Finding Gary (The Romanovsky Brothers Book 4) (11 page)

She lowered the gun.  “Do you have any idea what fucking time it is?” she spat. “This had better be really fucking good, Reggie.  I’m talking about make-up sex on Christmas day while lying on a beach in Fiji, good.”

Reggie dipped his hands into the back pockets of his jeans.  “I’ll testify.  I’ll wear the wire.”

Jessica’s eyes exploded to twice their size.  She nearly dropped the gun in her hand.

“I’ll wear the wire, and I’ll wear it today.”

Jessica sucked in a breath, as her heart sped up.  “Well…” she breathed, eyes shining.  “That’s pretty damn good.”

***

Still ensconced in sleep, Gary ran his fingers over his bed sheets, looking for skin, for warmth.  The kind of warmth that always lingered on sheets a body had occupied.  When he found the sheets empty, lacking the toasty evidence of the body that had been there previously, Gary was jolted awake.  He shot up from his pillow and bent over to flick on the nightstand lamp.  Bedroom illuminated, he took in the rumpled sheets next to him. His stomach and his heart went up in flames and melted down to his toes.  The heat must’ve liquefied his bones, too because for a moment, he couldn’t move.

“Reggie?” Still struggling to fully wake up, Gary squinted toward the bathroom.  The door was cracked, but the light wasn’t on.  No water running, no toilet paper rustling, no signs of life.  He looked toward his bedroom door, and the opening there was pitch black too.  They’d barely said two words to each other since they were fourteen, so Gary knew Reggie had no chance of navigating his loft in the pitch black.

He was gone. 

Gary cursed himself when tears burned his eyes, and he choked in a breath past his heart, which felt like it had exploded.  He refused to get emotional because he’d done this to himself.

He’d sworn it wouldn’t be the same, that it would never be the same again, but as always, Reggie’s promises were as good as the dirt under Gary’s fingernails. 

With a scoff, Gary threw the sheets off his body and made his way to the bedroom door.  A chill raced through him as he thought of the spine bending blowjob Reggie had given him, the one that had put him to sleep faster than a throat full of Ambien ever could.  He’d passed out without delay, and now his throat burned with the evidence of his dehydration.  He tried to swallow the dry lump that had collected there as he yanked his bedroom door open, but it got trapped halfway down when, as the hallway came into view, he found a pair of ice blue eyes staring back at him.  Through the oval shaped hole in the black ski mask, those eyes seemed to take Gary around the throat.

Gary didn’t even have time to gasp before the man charged in from the hallway, the cold leather of his gloved hand seizing Gary around the neck, forcing him backward with a fierce shove.  Gary tripped over his feet, making it impossible to remain upright.  He stumbled back on the bed, and the man zeroed in on him.

“Jesus!” The rest of Gary’s shocked words were stolen when the man reared back and swung, striking Gary in the jaw—a punch so strong Gary felt like his head had exploded.  Another curse was on the tip of his tongue, but the pain took over too quickly, and he was unable to think a straight thought.  Not even enough to muster up a profanity.

Gary threw his own punch, but he wasn’t relieved when it connected.  He’d been going for the man’s gut, but instead hit the belt buckle of his jeans, slicing his knuckles on the metal.  He screamed in pain, feeling the blood collecting on the split skin instantly.

Another fist soared down, forcing Gary’s head to the other side in a blow that caught him right in the mouth.  Dots of blood splatted onto his white bed sheets, and Gary felt the moisture trickling down the side of his mouth seconds later.  Then, he was choking, the acidic taste of his own blood crawling down his throat and seizing him.  The tiny splatters of blood on his sheets doubled, then tripled in number as he struggled to breathe.

Gary closed his eyes and waited for death, but instead, he found his head flying backward as he was yanked up by his neck, now choking on both his blood and the gloved hand locked around his throat.

“You talk, and your entire family dies. I won’t say it twice.”

Still choking, Gary’s body was wracked with coughs as he was shoved back onto the mattress.  He bounced with a plop and rolled onto his side.  When every muscle in his body screamed in agony, he realized his face hadn’t even the only part of his body that had just taken a beating.  He hurt all over.

Or perhaps it was his heart, where the pain was the most poignant, sending free samples to every other part of his body, making the agony feel worse than it really was.

He hacked uncontrollably, more blood staining his sheets before he could finally breathe again.

The moment he finished his first full breath, a heart-churning scream left his lips.

9

Reggie tried to navigate the airport normally, even as he wiggled against the wire itching his chest.  After showing up at her apartment in the dead of night and telling her he was ready to testify, Jessica had wasted no time arranging a plane ticket for him first thing that morning, and strapping him with surveillance.  For the entire flight to D.C., the wire had been biting at his skin, but he’d been too afraid to pull at it or shift it too much for fear that the transmission would be lost.

Once he made it to his destination, the worried eyes looking back at him in the reflection of the ascending elevator meant he no longer noticed the itchy wire.  He was too wrapped up in the frightening places his mind was taking him.

Every time his mind went too far off track, he’d close his eyes and think back to the night before.  To Gary.  And, soon, his thoughts would instead be riddled with regret.  Regret for not, at the very least, leaving a note next to the bed before he left. 

Reggie ran his tongue along the roof of his mouth, his heartbeat easing.  He could still taste him.  His mouth filled with saliva as he thought of every inch he’d yet to sample.

He took a deep breath and opened his eyes.  What he saw looking back at him in the reflection reminded him why he was there.  That gleam in his eye, the one he thought had died a slow death many years ago, was still there. 

The doors of the elevator slid open on the top floor of the hotel.  When he stepped off and made a left toward the only room on the floor, his gait slowed at the sight of Mitch Ghallager manning the door.

Mitch’s eyes lit up when he saw Reggie, and he lifted is head in greeting.

The tight feeling in Reggie’s bones eased.  Mitch’s friendly greeting was confirmation that, though Reggie had fallen off the radar, it hadn’t caused any suspicion in his father’s camp.  It made sense.  After years of scrapes and bruises, Mitch had to believe a betrayal from Reggie was impossible.  He believed Victor had succeeded in breaking Reggie so much that he’d truly accepted, in the deepest part of him, that he deserved it.

Mitch gave Reggie a high five as he approached the door.  “He’s been waiting for you, man.  How you been?  How’s the eye?”

Reggie brushed his fingers over his eye; an action that no longer caused it to scream in pain like it had a few days before.  “It’s good, man.” 

Mitch smiled tightly.  He always made it a point to ask Reggie how his cuts and bruises were.  Only when they were alone.  Reggie knew Mitch didn’t understand.  He didn’t understand why Reggie wouldn’t just leave.  Instead of voicing that confusion, however, Mitch went out of his way to passive aggressively highlight it.  “Get some vitamin E on that lip, will you?  It’s terrible.”

Reggie fought a smile for fear of agitating that very lip, as he stepped into the hotel room.  “I will, thanks, Mitch.” 

The door slammed closed behind him, and he caught sight of his father across the room. 

Victor King sat in the hotel suite’s large leather chair, facing a dome window that overlooked the Potomac River.  A cigar hung between his fingers.

Reggie played his hands together and tried to breathe normally.  When he couldn’t, he closed his eyes and thought of Gary, but even that didn’t help.

“I’m sorry.”

The words made Reggie’s eyes fly open, and he sucked in a breath when he saw that Victor was standing.  The dark brown eyes he’d inherited blazed across the room and took Reggie’s heart in a tight squeeze. 

Reggie stepped back, sputtering.

Victor let the white smoke billow from between his lips before tapping out his cigar on the coffee table astray.  “They all said I’d lose D.C. by a landslide.  Every poll predicted it.  Every algorithm concluded it.  ‘You can’t deny the math.’  That’s what they all said.”  Victor stood tall, clasping his hands together while shaking his head at Reggie with a smile.  “Ninety-four percent.”

“Yeah, I heard.  Highest a candidate has ever won in a single state.”

“I kept waiting for the unbelievable joy.  I wanted to feel what my team was feeling while they were congratulating me.  Celebrating.  I wanted the smile on my face to be genuine.  But it wasn’t…” He held his hands out, palms up.  They shook.  “All I could think about was you, son.”

Reggie’s eyes dropped.  The urge to shake his head was strong, but he stopped himself just in time.  The wire seemed to be bothering him more now, and he wondered if the terror of being caught was just making him more aware of it.

“I’m sorry.” Victor came close enough to cup Reggie’s jaw. 

When he accidentally hit a welt on the side of Reggie’s head, one that wasn’t protruding, but still painful, Reggie reared.

Victor winced, holding his hands out at his sides.  “If you would only do better… I wouldn’t have to do that,” he whispered.  “If you just wouldn’t drive me there, son…  If you could just be
better
.”

Reggie kept his eyes down, focusing on the perfectly pressed cuffs of Victor’s slacks, and his black business socks.  “I will, Dad.  I’ll do better.”

“I want you by my side through this.”  Victor took the back of Reggie’s neck, under a much softer hold.  “I want you there with me at the end; when I win the nomination. I want you next to me when I’m announced the first black President of the United States.”

“I’ll be there, Dad.”

“The more my numbers go up, the more the protests go up.  My heart feels like it’s being ripped to pieces every time someone interrupts me in the middle of my speech.  I find it difficult to rediscover my center sometimes.  It’ll be easier if I can look back and see your face.”  His chest picked up.  “Will you stand behind me at the rally tomorrow morning?”

Reggie nearly said yes.  It was on the edge of his lips.  The tip of his tongue.  And then he thought of Gary, and the word went up in thin air like a cloud of cigarette smoke.  “I wish I could.  Been putting a lot of important work on hold at Zillow.  I’ve got to get back to the city to get it all done.”

“All’s well,” Victor sighed.  “Now that we’ve lost Novsky for good, it’s vital that Zillow not only succeeds but swallows it whole.”

“I won’t sleep until it does.”

Victor tightened his fingers around his neck; just enough to send the faintest hint of pain racing down Reggie’s spine, and then released him.  “It’s such a relief to have you back.”  He made his way back to his burning cigar, reclaiming it and taking his seat.  He motioned to the seat across from him, smiling back at Reggie.

Reggie made his way over and took the seat, declining the cigar his father offered.

Reggie took in the view of the river, and his heartbeat picked up.  For so long it had been impossible to see the beauty in anything.  When his first thought was how incredible the moonlight looked bouncing off the trickling waters encompassing the Washington Monument, he knew he was in a place he’d never been before.

And he refused to go back.

“Looks like things are falling apart back in New York,” Reggie said, shooting Victor a look.  “Jessica Borgia wasn’t home when the carbon monoxide hit.  Angie Colt took the fall instead.”

Victor curled his face, blowing out smoke.  “I heard.”

Reggie sat back, squaring his shoulders, fighting the urge to adjust the wire, just in case it had happened to lose transmission.  Every move he made felt false, and even as Victor continued puffing on his cigar, Reggie felt like he was setting off a faker alarm.  A rat alarm.  That, at any moment, Victor was going to shoot his dark eyes across those chairs, look at Reggie, rip open his shirt and see the truth.

“It was only a matter of time before we got to Angie, anyway.” Victor laughed.  “One down, what… seven to go?  I keep forgetting how many people there are in that miserable family.  I don’t think they even know.  God knows their whore of a mother got all over town in her day.”

“If you’re taking caucuses at 95%, what’s the use in making any more noise with the Romanovskys?  Rumors are already going around about you, but that hasn’t been enough to stop the American people from supporting you.  Your followers are loyal.  Maybe it’s best to just leave the Romanovskys alone?”

“If that unbelievable moron Gary hadn’t done what he did… perhaps I could…” Victor looked at him. “He always was a few sandwiches short of a picnic.  Godforsaken imbecile.”

Reggie’s breathing nearly went into overdrive, but he managed to get it under control.  Jessica had told him that all she needed was Victor on tape; verbalizing his intent to have the Romanovsky’s killed.  She’d promised Reggie that would be enough.

Hearing different variations of those words leave his father’s mouth several times over the years, Reggie thought it would be an easy job.  It wasn’t until that moment that he realized the way his father spoke.  How careful he was with his words.  Even with his own son.  Reggie wondered if he’d be able to pull this off.

Victor shook his head.  “We already know the feds are investigating me, and Gary’s plea is only going to make that bitch Jessica Borgia more excited than she already is.  I bet she flicks her clit every night to that video of him at The New York Post.  You’re right, son.  For now, we’ll lay low, but once I’m President…  and I will be President…”

Reggie raised his eyebrows.

Victor’s face shifted into something cloudy; every line drew deeper, and his dry lips seemed to peel as his mouth turned down.  “Once I’m President… all bets are off, and I won’t rest until every member of that family is six feet under.”

Reggie released the breath he’d been holding.  It felt like the exhale he’d been waiting to release forever.

***

“Are you sure this is a good idea right now, Val?” Leo asked, straightening Val’s tie.  He noticed that Val was unable to make eye contact with him, too busy watching the doors of the courthouse in Harlem.  Leo knew who he was looking for.  Waiting for. When Val’s tie was perfect, Leo began sharpening his lapels.  “Maybe it’s a little too soon for courtrooms.  Lawyers.  Too soon to take more lighter fluid to this fire.  Zoey’s made it clear she doesn’t want to see us.  Maybe if we just give her a little more time…  It’s not unreasonable for her to want space right now.”

For the first time since they’d walked through those doors, Val’s eyes moved to Leo.

Leo nearly took a step back at what he saw blasting from his twin brother’s gaze. 

Val brought his arrow-straight hands to his heart.  “I’m incapacitated.  I can’t get out of bed.  I haven’t set foot in Novsky in four weeks.  My son is four weeks old, and I’ve never held him in my arms.  I’ve never looked into his eyes.  I don’t know the color of my son’s eyes.  I don’t know what he looks like.  What he smells like.  My son is growing up without me, Leo.”

Leo took Val’s lapels in fists.

Val’s eyes narrowed.  “I can’t picture my baby brother’s face without feeling capable of murder.   The anger is unbearable.  It feels insurmountable.  I want to forgive him, but I can’t do that when I don’t have my son.  The only thing that will make it right is… is my son.  I want my son.  If I can’t have her… Then I need to have him.  I need my son, Leo.”

“Okay,” Leo patted Val’s lapels.  “You’re right.  I’m sorry.”

The doors to the courthouse opened, and when Leo looked up and caught sight of who’d just walked in, he took Val’s lapels in fists again.

“Listen to me,” he said, searching Val’s eyes.  “Zoey just walked in.”  When Val jolted and went to turn towards the doors, Leo yanked him back, shaking him until their eyes met once more.  “You cannot control her, Val.” Leo patted Val’s cheek when he tried to look over his shoulder again.  “Look at me, damn it.”  Leo waited for Val’s frantic eyes, again.  “You.  Cannot.  Control.  Her.”

Val jammed his eyes shut, letting his head fall.

“I’m begging you to keep your composure in there, and let your lawyer do what you’re paying him good money to do.  Don’t allow your emotions to sabotage the only chance you have at getting this restraining order overturned, and securing shared custody of Marcus.  Our family name’s already been tainted.  You already have a scarlet letter branded on your forehead before you’ve even sat down in front of the judge.  If you allow yourself to react to Zoey, in any way, it’s going to come across hostile and threatening because you’re dealing with too much pain for it to happen any other way.” Leo pressed a hand to Val’s heart, feeling it slam.  “I know your heart, but they don’t.”

Val blew out a breath, nodding softly.

“You’re going to be in the same room with Zoey, and you’re going to want to react.”  Leo shook his head.  “Don’t.  Or you really will lose Marcus.”

Val nodded, again.

Leo sighed.  “Good.  Now take a deep breath.  You look good.  Sharp.  I’m glad you decided to shower this morning.  We’re already ahead of the game on that fact alone.”

Val chuckled, but it didn’t reach his lips.

***

In the judge’s meeting room, wall to wall in cherry oak, Zoey kept her eyes down.  Even when she felt his golden gaze boring into her from the other side of the long conference table.  Even when she heard her name being said.  Even when she was asked a direct question.  She kept her eyes in her lap.

Because she knew, if she looked up, he’d be looking at her.  She knew; if she looked up, she’d forget, for just a moment, what he’d done.  She’d forget the anger, the pain, and the betrayal.  The poignant tragedy.  She knew, if she looked up, she’d see her baby boy Marcus looking right back.  She hadn’t realized until that moment how alike they both looked.  Not just because Marcus had Val’s honey colored eyes, his full lips, or his smile.  No, it seemed, even though he was just four weeks old, her son had inherited Val’s very aura.  The unrelenting control over her every sensible thought and feeling.