“Well, ma’am. I’ll take my chances.”
As Tristan drove home, he found himself humming along with the radio despite not knowing any of the pop songs. If it weren’t so pathetic, he’d laugh at what this girl had turned him into. Though he still had his edge and always his pistol, he felt his sharp attitude beginning to retreat. It was a glimpse of the boy he used to be, before he’d been betrayed and hurt. He felt lighter and hopeful again.
He was in luck, finding a parking spot on his block. Tristan retrieved his gun from under the seat, secured his car, and lit a cigarette for the short walk.
It had been so hard to leave Josie’s apartment. He’d tried to be a gentleman, but when she pulled him by the collar and attacked his mouth, he’d lost all control. There, against her door, he’d ground his hips into hers, introducing every bit of his need. She rocked against him, and it was all he could do not to take her right there.
Josie had invited him in, begging to continue their evening. He knew what she wanted. Hell, he wanted it too, but not yet. Not before he could make her believe that she was worth it. Thankfully, Alex had come home, cutting through their sexual tension and wishing them good night. Tristan wanted to thank him and kill him at the same time.
“Fallbrook,” a familiar voice called out as he approached his building.
The sound of that voice made Tristan’s stomach drop and he immediately reached for his piece. He spun to find Padre parked on a bench outside his building. He was shorter than Tristan but just as intimidating. Always wearing a stiff button-down shirt and Dockers, Padre more closely resembled a Wall Street executive than a deadly assassin. His smile was sinister and sharply interrupted by a maroon scar that carved down the left side of his face. He was Tristan’s former assistant and a man who’d left the priesthood to carry out revenge for his murdered brother. He’d never returned.
“Nice hat,” Padre said, grinning.
“Fuck you,” Tristan replied.
They embraced in a one-armed hug and stepped back to a safe distance. In this business, people who were once your allies didn’t always remain that way.
“Long time, no see, vato.”
“I had to get out,” Tristan answered simply.
“Yeah, well, I guess I should be thanking you. I was promoted when you bounced.”
“Congratulations. I’m guessing this isn’t a friendly visit.”
“Moloney sent me to give you a message.”
The air shifted, a serious rope of threat surrounded the men, tying them to each other.
“So get on with it,” Tristan spat, losing his patience.
“He says no one leaves the operation alive, but he’s feeling generous. He’ll let you live if you find and kill this girl.”
Padre handed him a folded photo with torn edges. Tristan felt nauseous as he looked into the eyes of a young McKenzi Delaune. Using every bit of strength he possessed, he kept his face indifferent.
“This girl is dead.”
“Nah, man. Moloney says she’s alive and well. He has it on good authority she’s here in San Diego. I was just told to deliver that. Of course, there’s another employee looking for her, but if you find her first, you live.”
“I’m not spending my time chasing ghosts!” Tristan shouted at the man’s retreating form.
“I’m just the messenger, Fallbrook. Don’t make me come back here.”
Just like that, he was gone. Tristan knew this was not just a scare tactic. Moloney would never waste time or money on idle threats. The message was loud and clear. If Tristan didn’t deliver, they’d come back and take payment from his flesh.
It had been three miserable, sleepless hours since Padre left Tristan standing confounded on the sidewalk. He’d dropped a figurative bomb and disappeared into the aftermath’s smoke. Now Tristan lay in bed, the old photo of McKenzi still clutched in his fingers. An innocent, unscathed face stared back at him from the glossy paper. This is the girl he remembered, the girl he’d grieved for. In all honesty, this girl was dead. As if featured in one of those campy daytime soap operas, the part of McKenzi Delaune was now being played by a darker, forbidding Josie Banks.
He’d been a wreck since learning of the hit out on Josie. First, anger hammered at his chest and he tore through his apartment breaking everything within reach. It wasn’t a fit of calculated rage, more of an unrestrained therapy of destruction. Shattered glass dotted the floor, while his treasured books lay in a jumbled heap beneath an overturned shelf. There were holes in the drywall, a broken trail leading to his bedroom, where he’d finally collapsed. Maroon ribbons of dried blood twisted around his fingers and he scoffed at how symbolic they were. His hands were tied.
When his fury had dissipated, he was left only with mind-numbing fear. Not for himself but for Josie. Without a second thought, he knew that he would make any sacrifice if it meant that she’d go unharmed. He would never turn her over to that monster of a man, but that didn’t mean someone else wouldn’t. Padre had told him that there was another person out there looking for her. If they were on Moloney’s payroll, they were good. It wouldn’t be long before she was found.
There was no escape from the business, no calling it quits without some sort of payment, flesh or monetary. Even when he had run away, Tristan knew this. At the time, he’d rather have been dead than stay near Fiona and her unfaithful heart. How lucky he’d been to find his long-lost love perched on a fire escape.
Tristan wondered if Moloney had somehow connected him to Josie, if he’d ordered the hit only as a punishment or a test. He wondered about all that dark space in Josie’s memory and what could possibly warrant her death. Mostly he wondered what he was going to do about it.
He’d be willing to bet that Moloney was responsible for her father’s death and Josie’s amnesia. What other reason could Moloney have for wanting her dead? They must be connected through her father.
He thought about running. He could pick up Josie, force her if necessary, and drag her away to some far-off country where they would hide out among the locals. Realistically, Tristan knew this plan would never work. They’d be checking over their shoulders for the rest of their lives, just waiting for the axe to drop. Josie deserved a better life than that. What he needed was a bargaining chip, something Moloney wanted more than Josie. He huffed and rolled over, tucking her photo beneath the cool underside of his pillow, and finally drifted off to sleep.
10. Perigee
Point in the moon’s orbit where it is closest to Earth.
The night air was cool as Alex made his way to the Darkroom. When the sign came into view, he wished that he’d done research on what kind of place it was. He suddenly felt like a roughneck among suits. Not that it mattered. He was on a mission. He knew what he was doing was going to sound cliché and dramatic, but he just couldn’t help himself.
Ignoring the incredulous looks, Alex took a seat at the bar and waited for Tristan. A blond waitress placed her tray on the bar and sighed. As Tristan filled her drink orders, Alex was momentarily distracted by the way her ass moved beneath her skirt.
“What can I get you?” Tristan asked.
“I’m not here for a drink,” Alex answered.
“Well, you’re parked at my bar, so I say you are. How about a light and fruity cocktail?”
The two men eyed each other in an unspoken standoff.
“Nah, man. Shout out to my homeland with a Dos Equis,” Alex ordered.
Tristan opened the bottle and set it on the pristine bar.
“Actually, Dos Equis was started by a German man who immigrated to Mexico.”