Page 19 of Rise of the King (Checkmate 5)

I’m a fuckin’ miracle.

A miracle who would’ve gone home to my brother already if we didn’t have this threat hanging over his head. He doesn’t even know he’s in danger, but I do, and now I’m doing what I do best – what Ace does – I’m eliminating a threat, then I’m taking my ass home like the prodigal son where I can sleep on Kane’s couch and make a general pest of myself until I can bear to let him out of my sight for a minute.

Stopping at the top of the stairs, I glance up at the mountain manPeter Ramone Aguilarkeeps as protection. My knife in my pocket is my touchstone. The promise of eventually going home is my motivation. So I look up at the mountain and nod. “’Sup, gangbanger?”

“Mr. Aguilar is busy.” His voice is deep,low, like he’s walking the Green Mile. “Turn around. Go back downstairs.”

I finger the blade in my pocket, prepare for a throwdown, and mentally wish I could eat a gummy and not look like a pussy for doing it. “You sure Mr. Aguilar doesn’t have time for a Bishop?”

His eyes flash with knowledge, and despite the fact this dude looks formidable as fuck and unwilling to bow down to anyone, he drops his eyes and steps back.

Kane and Jay Bishop have a fucking reputation in this world, a reputation built on being Hayes’ best soldiers and most ruthless killers. So I use it; I slam my shoulder into his as I pass, and then I stop at the door and wait for the bouncer to open it.

“Sir.” He holds his wrist to his mouth. “It’s Bishop… Dunno… Yeah… Okay.” And just like that, my name gains me entrance to the office of a man everyone else considers untouchable. Stepping in with a grin, I watch Pete’s eye transform from scared to something much easier.

I close the door in the bouncer’s face and turn back to his boss. “We gotta talk.”

“You scared the fuckin’ piss outta me, Bishop. Fuck me.”

“No thanks.” I cross the fancy tiled floor and pass a fur rug that sacrificed its life to become ugly and unappreciated. Stopping in front of Aguilar’s desk, I flip the knife in my pocket –open, closed, open, closed– and study the room around me. “You’ve got fancy digs, Pete. Business treating you well?”

Whether he’s truly not scared of me, or insistent on putting on an act, he sits back in his leather wing-backed chair and crosses a foot over his knee. Taking out a cigar and lighter, he clips the end off and lights up. “Business is always good.” He offers the light. “Want a smoke?”

Yes. So fucking much.“Nope, I quit. It’s not good for your health.” I cast a glance around the room as he drops the lighter in his top drawer. “Talk to me about your chain of command, Aguilar. Word on the street is there’s a top dog that sits much higher than you, but no one’s sharing his name. Is he that dangerous, or that sneaky?”

“Little bit of both, I suspect.” He exhales and pushes the cloud of smoke in my direction. Instead of standing in place and accepting it the way I so desperately want to, I take a step back and walk to the mini-bar on the side wall. It sits below a wide window that shows off the cityscape and the crisp night sky.

“I need a name, Pete.” I turn back. “I need to know who’s putting out these contracts. I’d be willing to talk calmly and discuss a truce. It doesn’t have to end in bloodshed.”

“I don’t know what to tell you, pup. I don’t know who the top dog is. You said it yourself: he’s above my pay grade.”

“You had women brought in here recently. Little girls.”

His gold chains twinkle beneath the overhead lights. “Cost of business. Some want to perform. Some need a little encouragement. In the end, everyone gets paid.”

“But not the girls.”

“They’re paid.” He scowls like my accusation offends him.

“But their innocence and free will is stolen from them?” Leaning against the cabinet that holds fancy liquor bottles and thick glasses, I flip the knife in my pocket –open, closed, open, closed.I can’t slit his throat and get away as easily as I’d like. I’m in a busy district, I have guys on the door, a two-story jump to get out, and a cab ride to endure. Messing up my jacket with his blood just won’t look good.

“Give me your boss’ name. Give me the next layer up; I’ll take it from there.”

“Not sure I’m entirely inclined to do that, Bishop. They find out I’m squealing, I’m a dead man.” He sucks back a lungful of cigar smoke, then lazily lets it out again. “I’m way too fuckin’ comfortable with my life right now to commit suicide, so…” He flicks his wrist. “Nah.”

“Okay.” Lifting one hand to show him I’m not a threat, I slowly push the other into my back pocket and take out my phone. Slow movements, nothing sudden, I start toward him and watch the gun he has tucked into his pants leg and within easy reach. “Slow it down, Aguilar. I wanna show you an email I got from a close friend of mine. It mightencourageyou to talk. And if not, then I’ll walk away and speak to someone else.”

“Suits me.” He blows out another plume of smoke. “And when we’re done, you don’t step foot in my place again. They find out you did and I didn’t take care of you, then I’m a dead man anyway. See how I’m being cool about this? I’m showing you leniency when there are orders not to.”

I stop, pause, and study his pockmarked face. “Take care of me?”

“Yeah. They got a million bucks on your head. A million is a lot to a lot of people, but to me, it’s not enough to convince me to spill blood on my rug.”

He thinks I’m Kane.

To most of the underworld, Jay Bishop is dead. I went into surgery as a dead man, and I came out with a brand-new ID that says John D. Hamilton.

I can be Kane for this meeting. If they think he’s here, then they won’t be looking for him where he truly is.

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