The Pawn (Shattered Series Book 1) (21 page)

        As she moved to turn away, he caught her wayward hand in his. “Olivia, wait.”

        “W-what?” she stammered, finally looking at him.

        “It’s not my intentions to lead you on or hurt you,” he said, moving closer. “It’s in both of our interests not to rush things, especially when we don’t know where they’ll lead. I hope that you understand.”

        The pain stung her again.

        Just in how many ways could he hurt her?

        “Jarrod, I think that you should go. There’s nothing more to say,” she said, firming her shoulders. “And you’re right---we don’t need to rush things.”
        He released a pent-up sigh. “Olivia---”

        “Nothing happened, right? I’m not going to force you into something that you’re clearly not ready for or even want,” she muttered, fighting to maintain composure. “I suppose that I should be thankful for your candor. Most men would just take advantage of the situation and walk away.”

        “Damn it, Olivia. It’s not that way, and you know it,” he shot back angrily. “I just want you to realize that I’m just not after sexual favors---”

        Suddenly, defeated, she shook her head in confusion. “No, I don’t know, Jarrod. I don’t know what you want from me at all. It seems that the closer that I get to you, the more you run away.” She closed her eyes again. “I’m tired. Okay? I don’t want to talk about it anymore. I’ll be back tomorrow to help with the paperwork---”

        “I won’t be there.”

        “What do you mean you won’t be there?” she asked, feeling hopeless all of a sudden.

        Nothing seemed to be working out!

        He looked at a spot above her head on the door, avoiding her gaze altogether. “I have business to tend to back in the States.”

        A feeling of loneliness surged through her, one she hadn’t felt in weeks.

        She gulped hard. “How long are you going to be gone?”

        “A week, two weeks---who knows?” he shrugged. “However long it takes to settle the deal.”

        “Does Meghan know?” she asked quietly, chilled all over. “She’s going to be devastated that you won’t be here.”

       
And so I am
, she thought, feeling the tears rise.

        She blinked them back fast.

        “She didn’t take the news too well,” he sighed. “And that’s to be expected.”

        She held his gaze. “She’ll miss you terribly.”

       
And so will I---

        More so than anyone…

        “When are you leaving?”

        “At the break of dawn, which is a few hours from now. After I leave here, I’m going to pack and get the boat ready for departure,” he muttered, studying her close. “I was on my way to tell you earlier, not realizing that you were playing sea nymph. While I’m gone, please refrain from swimming alone and at such a late hour. It’s far too dangerous. If you go too far out and catch a cramp---”

        She gave a sad smile. “Jarrod, stop. I promise that I won’t go out alone.”

        “I know that you had it in you to be a good girl,” he said with a quick smile. His eyes locked with hers again. “Well, I suppose this is it. I’m going to get an early start.”

        “Okay,” she whispered. “Have a safe trip.”

        He gave a curt nod. “I will. Goodnight.”

        “Goodnight.”

         Turning, he walked down the pebbled path, and she watched until he fell out of sight.

        She pushed the door open to the bungalow and stepped inside. When she was safely within, she crumpled to the floor.

        Finally, the tears came.

Chapter 10

             The north side streets of Atlanta were dark and dreary except for the old dilapidated buildings that hadn’t seen any occupants in years. Well, maybe cockroaches and rodents resided with the rats that conducted illegal business deals here, Jarrod deduced, turning the customized, jet black SUV onto 21
st
Boulevard.

                       And the very rat that they were meeting on the late Saturday night was the worst of the worst.

                       Over the last week, things had gotten pretty heavy, especially since he’d crippled some illegal operations with a few high dealers. And while he was working with the feds, not even they were aware of his latest maneuver. But, then again, he thought darkly, they didn’t have a personal stake in it like he did along with Marc. It was only fair that they had a right to render their own brand of justice and restitution, especially after what Addison had done to them both.        

            He frowned.

Everything that they’d done thus far was legit.

Well, except for maybe now.

But, this maneuver only ensured that they hit Addison hard in the gut. Once they got what they wanted out of the criminal, they’d gladly turn it over to the feds. Hopefully, soon, they’d be able to put the crime organization under for good, and Addison and his prodigal son would justly receive the appropriate punishment.

As for now, tonight, he mulled again.

He was about to make the son-of-bitch dance to his drums.

              A light mist began to fall.

                      Certainly, at this time of the year, it was a staple in the southern city. Right now, he’d much prefer basking under the island sun, being with Meghan….

            
And Olivia
, he mulled, and his face flushed in the darkness. Even miles and worlds apart, she still affected him greatly.

                      “What in the hell is wrong with you?” Marc asked, casting him a fast glance from the passenger’s side. You haven’t said a word for miles.”

                      He shrugged. “I have a lot on my mind.”

                      “Let me guess: Olivia Lange,” Marc finished for him. “I’m afraid to ask what kind of what-the-fuckery you have going on with that disaster. Dude, please tell me that you’ve come to your senses and ended that charade.”

                      “Olivia’s out of it. She’s no longer a part of my scheme against Addison. I’m going to do everything in my power to protect her from that son-of-a-bitch.”

                      “When are you going to realize that she was never a part of it?” Marc probed, scrolling the screen on his cell phone. “From day one, this thing with Olivia Lange has been about you and only you.” He pointed an accusing finger at him. “Tell me that I’m wrong, and I’ll call you a lying bastard straight to your face.”

                      “You once told me that you’d dig me out if I was buried alive,” Jarrod murmured, slowing the SUV to a near crawl. So, far he hadn’t been alerted to anything suspicious along the dark cresses of the alleyways. “I’m ten feet under with no chance for survival.”

                      “Well, I’ll be damned,” Marc replied, sending a surprised look in his direction again. “After all this time, are you finally ready to face the truth and admit that you love the woman?”

                       The streets were darker now.

                       Not a street lamp illuminated a single thing.

                       A gentle wind swept through, rustling the trash and debris that hovered along the fringes and corners of the darkened alleyways.

                      “I care about Olivia,” he admitted, keeping a hand on the steering, and cast a look out the tinted window. “We’re friends and I just want her to be happy---”

                      Marc shook his head. “Nope, I’m calling bullshit on that one. If you’re going to lie to someone, at least don’t do it to yourself. You want me to help dig you out? Well, I’m tossing the first shovel---admit to yourself how you really feel about her.” He paused briefly as if in thought. “What excuse did you give her for leaving?”

                     He stared ahead.

            Again, he was sickened at his own lies.

                      Every time that he did, he felt smaller---unworthy of her blind faith and trust.

            “I told her that it I had a high-stake business dealing,” he quipped tightly. “What else could I say? Telling her that I was about to stage a meeting with a murderous, lying mafia kingpin certainly didn’t seem a viable option.”

            The prepaid phone rang on the console.

                      In an instant, tension filled the dark confines of the SUV.

                      After five rings, he picked it up. “Sabatino,” he muttered tersely, gripping it hard.

                      The voice was thick and heavy on the other end. “Turn on 22
nd
and enter through the old baker’s shop. We’ll be waiting on the second floor. Take the stairs.”

                      The phone went dead.

                      “You think it’s a trap?” Marc probed, already loading bullets into the semi-automatic pistol. “Too bad, I don’t plan on becoming one of their helpless rats.”

                     “No doubt the bastard is packing plenty of heat,” he muttered, turning onto 22
nd
Street, finally spying their appointed meeting spot. “We have our own fucking arsenal, too, and that scumbag will figure that out fast enough. And when you’re dealing with nasty filth, you have to become scum as well. It’s the only way to beat them at their own game. ”

                     Jarrod pulled the SUV to a stop beside the old baker’s shop.

            He took a fast glance around.

            A round of quick, subtle flashes nearby signified that his backup was there.

                     He killed the engine.

Johnson-Lorde’s Bakery---once a thriving delicacy operation on this side of the southern city, he mulled, listening to the quiet sounds of the deserted area. At one point during the early 1960’s, it’d served as the secret meeting place for illicit business dealings, much like now. Though, the structure was still intact, it still showed signs of tear and wear. Once red in color, its bricks were now a tarnished orange, and in places, a few of them were crumbling to pieces. The lettering on the old baker’s shop’s window had faded with the ages and wasn’t even decipherable now. No glass panes filled any of the windows at the three levels. Still, the large square spaces were obscured with dark shadows.

A black stretch limo was parked at the curb.

At the front entrance of the baker’s shot, Addison’s henchman hovered.

“Here,” Marc muttered tersely, passing the pistol. “Already loaded and ready.”

He kept his gaze on the henchman while accepting the weapon.

Without saying a word, he opened the SUV’s door.

In silence, he and Marc treaded ahead.

As they approached, the henchman stepped from the door. Dressed all in black, the criminal’s thug matched the night. Though, his white pale skin was the clear outlier. “Is it just the two of you?” the henchman asked, tensing, tightening his hold on the assault rifle, and blocked their path. “There better not being any more motherfuckers getting out that SUV or you’re both dead.”

“Where’s Addison?” Jarrod snapped, barely restraining his anger. “And if you don’t back the hell up, you’re going to find your guts spilled on the ground.”

“If I were you, I’d take heed of his warning,” Marc added, raising a brow. “Don’t let Jarrod’s baby face and pretty features make you think that he’s a softy. The mofo is a loose cannon when you get in his way. Like he said---
dude,
back the hell up
.”

The henchman’s face hardened, but still, he relented as he stepped aside. “The boss is waiting for you on the second floor.”

No light illuminated the space as they stepped in.

Jarrod swept a quick gaze around.

The area was completely vacant.

He led the way to the stairs.

Their ascent was quiet and slow.

Hell, didn’t they both realize what was at stake.

They reached the next floor.

On this level, there was faint light, and the dim bulb positioned overhead flickered intermittently. The tension rose as they strode along the hallway and headed for the sole room on the entire level.

To no surprise, another henchman waited at the door.

But, obviously, this one wasn’t intent upon any interaction, and the henchman only gave a fast nod before announcing their arrival. “Sabatino and Angelo are here,” the man barked through the closed door.

“Send them in.”

Stepping aside, the henchman allowed their entrance.

The door closed behind them.

Attached to a long cord, the light bulb dangled from the ceiling, swinging back and forth in a slow motion. Still, it emitted bright light into the large room. A vacant table rested at the center with nary a chair. At each corner of the room, a muscular thug stood, packing enough heat to wipe out many in an instance.

But, he had enough heat to level the place, he thought darkly.

His gaze strayed to the cut-out window.

At the sight of the mafia kingpin, his hate and anger escalated at rapid speed.

Facing the cut-out window, Duke Addison smoked a cheroot.

The wealth practically gleamed off the well-dressed mafia kingpin.

A perfectly starched Armani business suit, shiny black shoes, a flashy cut band, sharply cut hairstyle…a sole picture of modern money.

But, tension radiated from his straight posture.

“Leave your bitch at the door, Sabatino,” Duke Addison spat, dropping the cheroot to the floor before stubbing it out with his foot. “If and when I need any words or input from him, I’ll allow him to speak.”

He passed Marc a fast glance before giving a subtle nod.

A heavy scowl played across Marc’s face, but still, he acquiesced.

“When will you learn that the world doesn’t bow at your feet?” Jarrod muttered coldly, treading across the room and stopped at the table. “Well, except for the ill-strapped flunkies that you have on your payroll.”

“When will you learn that the world
is
mine?” Duke uttered, turning to face him, and a cold smile grew along his face. His steps were purposefully slow as he crossed the room, and his face was like stone as he stopped at the table. “I pity you for being so clueless on that.” 

“If that were so, we wouldn’t be standing here in the middle of the night,” he muttered icily. “If anything, it’s proving that you’re hardly in control. As a matter of fact, I think that you’ve lost all of it.”

The criminal’s smile turned icier. “You fucking little cocksucker, are you forgetting who and what I am? The north side cities of Atlanta belong to me. The politicians, police department, junkies, whores, mules---every single being that breathes within its walls is a slave to my demands, needs, and wants. And I think---”

“Fuck you,” Jarrod muttered coldly. “I don’t give a damn about what you think.”

The criminal slammed a hard fist against the table. “Who do you think you are---disrespecting
me
like that!” Duke yelled, bracing his hands against the table, and his body shook with pure rage. “You’re lucky to even be standing here right now, especially after the millions that you’ve cost me in these last weeks.” An evil gleam shone in his eyes. “Where is it?”

“Where’s what?” he asked lazily, raising a brow.

“Don’t play games with me---you know what in the hell what,” Duke snapped, gripping the edges of the table hard. “The $5,000,000 that I lost in the drug deal last week. My shipment never made it from Colombia and the money went missing en route.”

Keeping his expression blank, he shrugged. “What does any of that have to do with me?”

“Don’t play coy. Ah…I see that I’ve underestimated you,” Duke said with a short laugh, one that didn’t resonate. “Maybe it was presumptuous of me not to consider you a worthy adversary. I can see that it was a grave error on my part, one that I plan to rectify.”

“And that’s what I’m doing now, fixing my mistake. That mistake is not taking care of you when I had the chance,” he said coldly, bracing his own hands against the table. “You are going to pay for every fucking grave error that you put against me, you miserable son-of-a-bitch, along with that weak spineless son of yours. I won’t stop until you’re both crawling across the floor like the rodents that you are.”

                     Duke’s jaw tightened. “I want my money and I want it
now
.”

              “No can do,” he offered an icy smile. “You’re fresh out of luck on that one, Addison.”

              “Name your price,” Duke spat. “From every coast line on the Pacific, I have customers waiting on their loads. If I don’t deliver---”