Unfinished Heroes: Sebring Part 2

I knew that look so I didn't delay in rolling my chair back, pushing to my feet and moving swiftly across the floor his way.

I didn't give anything away in any way, not ever. I didn't raise my voice. I only allowed the minutest reactions to show on my face, to leak from my eyes, to set in my frame.

So my voice was soft because it was always soft, and without inflection because it was always without inflection, when I asked, "Who does he have?"

"Green," Tommy answered as we moved quickly down the hall.

Green.

One of my men.

My soldier.

Green was not his real name. It was a nickname my older sister, Georgia, had given to him. It had been Georgia who had used her special skills to recruit him years ago. He was so eager, and so stupid, fresh, naive...green.

And that was who he became.

He was no longer stupid, fresh or naive.

But he was still Green.

I walked down the hall, my strides fast but restricted due to the tight skirt I wore.

As I did, my mind was moving from annoyance at what I was certain was happening in my father's office to wondering for perhaps the thousandth time why he insisted we continue to do business in this foul, possibly rat-infested warehouse.

It was the middle of a sunny day and the hall was ill-lit and murky, the floors filthy, the walls grubby.

Even in my office, which I'd insisted-like Georgia had with hers, like my father had always had with his-was clean and decorated (mine with a cla.s.sic elegance; Georgia's a modern sharpness; Dad's a lavish obnoxiousness)-the windows were grimy (on the outside).

But my father's father started the business there. Now Dad felt it sent a message. He was convinced in its top-to-bottom filth that it terrified anyone who might think they shouldn't take us seriously.

He also felt it said we were one with our roots.

He was right.

My grandfather had been a lowlife thug who was willing to do anything for money and power.

And he did.

He'd done very well. He'd built an empire.

My father was also a lowlife thug with the same mission.

He wasn't as successful.

I saw the double doors at the end of the hall, Gill standing outside them.

But I heard my father shouting.

"Is Georgia around?" I asked, eyes to Gill, my question aimed at Tommy who was at my heels.

"Nope," Tommy answered.

That was not good.

I had very little hope of calming my father down. There was a slim chance, but it wasn't much. I had more chance of earning his ire. His temper was quick, unpredictable and volatile. Although he seemed more in control of it around Georgia, otherwise, he didn't discriminate.

But without Georgia at my side, or better, taking the lead, the highest likelihood was that whatever this was was not going to go well.

We got close to the door and Gill turned to it, knocked twice, loudly, put his hand to the handle and pushed it open.

My father's shouting didn't cease throughout all this.

Gill got out of our way and Tommy and I moved into the room. A room that was ridiculous. It had been ridiculous when my grandfather sat behind the ma.s.sive, ostentatious desk. My father had just made it more ridiculous.

I had no time to ponder this oft-pondered thought.

Dad was shouting.

And he had a gun. A gun he was aiming at Green.

In other words, the situation was critical.

"Dad-" I called, moving into the room, but abruptly stopping and unable to fight back the wince and twist of my head when the gun went off, the loud sound cracking through the room.

Green shouted in agony and dropped to one knee.

Dad rounded the desk and advanced on his soldier, gun still raised.

"You tell me that s.h.i.t?" he screamed. "You talk to your king that way?"

G.o.d, I hated that king business.

My grandfather started that too.

"Jesus, f.u.c.k, Jesus, f.u.c.k," Green chanted, still down on a knee, one hand to his wound, blood oozing between his fingers. He tilted his head back and scowled at my father. "What the f.u.c.k's the matter with you? You shot me!"

"You f.u.c.kin' t.u.r.d! You do!" Dad shouted. "You talk to your king that way!"

I turned to Gill who was standing in the door.

"Call Dr. Baldwin," I ordered.

"Liv, Baldy's not our biggest fan," Tommy muttered under his breath behind me.

I nodded slightly, eyes still on Gill, knowing that but forgetting at this dramatic juncture that my father had alienated Baldwin some months ago. "Tell him I requested his attention personally."

Gill nodded back and disappeared.

I cast my gaze over my shoulder to Tommy. "Get some towels."

"Olivia, you do not need to be here," Dad stated, and I looked to him.

"Dad-" I started.

He swung the gun my way.

Tommy, who had been moving toward my father's bathroom, stopped and moved back, positioning in front of me so I still could see my father but Tommy's body was mostly shielding mine.

G.o.d. Tommy.

I watched Dad's eyes shift to Tommy before I watched his mouth curl.

"Take a bullet for her, yeah?" Dad asked derisively.

Tommy had been playing the game a long time. But he'd also been taught a lesson he had no choice but to learn.

He knew the right answer.

"She's yours, so yeah."

Dad stuck his nose up in the air, sniffed his approval at that response, then lowered the gun.

He glared at Tommy. He glared at me. Finally, he turned to Green.

I tensed.

"I f.u.c.kin' see you again and you still aren't doin' your job, I won't aim at your leg. You hear me?"

I fought a sigh.

I saw Green's teeth go to his lip and I knew exactly what he intended to say. I was pleased he managed to beat back the urge and instead fell to his hip and put both hands to his wound.

Dad stalked my way. "Get his a.s.s outta here, Olivia. Get him producing." He indicated Green behind him with a swing of his gun. "And clean this s.h.i.t up."

With that, he walked out the door.

"Towels, Tommy," I reminded him quietly.

He jerked his head and moved to Dad's bathroom.

I moved quickly to Green, crouched and dropped forward on my knees.

"We'll get you to Dr. Baldwin. He'll sort you out," I murmured.

"I'm done, Liv," Green clipped.

I drew in a careful breath and looked in his eyes.

"f.u.c.kin' a.s.shole's lost his G.o.dd.a.m.ned mind," Green went on. "Knew it already. He didn't have to shoot me in the f.u.c.kin' leg to know it. But definitely know it now."

"Eli," I called him the name only I called him occasionally after Georgia christened him Green.

"Stuck it out for you, babe. Did what I could. But I gotta f.u.c.kin' eat," he bit out.

"Georgia is working on-" I started, knowing it was a waste of breath.

Green was done and I didn't blame him and not simply because my father had shot him in the leg.

"He calls me here to kneel before him and explain why I'm not moving product?" he cut me off to ask incredulously. "Then he loses his mind when I remind him I got no product to move because all his s.h.i.t has dried up because he's a f.u.c.kin' lunatic and no one wants to do business with him? And Liv, you gotta be a serious f.u.c.kin' lunatic for the lunatics in this business not to want to do business with you."

"He's under a lot of pressure," I stated as Tommy approached, squatted close and pressed a clean towel to Green's leg.

"Yeah, Liv, he is. That is not lost on me. That isn't lost on any of the f.u.c.kin' minions he treats like minions even though nearly two f.u.c.kin' decades ago, Leon Jackson cut off his b.a.l.l.s and served them up. Vincent Shade ate his own b.a.l.l.s and he did not grow those b.a.l.l.s back. Leon bit it, his wife ruled his roost and dug your dad's hole deeper. She got outta the game, Valenzuela stepped in. He never got his s.h.i.t together to win his patch back."

He shook his head impatiently but gave me no chance to reply. He kept talking.

"I am not tellin' you s.h.i.t you don't know. s.h.i.t like the fact that Denver's only got two real players left. Marcus Sloan, who acts like your dad doesn't even exist, and Benito Valenzuela, who doesn't bother f.u.c.kin' with your dad because he knows he's a f.u.c.kin' joke. h.e.l.l, Seth Townsend's still in prison and he's got more pull on the street than your dad."

"You are, of course, telling me something I know," I confirmed, about to go on, but Green continued explaining a situation I knew all too well considering the fact I lived and breathed it.

"Sloan's got the guns because he wants to control who's usin' 'em on the streets. Other than that, he's gone legit. Valenzuela has the rest, Liv, and there's no gettin' it back from him. Only outfit who might have the power to see that through is that crazy MC and only because the brothers of the Chaos Motorcycle Club are f.u.c.kin' crazy and they got bigger b.a.l.l.s than practically anybody."

"Green-" I tried but got no further.

"Pot went legal, we got even more f.u.c.ked, 'cause that's all Valenzuela let us have. He's got the rest of the dope. He's got the wh.o.r.es. He's got the film sets. He's got the protection racket. He's got state senators eatin' at his table. He's got that prosecutor b.i.t.c.h lubed and beggin' to take more of him up her a.s.s. He's got it all. Your soldiers been existing on dregs for you, whatever Georgia can drum up for us to put on the street, which isn't much and it sure as f.u.c.k ain't quality, and I'm not the only one who's done."

This didn't surprise me.

It concerned me, but it didn't surprise me.

I was, of course, their team leader, as it were. They were all my soldiers. They answered to me. They also communicated with me. So I knew this all too well.

"Eli, Georgia has had a series of meetings with Valenzuela in an effort to-"

"He wants her to suck his c.o.c.k," Green declared. "After she gets on her knees, he wants her bent over his desk. He does not take her seriously, Liv, and please G.o.d, tell me one of you Shades are smart enough to know that's the motherf.u.c.kin' truth."

I made no reply because I was the one Shade who did know that.

"You know," Green whispered, eyeing me closely. "Only one with a G.o.dd.a.m.ned brain in your head, you f.u.c.kin' know. Your dad is done, Liv. He's so f.u.c.ked in the head, it's not f.u.c.kin' funny. Livin' in the past, thinkin' he's still coastin' on the legacy his father left him. This s.h.i.t..." He indicated his leg. "Him still thinkin' he's king of the scene when no player acknowledges him, suppliers from here to Colombia to f.u.c.kin' Afghanistan knowin' he's a joke, that s.h.i.t he pulled four-"

All of a sudden his eyes jerked to Tommy's hands on his wound then to Tommy's face.

"f.u.c.k, man, what the f.u.c.k?" he clipped.

"We need to get you to Baldy," Tommy stated.

"Yeah, only reason Baldy will look at me is 'cause he's sweet on Liv, but you get that, don't you, Tom?" Green asked.