Cadillac Payback: Rising Tide by AJ Elmore (grave mercy .TXT) 📗

That's it. The red flag billows out. How the fuck would she know that?

The trick to poker is not to let your opponents know when you're fucked. That's why my old enemy-turned-crewmate Frederick was so good at it. I channel his intensity into another drink. I make it a long one. I can already see this game is rigged.

The bottle sweats, drips onto my chest when I turn it up. She tracks the water's progress downward with her eyes. She's about to flick that heavy gaze up to mine, so I look away, to the ocean in its vastness and constant motion.

I say, “It's my day off. It was a good day. I imagine it'll get better once you're not a part of it anymore. Can we speed this up?”

I see her shoulders push back, and her chin lift a little in my periphery. Good. I can still piss her off, too.

“I'm here to tell you that Daddy has decided to forgive you.”

My hand tightens around my beer. The tension strings from there into my shoulders. My attention snaps back to her, and this time it's a glare. A subtle reaction next to the angry knot in my gut that threatens to burst into violence.

“Why the fuck would you think I care?” I spit.

She smiles again, those perfect red lips stretching. This is it, the hook.

“We have a job for you.”

My energy wells from some fiery depths. I spring to a stand. It'd be so easy to wrap my hands around her throat. But I freeze, staring down at her.

“No.”

My voice is hardly more than a whisper. I can't force any more without screaming at her.

She shrugs one shoulder, and even that movement is haughty when she does it. That infuriating smile is still in place when she says, “Then I'm sure the Feds would be quite interested in the location of a former cartel operative.”

Anger buzzes in my limbs, but there's no outlet for it. Still, I'm afraid to move. If I do, I'll break, and I'll break her. A long breath through my nose steadies me.

I say, “Considering all the dirt I have on your operation, do you really think that's smart?”

She crosses her legs, lengthening the view of her thigh as the skirt inches up. She looks up at me from beneath the brim of her hat, and I'm reminded of other times she looked at me like that. Times I'd grab a handful of her hair as she sucked my dick.

“Sit down, Isaiah,” she says.

There's more she hasn't said. She's much too confident in the heat and history between us.

“I don't take orders from you,” I answer.

So she stands, and she bridges the space between us. She gets so close that our faces are inches apart. She smells like some designer's summer scent. A bead of sweat is sliding slowly down the side of her throat, but she doesn't flinch. She's not smiling anymore.

She says, “Actually, I lied. Daddy hasn't forgiven you. But he has agreed to ignore that fact, since you're the best man for the job. If you don't agree to do it, he'll probably kill you before the Feds can even get their paperwork in line to start looking for you.”

Dirty. The same way she's always played.

For a long time, I just stare. Is this the karma I've earned? This is what I get for walking away? There's just one resounding thing that doesn't make sense.

“Why me?”

She touches my cheek softly with the tips of her fingers, tracing along my cheekbone. I snatch her hand in mine, and squeeze so her fingers grind together. Her expression stitches in pain. I like that look on her.

She steps back, so I let her go.

She says, “We have some new friends. Daddy doesn't trust them, but the potential profits from working with them are staggering.”

“Answer the question,” I growl.

She clasps her hands in front of her, like she's hosting a dinner party, greeting guests, some shit like that. I'm not fooled by her mask of protocol, she's playing chess with some big pieces.

She's watching closely for my reaction when she says, “Because our friends are your friends, too.”

No. No, no, hell fucking no.

I turn away, back to my beer, and the pack of smokes that I've ignored until now. I swipe them off the table with a sigh. I deny Mona my attention as I notch a Wide, and shield it to light it. The drag of smoke is rough, not exactly soothing. Like everything, the motions just dredge the memories.

“Think I'd rather take the bullet.”

“You know it's not that easy,” she says to my back, silky smooth daggers next to the old emotional scars she already left there.

“Why would you ever trust me?”

I have to ask. I don't think I really want the answer, but I'll be kicking and screaming if she drags me down.

“That's the beauty of it, I don't trust you. But your old friends trusted you enough to let you off the leash. I need that weight behind me to nail down this deal.”

So that's it. I'm a pawn to her. Everyone is someone for her to use. Some things won't ever change.

I turn on her, step up so we're close again, and I'm looking down on her. The cigarette is forgotten in my hand. I consider saying something uncouth about my weight behind her, but even the thought sours my gut.

So instead I say, “You should know better than to corner me.”

She pecks a kiss against my lips, and says through a smile, “You're just a lost little puppy. You always were. It's time to come home.”

Home? What a foreign fucking concept. This tiny apartment, the calming ocean, that's as close to home as I've ever felt. Playing horseshoes in a Louisiana backyard, that was close. The waterfront mansion of Mona's family, an empire built on America's prescription pain pill addiction, that was never home.

I didn't come from money, but I learned at a young age to ride the