Savage (2 page)

F
arrell Black stepped
from the black Jag and headed for the door of the club. People were lined up outside, waiting for permission to step behind the nondescript metal doors. He walked past them, nodded at Caleb, standing in ready position at the door, and stepped into the vestibule.

The music got louder as he continued down the narrow stairway. By the time he stepped into the cavernous warehouse space, he could feel the vibration of it under his feet. He knew intellectually that it was loud, but he was so used to it that it hardly registered.

“Mr. Black,” one of the bouncers said. It was his first night, but Farrell knew that his name was Damian.

Farrell nodded and continued past him, his eyes on the giant movie screen showing the film Casino behind the DJ. He allowed himself a moment to watch the scene unfold between DeNiro and Pesci, silently reciting the actors’ lines as he headed for the stairs that led to his offices.

The film was one of his favorites, one he’d probably seen at least a dozen times when he was a kid using an elaborate system of distraction and deceit that he and Adam Denman, his best friend, had created to sneak into R-rated movies. The movie theater had been his refuge of choice after his mother’s death. He’d spent hours there while his father was immersed in his work at the lab, sometimes staying even after Adam’s parents demanded that he come home for dinner. Farrell had relished the silence of the darkened room, the expanse of high ceiling like a midnight sky, the flickering light on the faces of the people around him. It had been like magic, a place to disappear. To be someone else.

Now he sought refuge here, in the unnamed club that had inadvertently become the coolest place in town. Not magic, exactly, but together with the organized chaos that had become his business since the fall of the Syndicate, it did the job.

Leo stepped out of the crowd and walked with him.

“Any trouble?” Farrell asked.

“Nothing we can’t handle,” Leo said, keeping pace.

Farrell nodded. Leo Gage was one of the very few people Farrell trusted implicitly. They’d come up on the street together, had fought and scraped their way through the ranks of the Syndicate. Leo had survived the cut after its collapse, when Farrell had wasted no time getting rid of anyone who was relatively new, anyone who rubbed him the wrong way, who might be part of the sting initiated by the FBI and Nico Vitale. He was the only one of Farrell’s men who knew him when he was starting out. When Leo said things were under control, Farrell knew they were under control. That was always a valuable commodity, but especially tonight when Farrell had other things on his mind.

They continued up the stairs, down the dimly lit hall to the office that had been there since the warehouse was occupied by a floral wire factory in the early 1900s. Leo took up his position in the hall. Farrell stepped inside, shutting the door behind him. The music faded into the background.

He walked to the metal desk that had been there since he bought the place and pulled the newspaper from his jacket, threw it on the desk’s surface. Then he sat, studying the paper for a minute before picking it up, unfolding it to the page he’d marked.

He didn’t usually read the obituaries. He looked for boxing news and football scores, then read the business section and — not that he’d ever tell anyone — the movie reviews. He followed the same formula for several newspapers. Big London papers, local papers from towns that were under his control, the papers from the neighborhood he’d been working when he met Jenna.

But the picture had caught his eye: a tired looking man with warm eyes that had struck a chord of familiarity as he flipped through the pages.

It was John Carver. Jenna’s father.

The name brought her to mind in an instant. The wide hazel eyes, the glossy chestnut hair, the little gap between her front teeth that she hated, the way she twisted strands of her hair around her finger when she was lost in thought.

And then the other stuff. Different but just as risky.

The way her body moved under his, the hips that were made for his hands. The way she’d let him command her, matching his desire with a fervor of her own. He’d never met someone who could match him in the bedroom.

Until Jenna.

It was a dangerous path. She was never far from his mind as it was, but he’d found out the hard way that thinking too long and hard about her could push him over the edge, filling him with the kind of frustration that made him do stupid things.

And Farrell Black didn’t like doing stupid things.

Yet he had. In the past year he’d stepped over the last two people blocking him from the top of the organized crime hierarchy that, unbeknownst to most people, discreetly ruled London. He’d helped Nico Vitale on his ill-fated mission to save Angel Rossi. He’d gone to Miami to get rid of a sleazy drug lord who was keeping his sister prisoner. He’d flown all over the States, putting himself in peril, checking on old friends, lending a hand to former associates of the Syndicate, all of them trying to gain their footing without the framework of the Syndicate, now in ashes thanks to Nico’s deal with the Feds. He’d gone everywhere but New York, the one place he’d forbidden himself to go since the day he learned Jenna was there.

It was a matter of pride. He’d given her everything. Had been close to telling her everything. All the secrets he’d never told anyone. And then she left with nothing more than a letter. Like he was nothing to her. Like she wasn’t everything to him.

He put the paper down and surveyed the room. It was intentionally bare, filled with old warehouse furniture and little of it. The paint had been peeling from the walls for years, the original concrete floor cold and unforgiving. It suited him. He didn’t like artifice. Cared little for comfort. He lived for only two things: taking care of his responsibilities and leveling the playing field by taking out the trash along the way.

His eyes drifted back to the folded newspaper. He’d only met John Carver a few times, but he had always liked the man. Jenna had been ashamed of her childhood, but Farrell had found a kind of quiet beauty in John’s solidity. In his willingness to work an unremarkable job and come home to a drunk wife and two little girls that looked to him for what little stability they had.

Would Jenna be at the funeral? He shook his head, annoyed with himself. It didn’t matter. He would go because it was the right thing to do. He wouldn’t stay long, and if Jenna was there he would be cordial. It had been nearly five years since he’d seen her.

What they had was dead and buried.

“
I
’m tired
, Mummy.”

“I know, honey,” Jenna said. “We’ll be at Gran’s straight away, and then you can lay down and sleep.”

She shifted Lily in her arms and prayed the three bags slung over one shoulder wouldn’t slide to the floor before she got to baggage claim. It had been a long flight, made even longer by the memories of her father, thoughts of Farrell, a deep-seated panic that she was returning to a place that had too strong a hold on her. A place she might never again escape.

She made her way through the busy airport, dodging people and luggage, and once, a small case carrying a yipping little dog with a vicious bark. She didn’t have any more time to think about being home, or about seeing her sister for the first time in two years, but when she saw Kate standing in the baggage claim it hit her.

She was home.

As soon as Kate spotted her she opened her arms and let out a shriek, rushing her and Lily with so much force Jenna thought she might topple backwards. And then she was enveloped in her sister’s embrace, engulfed by the faint scent of sandalwood from the incense she’d been burning since they were teenagers.

“I can’t believe you’re finally here!” she squealed into Jenna’s hair.

Jenna smiled. “I’m here. And I’m not alone,” she reminded her sister.

Kate leaned back and looked at Lily. “Lily! It’s Aunty Kate.”

Lily smiled shyly behind her thumb, a habit Jenna was trying to break. She gently removed the digit from Lily’s mouth, then smiled at her daughter, in love as always with her sweet face.

“You can’t say hello properly with something in your mouth, can you?”

Lily shook her head.

“Well, go on then,” Jenna said. “Say hello.”

“Hello, Aunty Kate,” Lily said.

Kate rolled her eyes. “That won’t do. Give us a hug, will you?”

She held out her arms and Jenna was surprised when Lily leaned into them. She almost wept with relief at the lightening of the weight in her arms, and she transferred Lily’s backpack to one hand while maintaining her carry on and handbag in the other. Then she took a long look at her sister.

Kate hadn’t changed at all in the two years since she’d stopped in New York on her way to LA with friends. She still wore her dirty-blond hair almost to her waist in a tangle of unruly waves. Still wore the long skirts and T-shirts that had been her uniform when they were teenagers. She had their mother’s eyes, and lucky for her, no gap between her two front teeth.

“Let’s go get your luggage,” Kate said, bouncing Lily on her hip.

Lily giggled, and Jenna felt a twinge of guilt. Was this the hold family had on you? That no matter how long you were away or how much distance was between you, they still belonged to you and you to them? She didn’t mind it with Kate. They’d been partners growing up. A well oiled machine trained to work together to lighten their father’s load, clean up after their mother’s many messes.

But she was not ready to be claimed entirely by her past. She didn’t want to remember the old neighborhood, the dingy house, the smell of alcohol seeping from her mother’s pores. She didn’t want Lily to know everything she’d had to know. To see everything she had to see growing up.

She took a deep breath and made her way to the luggage carousel — already spitting out suitcases — while Kate kept up a constant banter with Lily. This wasn’t permanent. She would attend her father’s funeral and help her mother settle his affairs. Then she would take Lily and get on the first plane back to New York. It was true she didn’t have a job, but thanks to Nico, she had some money in savings. They would be okay.

She saw Lily’s little pink suitcase first and pulled it off the belt. Her own navy case dropped to the carousel a couple minutes later, followed by Lily’s booster seat. Then they were out the doors and into the dusk of twilight, the London air thick with the petrol of waiting cars and taxi cabs.

True to form, her sister had parked as far from the terminal as humanly possible. By the time they got to her little Passat, Lily was asleep on Kate’s shoulder, seemingly oblivious to Kate’s chatter about the girls she tended bar with, the man she was “sort of” seeing, the fact that she was thinking of cutting her hair.

It took them a few minutes to get the luggage in the trunk and Lily into her booster in the back seat. After that they were on their way, heading away from Heathrow and toward the city in the distance.

Jenna rolled down her window and breathed in the evening air. Now that they were away from the airport, she could smell London properly. The damp air. The peaty smell of the Thames that seemed to permeate everything. Wet concrete and stone. The memories were an assault.

Walking hand in hand with Farrell through the darkened streets of the city, barely able to get through the door of his flat before they started tearing off their clothes.

Sitting next to him in the movie theater, watching the light play on his strong face, his expression relaxed in a way she rarely saw it.

The sound of rain on the metal roof of his loft as they lay naked in bed, their limbs still intertwined.

She’d spent the last five years trying to escape it.

Trying to escape him.

And it hadn’t done a bit of good. Ten minutes back in London and she was lost to her memories of him. Funny how all the bad stuff — her poor upbringing, the constant roller coaster of her mother’s alcoholism, the fear that went along with being responsible for so much when you were still trying to figure out how to take care of yourself — faded into the background in the shadow of his hold on her.

Farrell.

She could still feel his chest, large and solid, under her cheek, the steady rise and fall of it, the soft rhythm of his heartbeat in her ear. She could see his face, the warmth that seemed to flood his eyes when he looked at her. The way her body hungered for him.

Demanded him. Needed him.

It suddenly seemed impossible that so much time had passed. That they had a daughter. What was he doing now? Was he still in London? Had he met someone else? Someone to warm his bed and his heart? Someone who was willing to push aside the darkness in his life simply to be with him?

Someone who could afford to?

The thought sent a shudder through her body. She’d spent every day since she left London avoiding the thought of him. She’d never looked him up online. Had never asked Kate about him. She’d done exactly what she set out to do — she’d focused on Lily, on building a good life for her. So why did she feel like she was being turned inside out now that he was almost close enough to touch?

“You okay?” Kate asked from the driver’s seat.

Jenna looked at her sister. “Fine. Just tired.”

Kate nodded. “I can’t fucking believe this.”

Jenna returned her eyes to the window. “I know.”

“I just saw Dad last week,” Kate said, sniffling. “I came to the house and we had tea and played Scabby Queen.”

Jenna smiled. “I haven’t played Scabby Queen in ages. I should teach Lily.”

“You know how Dad loved playing cards,” Kate said as a tear tracked down her cheek.

Jenna reached out to take her sister’s hand. “I know,” she said. “How is Mum?”

Kate barked out a short, bitter laugh. “She’s Mum. You know how she is.”

“Has she gotten any better?”

“Define better,” Kate said drily.

Jenna returned her hand to her lap. “Still drinking?”

“Does it rain in England?” Kate looked over at her. “What did you expect?”

Jenna drew in a breath. “I hoped she was going to meetings at least.”

Kate shrugged. “I try not to worry about it.”

“If only it were that easy,” Jenna said, looking out the window.

“It is,” Kate insisted. She looked at Jenna. “Listen, you moved to New York. It’s what you needed to do for Lily, and I respect that. But I had to find a way to live around Mum without wanting to kill myself.” She turned her attention back to the road. “So I live my life. I date and travel and go to work at the pub. When something comes up with Mum, I try to help, but I don’t let it rule my life — and that includes my thoughts. It’s not always easy, but it’s possible, and really, I’m at peace with it, Jenna. I am.”

“I’m glad.” Jenna meant it, she just didn’t understand it. Kate had always been a free-spirit. Jenna was the practical one. The responsible one. It’s how their world went round, and Jenna was more than a little terrified that everything would fall apart if she were to stop holding it all together in her carefully cupped hands.

It worked for Kate. She was happy bartending at the Dog and Bull, dating a string of guys whose names she sometimes didn’t remember, living paycheck to paycheck.

But that wasn’t Jenna. It never had been.

They pulled off the highway and entered the outskirts of Croydon. Jenna looked at the old buildings, some of them showing signs of renovation. There was a new coffee shop and a hip looking bistro. Revitalization. Isn’t that what they called it when a previously poor and dangerous part of town was made nice for people who once would never have considered living there? The idea shouldn’t have bothered her. But somehow it did, and she turned her face away from the streets, both familiar and strangely foreign.

They continued to the residential part of town and Jenna smiled as they drove by Mrs. Hodges’ house. The older woman had been like a mother to her and Kate, and they’d passed many happy afternoons in the tiny living room, learning cribbage (Mrs. Hodges played as partner to each of them) and drinking tea when they needed to escape the reality of their lives. She would have to stop in and say hello while she was home.

Then they were turning the corner, pulling up in front of the row house that hadn’t changed at all in the five years she’d been gone. Kate put the car in Park and leaned her head on the steering wheel with a sob.

“I can’t bloody believe he’s not in there waiting for us.”

The words caused tears to sting Jenna’s eyes. Her father had been the only steady presence in her life. The one thing she could always count on. And now he was gone.

Stabbed and left for dead on the street like an animal.

She blinked back the tears and put her hand on Kate’s shoulder.

“Everything will be okay. We’ll get through it. You and me. Just like always.”

Everything will be okay.

It was a familiar phrase, one she’d often said to Kate without thinking. So why did it sound empty to her own ears? Why did she suddenly wish someone — anyone — would say it to her instead?