The Red Roots (2 page)

“What happened to Donovan?”

“Fired after your little altercation in the elevator. He smashed in Mr. Gibbs’ rear window with a fire extinguisher.”

“Too bad, I liked him.”

“How rude of me. Would you care for coffee or water, Isla?”

“No, thank you. Why are making threats against the families?”

“Skipping the pleasantries? I like that.”

Isla raised her eyebrow. “You aren’t going to like this.”

“I’m not?”

“No. Why are you stirring up problems?”

Martin rose from his seat and crossed the room to an alcove of vintage booze and crystal. Ice cubes clanked inside the glass. “I attempted to contact you a few weeks ago but you were nowhere to be found. I don’t even think Reed knew your whereabouts.”

“I didn’t realize you cared. I’m touched.”

Martin poured the liquor into his glass. “I care for my family, especially my daughter, and I found her arrest coincidental. I was struck by curiosity. Would Isla know anything about it and, if so, could she and I come to some type of an agreement?”

“She pleads the fifth.”

“Is that how we’re going to play this? You started this tit-for-tat game.”

Fire licked Isla’s veins. “Are you five? Do you need a timeout like Mia?”

Martin’s face flushed red and she didn’t care. His tantrums were annoying and they had been at each other for some time, but in the end, Isla would win. “I came here to discuss the territories—”

“Ellis sent you to do his bidding. How noble. Or perhaps you volunteered to impress your displeased husband. Is that it?”

She shot up from the chair ignoring his jab. “What do you want with the Jupiter territory?”

Martin tipped his drink back and lowered the empty glass. “I have every right to a piece. I’m an investor in multiple properties—”

“Properties which were foreclosed. Properties you were unable to unload. Properties you invested in without the vote. Sounds like a personal problem to me.”

“My name is just as important as Ellis’ or any of the families.” He said with a snarl.

“Maybe a decade ago, but the DA is on a mission to desecrate the Suttons and, at last check, you’re untrustworthy. Zagotta over in Detroit wants you dead as do a few others I’m sure.” Isla stuck her bottom lip out. “Sad for you.”

“You will make Ellis see. You will convince him of my loyalty and my justification. Besides, he’s incorporating a new city. I know the area. I can return to Florida.”

Martin’s voice shook a bit. Giovanni “Vinny” Zagotta’s name did that people. He wasn’t like the white collars; he was straight on street thug who was a phantom to police. Cross Vinny and a person’s days were numbered.

Isla barked out a laugh. “Why in the world would I help you? You got in bed with the wrong guy. The drug trade isn’t for everyone, and now your daughter is a coke head spending some quality time with Big Mavis.”

“I’ll expose you, your clientele, and the millions you’ve stolen. Do you know what torture techniques the Columbians would use on you? I know all about Ellis’ pet.”

Her pulse tightened. “Traipsing down the blackmail road, are we?” Isla knelt to pick up her bag, but was met by polished leather shoes. “Get off.” She yanked on the strap, tipping Martin off balance, and hoisted herself up. He intimidated most of humanity—or those without spines. Isla wasn’t one of them.

“You aren’t some badass hacker chick.”

“You’re right. I’m worse.” Her jaw tensed. “What pisses you off more? Ellis trusting me more than your incarcerated, cocaine-addicted daughter, or the possibility of Reed gaining a controlling interest within the company and being appointed over the Jupiter territory?”

Martin leaned closer to her with a smirk. “You’re damaged goods. I know it, and you know it. You’re out of your depth little girl. Your time is thinning within the family.”

Isla’s heart roared in her ears. She wanted more than anything to knock Martin’s teeth down his throat, but it wasn’t her purpose for visiting. Not this time, anyway. She walked away and pressed the metallic button. His threats didn’t scare her; they infused her blood with conviction.

“War and death will come to your city. I am not one to trifle with,” he yelled from behind her.

“Neither am I,” she said through her teeth.

Martin’s cold glare ground a hole into the back of her head, his evil, dark presence hovering around her. It was a presence she knew well. She had escaped Ronan Walker’s sick, radical lunacy with the taste of blood still in her mouth.

In a heap her clothes laid next to his feet.

Quivered limbs lifted Isla. Satin sheets slipped beneath her, and her elbows and knees sunk into the mattress. The snap of leather stole breath from Isla’s lungs. She squeezed her eyes shut.

Snap.

His warning reverberated the bedroom. Isla braced for the first lash.

Isla prayed for it to be over. Begged God to make it quick.

It never was.

The sting lasted for hours, sometimes days. Ronan preached to her about obedience; choking her with scripture and shouting
Delilah
as he disciplined her. Isla loathed herself.

How could she allow her grandmother’s husband to abuse her over and over again? It wasn’t her. She was strong and resilient, but Ronan had a perverse power over her.

“Lying whore.”

Leather sliced her flesh.

She bit down hard on her bottom lip. Tears and saliva dripped onto the sheets. Her punishment carried on. Isla’s muscles weakened with each lashing. Isla smelled blood thick within the air, and she tasted it in the back of her throat.

Snap.

She screamed. Her spine curved at the new wounds. The mattress dipped. Isla sobbed as he ran his stubble over the gashes. Her fingers dug into the sheets.
Death, come to me.

SPASMS WOVE THROUGH Isla’s spine, pinching muscles and nerves. She dragged her mind from the torture. The plane’s tires screeched against the tarmac. Passenger’s heads jerked and swayed.

Isla was home.

Different city. Same vultures.

She dropped the extra cash for a non-stop flight. The faster she flew out of her enemy’s territory, the better. Martin never warmed up to Isla. He yapped on about blood relation all day long even though he wasn’t biologically connected to the Pierces. Only by marriage did they share similar interests.

The Pierce family was a clockwork maze of liars and schemers, and Isla was one of them.

She turned on her phone and reached under the seat for her bag. As the plane taxied to its gate, she was thankful to return to balmy Florida. Though it had been a temperamental spring, snow never touched the coastal cities. An occasional bite of frost didn’t bother Isla, but blizzards and ice storms were out of the question.

She stood and waited as the stream of people flowed down the aisle. Isla maneuvered around a man mining around in an overhead compartment.

An infant cried. A woman sneezed.

Even when the possibility of someone watching her was slim, Isla remained alert. It wasn’t paranoia but fact.

A text message chimed from her phone. She pulled down the screen.

Carys:
Waiting out front.

Her closeness with Carys spanned many years and had been developed with great care. Isla focused her efforts repairing her marred reputation. It was a delicate dance of poise and skill. To align with the Pierce family, Isla had to renounce her own.

With pleasure, she did so with blood vows.

Isla strolled through the terminal. She dodged a near luggage/stroller collision and stepped onto the descending escalator. Her dark, knowing eyes stared straight ahead disregarding the commotion behind her.

She weaved through a sea of travelers to the glass doors. Isla spotted her convertible and a leggy brunette propped against the passenger door. Carys’ green polka dotted dress fluttered against her knees.

She didn’t notice Isla right away. Her focus was on the older gentleman standing next to her. Carys tipped her head back with a laugh, and slid her palm down the front of his suit coat. Isla shook her head and stepped through the automatic doors.

“Hello.”

Carys screamed and threw her arms around Isla’s neck. “Welcome home.”

“You saw me this morning.”

“I know silly, but I missed you.”

Carys unwound her arms and introduced Isla to the gentleman. His handshake was as firm as his attention that stayed on Carys.

“Jack and Father attended university together,” Carys said as she batted her eyelashes.

“During the dust bowl?”

Isla was playfully poked. “Be nice.”

“Ellis was quite the football hero back in those days,” Jack said.

He ignored Isla’s jab and continued to talk about the good times, “
before arthritis and gout.
”

A police cruiser slowed next to them.

“We better go. Our
husbands
are expecting us,” Isla said and snatched her keys from Carys.

He slipped Carys his business card. “I’ll be in town for awhile. Give me a call, and tell your father hello from me.”

“Will do.”

Jack walked backward toward an idling limousine. Carys wiggled her fingers in a playful wave.

Isla shoved her shoulder. “Get in, Scarlett.”

Carys pouted but did what she was told. Isla opened the driver’s side door and tossed her bag into the back. She rearranged her seat and mirrors as Carys buckled herself in. When Isla started her car, the radio blared a whiny-pitched voice.

Isla fumbled with the station. “Damn it, Carys. When driving Monty you may not torture him with your twangy my-husband-set-fire-to-my-pickup-truck music.”

“Because your hippie ‘California Dreaming’ music is better?”

Isla pulled from the curb. “Don’t mock my Mama Cass, you’ll walk home.”

“You wouldn’t?”

“You know I would and I’m surprised you don’t love the oldies, Mr. Geriatric back there.”

Carys pulled the visor down and flipped open the mirror. She dabbed gloss on her puckered lips, titling her head from side to side. “I love Jack’s incredible stock portfolio, amongst other things.”

“You have issues. Like, electroshock therapy issues.”

“Gavin has fun. Why can’t I?” Carys’s voice slipped into a faux southern drawl.

“I know you believe that in your past life you were a Georgia belle who sipped sweet tea while Atlanta burned but—”

“And Gavin and Jack would dual for my hand in marriage.”

She glanced over at Carys. There was no point discussing the matter further since she had slipped away into her
Gone with the Wind
fantasy.

Arranged marriages were considered archaic; however, heiresses or debutantes were encouraged to seek husbands within their family’s financial bracket, illicit or not. Isla discovered that few wealthy and prosperous corporations operated on the straight and narrow. Specialists were hired to secure positive public opinion. Marriages were no different.

Ellis, a lobbyist of sin, organized Carys’ marriage to the Chair of the Florida Gambling Control Board, Gavin Devlin. The Devlins were one the influential families who oversaw a large portion of the East Coast’s underground business and politics.

Many argued that organized crime families no longer had any pull in the United States, but they were wrong. The mafia had simply evolved over the years. No more gangsters toting Tommy Guns shooting up a rival’s brothel or booze mill; today’s bosses had to progress or spend the rest of their days behind bars. Strike that—the bosses
were
in prison or dead. Their sons, nephews, and uncles recognized that technology was the future, specifically cyber warfare. It was easier to hide behind a computer than the city’s streets and back alleys.

Carys pushed the visor up, her dark mahogany hair whipped around her face. “I was impressed by your restraint. Martin deserved a punch to the face.”

“He’s lucky we weren’t near the windows. I stuck the device underneath the chair, not the best place but it works. Anything after I left?”

“Just a few colorful words about you but nothing of interest yet. Crosby’s on it.” Carys paused and shifted in her seat. “Have you heard from Reed?”

“No.”

“He was last seen in Aspe—”

“I know.”