A Dirty Business (Kings of New York #1)(101)

“Thank you again!”

Another wave from her as she headed for the street and then to where she’d parked.

I had the rental truck for the night, but I looked around, going through the house.

It was empty, with a lot of shit inside. My mom’s shit, but shit nonetheless. There were piles of dust. The carpets needed to be cleaned. Mold was probably in the walls or on her food. I knew I’d probably be wading through empty liquor bottles for the next week, but why was I getting choked up?

Also, that step was never fixed. What had Bear and Leo been doing this whole time?

Not wanting to deal with these feelings, I went in search for booze. Ten minutes later, I was heading back out to the rental truck with a full wine bottle in hand.

I was going to do what I’d been doing for the entire last month: paint and drink.



Two days later Kelly called me.





CHAPTER SIXTY-NINE


TRACE


Jess: I want to meet.

I’d been to her studio.

I’d seen every painting she made. Saw every new one the next time I walked through.

I’d been to her apartment. Walked through when she wasn’t there.

It was really fucking obvious she wanted nothing to do with me.

Shit hit the fan.

My uncle was calling, demanding to know what was happening. Who was talking to the FBI, to NYPD, to whoever else because it was a whole joint task force by the time the raid happened. And Ashton, the shit he pulled.

“You did what?” I must’ve heard Ashton wrong, what he did, what he did to Jess.

A wall slammed down over his face, and he raised his chin up. “You heard me. I did what I had to do. We had to know if it was her—”

“It wasn’t! I told you it wasn’t.”

“I had to know.” His jaw tightened.

His goddamn jaw. The jaw I was going to break. The jaw that he’d have to have surgery to put back in place. “You fucking did not do that to her.”

“I did, Trace. I’d do it again too. I had to know!”

“No! You didn’t believe me.”

“I did it FOR YOU!”

“Bullshit.”

“NO! No, Trace. No. We have to know. This life, we have to know. Anyone can turn on us, and you know it. Anyone. Even the women we love. They’re the ones who’ll do it first. I did it for you.” His eyes were blazing. He meant every word he said, but he took my woman.

I turned, facing him directly, and I reached up. My coat was taken off first.

Ashton’s eyes flickered now. He cursed, lowering his head, but he faced me too.

He took Jess. He had her tied to a chair.

Ashton was studying me. His eyes were lidded. He knew what was coming.

I no longer cared what was in his head, because he tortured the woman I loved.

“If anyone should’ve been the one to question her, it should’ve been me.”

He closed his eyes, his head low, and a savage curse slipped from him.

I raised an eyebrow. Yeah. He’d fucked up, and he was getting it now.

“My woman. My interrogation.”

“You wouldn’t—”

“Don’t tell me what I wouldn’t have done. There are always ways to do it without needing to make HER FEEL LIKE SHE’S DROWNING!”

I was done with words.

I knew exactly what he’d done, and he’d pay.

They’d all pay, but Jess was gone.

No calls. No texts. She was gone from the club.

Now she was gone from her apartment.

She came here, to her mother’s house, the mother who had spewed hate toward her. I didn’t know who the hell the woman I loved was surrounding herself with, but they were not her friends. They were not her allies.

Leo Aguila.

Patrick Rivera, a.k.a. Bear.

They lied. They said one thing to her face and did the opposite.

Then Kelly. She made sense. Justin made sense, but they were both caught while the fight hadn’t paused between the Worthing family and mine. It escalated because Jess wasn’t the mole. Someone else was. I just needed to find out who.

But Jess. She was almost a sick obsession by now, and here I was, walking through her mother’s basement because this was where she had moved her canvases. The studio she was using was being torn down. I saw the notice to the tenant myself.

I stopped at the latest canvas, seeing that this was a new one. She hadn’t painted this two days ago.

I crouched down, studying it.

It’d been me. Then storm landscapes. Now she was painting herself. This latest one was her as a child. She was in the corner, arms wrapped around her legs. The shadows were large, threatening, looming over her. Two male shadows were outside the window. The door was open an inch, the light shining in, and there, right where the doorknob should’ve been, was a hand instead.

Who was that? What were they going to do? Comfort her? Terrorize her?

Harm her?

I had an irrational need to know what happened on that night, find out who put her cowering in the corner, and tear them apart.

I’d been having that feeling a lot lately.

Click, squeak.

The sound of a gun cocking and a step protesting under someone’s weight told me the jig was up.

Jess’s voice trailed down from the stairs. “Do not move. I’ve called the co—oh.” She came down three steps, squatting enough to see me. “Wha—you’re in my basement?!”