Uncle Gioulio was shaking, alive with the same vicious current tearing through me. His savage offer was so fucking tempting just then. One push forward, one stab, and all my troubles would be over. Well, right until the guards fell on me and did who knew what for striking down their master.

“I did it for you,” he whispered, grasping the edge of my empty chair and steadying himself. “Gio was outta control. He died the night that car ran down your mama. He turned to the needle, blew his brains out with that junk, wouldn't even look after his own fucking daughter! I had to do everything for you. Those men I sent by the house every week were there to make sure you were being fed. I had to know he hadn't fucked up and abandoned you. I thought it was just a phase at first, something he'd get over. But the fucking weeks turned into months, then into years...my brother was gone. That shell he left in the condo snorting and drinking until he passed out wasn't the man I grew up with, the man you called papa.”

I turned the blade up in my hand, one good jab away from his neck. “You could've fucking saved him! He needed help! Rehab, treatment...”

Gioulio chuckled hoarsely and shook his head. “You know that's not the way this family does things. Yes, I could've shipped him off to see some quacks and get him clean. And then what? Watch him pick up some other terrible, reckless habit? Lose everything when he cracks and tell some pissant doctor all about the sins this family's done for money? You can't bring back a man's dead black heart, niece! I thought you could, at first, and I was dead wrong. Don't you get it? I loved him so much I saved you both the only way I knew how.”

“You killed him! He drowned in his own blood. I saw him, uncle. He suffered.”

“No!” Gioulio wiped his tears and held a finger up like steel. “I made it painless. The stuff I gave him did the job instantly. He never knew what hit him. He died blasted out of his damned skull, a high like none of us will ever know. And thank God we won't!”

Every part of me was shaking except the hand I had around the blade. That was cold, eager to kill, if only I weren't having my brains blasted out my ears by this horrible revelation.

Anton was right. He must've been right about everything.

But then, why did my uncle deny serving the twisted freaks at the club when he admitted to killing my own father? It didn't make sense. Or else Gioulio was playing one big fat mind game designed to make me clay in his hands. My heart was falling to pieces finding out Uncle Gioulio was this filthy, this damaged, this tormented. And I didn't even know how bad it truly was.

Who else was lying to me? If the men at Club Duce hadn't been demons torturing girls for their pleasure...then Anton was dirty too. He'd lied to me and gotten lucky about my uncle killing papa. He'd used me, wanted me to take the blade and kill my uncle in a fit of rage.

Fuck me.

I wanted to end it all right there. The urge to fall on him, tear out his throat, and then turn the knife on myself was overwhelming me. I held the knife out several times when he looked like he was about to come closer, warning him away.

“Don't.” It was the only word I could manage, and it came out so hateful my mouth tasted like I'd bit into a strong pepper.

“Brina, please. You're fucking killing me. Either slit my throat and finish this, or else find some way to forgive me. I was gonna come clean, you know. I just didn't think it would have to be like this.” He sighed sadly. “There's too much at stake. You're young. I kept you away from all this, and now the underworld's hurting you, bursting through my shield. You can't see through their lies the way I do.”

God help me. My burning wrist made the decision for me. I let go. The switchblade dropped and rattled on the floor, and my fingers came off it like it was hot iron. The clatter on the ceramic tile drilled through the silence.

“The Ivankovs are never honest,” my uncle growled, stepping up, jerking me into his embrace. This time, I didn't resist. “Remember that. I'm telling you the ugly truth. All of it.”

His wrinkled fingers pushed their way through my hair. For some sick reason, it reminded me of Anton, and then I completely broke. I bawled like a baby, splashing his expensive suit with tears.

His confession about killing papa repulsed me. I should've jumped away and scratched him in the face if I didn't have the courage to slaughter him for what he'd done. But I was too weak, too utterly lost in his torturous confession.

Whatever plan there'd been when I came here, it was in total ruins now. I'd never see Anton Ivankov again. And I didn't know whether I ought to miss the bastard or not. I wasn't sure if he'd screwed me over just as bad as my asshole uncle.

Damn it. This whole fucking thing was supposed to bring clarity. Now, I was just drowning in confusion, burning every last bridge I ever had to the men I loved.

“You want the truth?” Uncle Gioulio whispered, giving my wavy hair another pull. “I can give you the rest. I put Gio out of his misery, and I deserve to burn for it. I know that. But I'm not the one who destroyed him. I know who killed your mama, little lamb.”

My eyes burned harder. I turned my head up, hating him for offering another twisted truth.

God. Everything they said about honesty was a wretched lie, wasn't it? The truth never set anyone free. It condemned them to the darkest pits of hell, and whatever he was going to tell me offered no illusions about anything else.

“Marino! Gabriele!” He clapped his hands, calling to the guards. “Leave us. This talk's for family ears only.”

Still holding me, Uncle Gioulio walked. We left the room with the blade still lying on the ground. The guards didn't follow, a first for any time I'd been in my uncle's presence. We headed downstairs through the concealed kitchen entrance, down past the wine cellar where we'd always stopped before.

There was a small, unfinished room next to the laundry I'd never seen before. He fished out a key and opened the door. Dust wafted up my nose and I sneezed, then did a double take when I saw the walls lined with filing cabinets.

My uncle motioned me over to the tiny desk with two chairs in the middle. As soon as I sat, he opened up a drawer and rifled through it until he found what he was searching for – a simple manilla folder like something you'd see stored in an old clinic.

He circled the table and slammed it on the table. “Everything's here about the night your mama died. It wasn't a simple car accident. You're a smart girl, Brina. How is it you've never doubted that before?”

A numb chill crept up my spine and bathed my brain. My emotional circuits were fried, and he was hellbent on piling more through them. I looked up, one hand squeezing my purse. I needed it to hurt, cramp my muscles so I could feel something.

“You've ripped my heart out plenty today. Whatever you're going to say about her, just tell me the truth. No more theatrics.”

His eyes narrowed. Slowly, he nodded, licking one finger to pluck the folder open. Then he stopped in mid-turn. His eyes went to my purse, and he rose from his chair.

“What? What is it?”

“That bag. You brought it back with you, right? It was with you at the Russians' compound.”

I tried to protect it, but Uncle Gioulio was too strong, too fast. He ripped it away from me in one swift motion and hauled it over to his side of the desk, tearing open a drawer with his free hand.

“Hey!” I screamed at him like he'd just stepped on my foot in a grocery line.

If only that was the least of his sins.

“Just a moment, Brina. This won't take long.” He was more careful than I expected, pulling out my things and setting them on the table nearby.

My heart pounded when he plucked out the small plastic shell with my birth control. All those hours with Anton buried deep inside me came roaring back, hot and insane and totally wrong. Thank God for small favors – Uncle Gioulio passed it over without stopping to gawk.

“Damn, where is it...” He reached into the empty drawer next to him and held up a long, shiny blade, a sharp letter opener. Except this one looked thicker and sturdier than any commercial kind, like it would just as easily split someone's skull with a well placed jab.

Weapons were everywhere in this house, really nothing more than a luxurious fortress under siege.

How had I been so blind for so long? Jesus. And the truth wasn't even blinding me in its full ultraviolet light yet. I eyed the folder and then turned back to his hands, wondering what the hell he was doing slicing into my purse.

There was a
zzzt
sound, leather coming apart. A second later, he held up a small black circular thing with little perforations in the middle. I would've known it was a microphone of some sort even if I hadn't watched all those stupid spy things growing up.

“From your Russian friends.” He tossed it like a pebble, and it bounced once in my lap before coming to a rest. “Typical Ivankov sloppiness. I knew there was something on you from the moment you walked in. I wanted to do the search myself – kinder and gentler than my boys would.”

My teeth banged together. Jaw clenched, it felt like my head was about to explode and take the world with it. I pinched the cool plastic between my fingers and turned it around, over and over.

God! And to think I'd been feeling bad about the harmless white lies I'd used to get back, when he and his demented brothers were tracking me the whole fucking time!

How long had it been on me? The entire time I'd been in the house? For all I knew, the other two coarse men were listening in while he held me, mounted me, and fucked me into the dreamiest nights of my life.

My body jerked. Uncle Gioulio smiled and ducked as it whizzed past his head, slapping the concrete wall behind him.

I buried my face in my hands and screamed. The world dimmed, narrowed, swallowing me.

This wasn't supposed to be happening. The original plan was beyond derailed – it was a smoldering tangle of metal and fire, burning up the entire track.

“Don't cry, niece. Nothing's beneath the peasants we're dealing with.
Nothing.
”

That word. Whenever I heard it, my whole world shifted. With Anton, it burned hotter and brighter with a sweet excitement I couldn't shake. Now? All circling into a black hole as dark and imposing as the little microphone I'd hurled against the wall.

Uncle Gioulio's hand slid softly across my cheek. I felt the chip in his hand and winced, then turned on him, grabbing his arm with both hands and digging my nails into his suit.

“Get rid of that fucking thing. Please.”

“That's the whole point.” I watched him take a couple steps back.

He reached to the ground, set it down, and stood up. His foot crashed down on it, and it shattered with one stomp.

The thing was discrete, but it clearly wasn't designed to be durable. Not that it was much comfort.

Anton's betrayal lingered. My mind was spinning, questioning everything, once again feeling like both the bridges I had to the Ligiotti and Ivankov lives were dead flaps swinging in the wind.

“I hope they heard every fucking word we said before I killed it,” Uncle Gioulio said, squeezing my shoulder. “We let them know we're aware this is the latest screw-over this family's had. It goes much further than that. For you, for me, the pain's deeper. Personal in a way that won't stop until the last drop of blood on one side or the other's gone.”

He walked to the desk and picked up the folder. My uncle pushed it into my limp hands, and I struggled to take it, flipping through the fat documents.

He put his hands behind mine and helped me hold it open, navigate to the right spot. “There. She was out Christmas shopping, you know. We could still see the crushed bags next to her body and her lost white heel when your father and I rolled up.”

Every breath I took became more like broken glass as he bypassed the police reports and got into the section with the pictures. Downtown Chicago's bright lights filled my eyes from all those years ago. Yellow police tape lined the zone where my mother died on the pavement.

I never saw her face. If there was a photo somewhere, then maybe Uncle Gioulio took it out when I wasn't looking to spare me. Seeing her small, soft body thrown on the dirty ground was enough. Both her shoes were knocked off, and the matching white coat she'd been wearing had black stripes going across it, like the bastard made a conscious decision to drive right over her after the fatal strike.

“These are surveillance photos from nearby businesses,” he said, flipping through to some grainier black and white pictures. “When our contacts in the police brought them over, we couldn't believe it. Gio wanted to march out and kill every last one of those fucks. I wouldn't let him. It would've been suicide. The entire fucking incident was a sneak attack. We had a fucking truce with the Ivankovs when they struck. Same truce I warned him years before not to roll with because I knew it'd bite us in the ass, cause us to let our guard down.

“No, shit was never perfect. War was gonna come between our families sooner or later because we were running up against each other's business. But Christ, even in the old days, you
never
fucked with a man's family. Here's the piece of shit who ran your mama down, Brina. Take a good look.”

He stabbed a slightly blurry photo of a car racing down the street. Two men sat in the front, but the one behind the wheel had the unmistakable, determined, icy blue eyes of an Ivankov. He was too old to be Anton or any of his brothers.