Page 31 of Dangerous Games

“What’s that?”

“It’s a tracking bracelet.” He grabs my wrist and wraps the chain around it, fumbling with the tiny claw clasp with his giant fingers. I pull my arm away and hold it to my stomach while I pinch the clasp with my other hand and close it.

“You don’t trust me?”

“I don’t trust anyone, that’s what guns are for.” He stands and offers me his hand. I wonder if he thinks I’m going to run or if he thinks there is a chance someone will take me. Either way, the fact that he feels the need to track me means I’m valuable to him. It makes my fear heighten a bit, because if others figure out that I’m valuable to him, they will know I’m worth taking.

“Let’s get on the road.” Dominic leads me downstairs to the front door where a man with fiery red hair and dark hazel eyes stands waiting. He is wearing scrubby jeans and an old flannel. I’m not sure if it’s a disguise or if Dom’s cousin is more country than city, but he smiles at me, and it puts me at ease. “Nan, this is Red. He will be taking you to Jimmy’s neighborhood. He will also be your ride back home, so you should have this.”

Dominic hands me a cell phone. It’s old, a flip phone with a one-and-a-half-inch screen. I scowl at it and look up at him as I take it. “What’s this for? Where is my cell phone?”

“You don’t need yours. It’s traceable. This is to call Red or me if there is an emergency. You can also call him when you need to be picked up. There are only two numbers programmed.” Dominic taps the phone and eyes me sternly. “Every call made from this is recorded, so no funny business either. You know Jimmy’s life depends on it.”

I roll my eyes. “I know.”

“Ready?” Red asks, gesturing to the car that sits only a few paces away outside the front door. I nod at him and glance at Dominic.

“What happens if this goes wrong? If something goes down and Jimmy is hurt. You made me a promise.” I pause, hovering midway between the door and the car.

“I keep my promises. You keep yours.” Dominic clasps his hands in front of himself and watches me as I finish my journey to the beat-up Toyota Camry. Red opens the door and I climb in, one last look back at Dominic as Red walks around the car and gets in.

We’re off and I’m alone with this man I’ve never met before. It’s not new to me; my occupation requires me to be with new men I’ve never met before on a regular basis, but not men like this. Not men like Dominic’s family. At least, none that I ever knew of. Now I wonder who I’ve been “escorting” the past several years and if I’ve been in bed with other members of organized crime families.

“So, you’re his cousin?” I ask the man driving. He glances at me out of the corner of his eye and nods. The silent type, that’s okay. I don’t mind a man who has little to say. I don’t have much to say either. It makes the fifteen-minute drive across town to Jimmy’s neighborhood go by easier. I have time to play what I’m going to say.

It isn’t until we are parked two blocks away from Jimmy’s place that I realized Dominic never blindfolded me this time. He must really mean it when he says I’m his now. He has no intention of letting me go. I find that both comforting and terrifying as Red turns the engine off. I’m still scared, fingers trembling as I unbuckle my seatbelt.

“Just get in, get the job done, and get out.” Red’s voice is calm. I don’t get a read on what his personality is like, but I assume he’s a lot like Dominic, dark, angry, brooding. I assume his whole family is that way.

I nod and open the door. Just another visit to Jimmy’s place, right?

I fiddle with the bracelet as I shut the car door and begin walking. I want to glance around, see if there are any suspicious vehicles, anyone watching me, but I assume that is why Red is there in the car. He’s watching me because Dominic told him to. It’s why Dominic can’t be here; someone would see and kill him. So, he sent his cousin in his place.

I cross the street; Jimmy’s place is only three houses down the next block. I’m both anticipating a giant hug and ready to give him a massive knock to the head. Jimmy gets us both into a lot of shit and this time it’s bad. I just hope he listens to reason. Dominic told me exactly what to say to him, and I have no intention of saying it. If Jimmy makes this hit, he will have the Bratva on his tail for decades. No, I want Jimmy out of this city, and I want him gone now. Then I want Dominic to help me get my revenge on Gallagher, and I’ll join Jimmy elsewhere.

Before I even open Jimmy’s front door, I know something is wrong. The damn cat bowls are back. He’s feeding the strays again. And next to them is a pile of trash bags and several empty liquor bottles. I bang on the door but there is no answer, so I just walk in. Not even locked. Jimmy is making mistakes, huge mistakes. If his front door isn’t even locked, he’s either given up completely and he’s waiting for them to come kill him, or he's skipped town.

“Jimmy?” I call, moving down the hallway. I hear movement in the kitchen, a chair scooting across the linoleum. Then I see a shadow on the wall as I approach. The house smells like body odor and rotting food. “Jimmy, it’s Nan. I’m here…”

I round the corner into the kitchen and see him frantically clearing lines of cocaine off the table into his palm. He looks up at me, eyes wide with surprise and stutters out a few syllables before sweeping the rest of the drugs into his palm.

“Jimmy, what the fuck? Cocaine?” I charge over to him and grab his wrist, forcing him to the sink where I dump the contents into the dirty dishes and turn the water on to rinse his hand off. He doesn’t even resist me; he never would. I’m his protector, the only one who watches out for him. “What are you doing?”

“Nan, I…”

“My god, you have the mafia after you and you’re snorting coke?” I leave him there washing his hands while I search the kitchen. His usual spots—old coffee can on top of the microwave, a hole in the floorboard beneath the sink, and taped beneath the kitchen chair—are all void of more drugs. “Where is it? Where is your stash?”

I eye him angrily, not even to my message from Dominic yet, or rather, my warning to get the hell out of town.

“No, Nan, I need it. Please,” he pleads, grabbing a towel to dry his hands.

I march off down the hall toward the bathroom where I know he hides more drugs. I lift the toilet tank lid and hit the jackpot. Submerged in the water of the tank are two small Ziplock bags, weighed down by rocks. I flush the toilet thus draining the tank and pluck out the bags. “You really thought you’d get away with this? You know this stuff fucks you up! You knew I’d come back and find this. It took you three years to get clean last time you did this.” I peel open the first bag and pour its contents into the swirling water of the toilet bowl and Jimmy snatches up the other baggie. The way he’s acting, I can tell he’s already going to struggle to give it up again.

“You can’t come into my house and do this.” He clutches the baggie in his fist, and I pry his fingers open.

“The hell I can’t. Give it to me,” I order, tearing the baggie. The white powder starts to trickle out, floating into the air. I manage to get it away from him and its contents get flushed along with the previous bag’s stash. “What are you thinking?”

I push past him into the living room. I’m livid. He follows along, whimpering and not making much sense. These bastards have him terrified. I knew this would happen. He’s a smart man, good at what he does, but this is too much. Gallagher at that restaurant triggered something in him and he’s relapsing hard.

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