Men of Mayhem Read online

  Playing back the night’s events, I assured myself that I had indeed freshened my breath, though at the time it had been for very different reasons. Well, for the same reasons really, but for a different person.

  “Color me shocked,” I said, guessing that honesty was the best policy in this situation.

  Betty pursed her lips. “I was shooting for overwhelmed, but I’ll settle for surprised and work my way up.”

  Truth be told, my whole body tingled with anticipation, but one single thought held me back.

  How the fuck can I get myself out of this one?

  I had about thirty minutes to get dressed and sneak out of the house to meet up with my jogger.

  Betty crawled onto the bed, slowly making her way to me. She leaned in for a kiss, but paused just an inch from my expectant lips.

  She grabbed at the blanket below my waist. “Well, at least I can quell my self-doubt that you’d find me attractive.”

  Wow, could she really feel that way? “But you’re hot.”

  Betty gyrated her hips and stroked her hand up and down slowly. “Am I?”

  Finding breathing a lot more difficult than it had been a minute ago, I inhaled deeply. “You don’t need me to tell you that. I’ll bet you’ve heard about your good looks from all the guys.”

  Betty dipped her head, continuing to sway her hips and shoulders above me. Her hair tickled my belly.

  Without her judging gaze, I allowed my face to contort, reflecting the pleasure I felt. I peered skyward, eyes unwilling or unable to focus properly. After a few moments, I realized something had changed. Betty was still dancing to an inaudible song, but her shoulders were trembling and her head was lowered enough that her jaw must have been touching her chest.

  Not wanting to stop the momentum of the moment that, until just a few minutes ago, I hadn’t even wanted, I ignored her new posture, but when I heard her whimpering, I gently grabbed her shoulder and used my other hand to raise her jaw.

  Her eyes shone, full of tears.

  I ran a finger along her lower lip until it rested on the teeth burrowing deep into her skin. “Woah, toots, you better relax that grip or you’ll draw blood.”

  As if she had been waiting an eternity to hear my words, Betty’s eyes closed, releasing several tears. Her shoulders slumped forward until her head was buried under my chin.

  Shocked by the sudden change in Betty’s mood, all I managed to do was rub her back and whisper, “It’s okay, baby. Let it out.”

  And that’s just what she did.

  Her sobs grew as her body shook in my embrace. Unsure what had caused the outburst, I remained silent.

  As the moment stretched into minutes, my thoughts drifted from the bedroom as I imagined the jogger and myself together.

  We held hands, her wearing an evening gown of the darkest green, me in a tux, my orange bow tie matching my hair. We strolled hand in hand into a grand ballroom, the piano playing something by Strauss, Probert, or maybe that amorous rogue Philouza. Not wasting time with the offered hors d’oeuvres or drinks, we made our way to the center of the dance floor, where we struck a pose. The waltz ended and an atmospheric take on a decade old pop tune began. Swaying back and forth, enveloped in ourselves, we stepped slowly in circles. Just a few inches shorter than I, the jogger reached out, grabbed each side of my face, and shook me gently.

  “Delvin?” Betty asked.

  Back in the bedroom, I froze my daydream-induced gyrations and focused on the woman still crying in my arms. “Sorry, I…”

  Betty wiped away tears and shook her head. “No, it’s fine. I…do you think we’re allowed to love?”

  My cheeks burned. “Like, you and me?”

  Betty grinned, but I saw no humor in the gesture. She raised her hand, looking away, and then dropped it back down into her lap. “I mean, you’re a career criminal, I’m a lifetime junkie, do we deserve to feel love anymore?”

  I squinted as my mind raced. A huge chunk of my sports-betting career depended on my ability to anticipate how people responded under high stress situations, but this whole conversation had blindsided me. “Where’s this coming from, doll?”

  Her lips trembled.

  Not wanting to break anyone’s heart tonight, especially when I planned to be flirting with another woman behind her back as soon as she slept, I fumbled for comforting words. I slid my hand from her shoulder up to her chin. “Hey, if you want to talk about us sometime—”

  “Talk about us?” Betty said, jolting upright and leaning away from me. “You don’t even know me. You don’t know what I’m capable of.” Her tone and body language pitched toward hysterics the longer she talked and confused me further. “I just don’t know how I could’ve been stupid enough to trust him.”

  Betty blushed. She rubbed her arm where the track marks had been thickest. I noticed a fresh wound that hadn’t scarred over yet.

  I scowled and clenched my fists. “Who? Betty, what have you done?”

  She dipped her chin lower, angering me further.

  I snarled, harsher than I intended. “Betty, look at me. What is going on?”

  Finally she mumbled something. Her voice was thick with mucus.

  I leaned in. “What was that?”

  Betty’s breath came out ragged, her chest rising and falling rapidly as her tears returned. “I think I love him.”

  She buried her face in a pillow as the sobbing continued.

  I stood and paced around the room. Betty was in love, and obviously something recently led her to believe that wasn’t such a great thing. I thought back on the day, searching my memory for anything out of the ordinary besides receiving tantalizing and discreet messages via my potato chips, but things seemed normal.

  Wait.

  Stroking my close-shaven beard, I spoke aloud, but the words were meant mostly for me. “They reassigned Hadley.”

  I turned to gauge Betty’s reaction, but now that I thought things through, it all made sense. We’d had the same crew with us since we came to town, and out of the blue the head of our security didn’t show.

  Betty reached over to grab a couple Kleenex from the box on her nightstand. I noticed her rubbing around her old track marks again.

  She must’ve guessed where I was looking, because she said, “It’s not like that.”

  I raised my left eyebrow.

  She held up a hand, and nodded. “Okay, yes, it’s like that. I used again, but I’m not hooked, I just needed to feel it, one more time. Feel something real, that is. Not this weird, make-believe fantasy we’re pretending to live out.”

  I punched the wall, hard. My pinky finger caught the edge of a stud and I felt my bone snap. “So you have something going with a federal agent, and at the first sign of trouble, you juice yourself up to the eyeballs?”

  The fear in her eyes faded into a flash of anger. “What do you know, you—”

  “Don’t you dare,” I interrupted. “My life is on the line just like yours.”

  I attempted to point an accusatory finger at her, but my pinky was throbbing.

  We fell silent, catching our breath, but composure had flown way out the window.

  Betty stood, shook out her stress, and returned her glassy-eyed gaze to me. I quickly raised my attention from her naked body to her eyes. If she did have something serious with agent Hadley, he was a fool to leave.

  “I’m sorry for…” I gestured at our surroundings. “Hell, for all of this.”

  She shook her head. “It’s not your fault. I’ve dug myself into enough holes to know when I should just keep my mouth shut.”

  I smiled. “Tell me about it. My own wife only comes on to me after she’s spurned by another man, and she gets all hopped up on—”

  I cut my joke short as Betty’s expression appeared exposed, embarrassed, and genuinely pained.

  I stepped toward her. “Too soon? Sorry, I have a habit of doing that.”

  I was relieved when Betty stepped close to me and allowed me to embrace her. Damn, I
knew this was serious, but she felt amazing pressed up against me. I looked down over her shoulder, admiring her backside.

  Before I could weigh the consequences of sliding my hands down from her shoulders, Betty asked, “But if he didn’t truly care for me, why would he go through all the trouble to ask me about my favorite dealer so he could get me the best stuff?”

  My head reared back as panic and surprise took over. I studied Betty’s face. “Wait, what do you mean, he wanted to get more drugs for you?”

  Betty shrugged her shoulders nonchalantly. “Yeah, I dunno. He said it was no biggie.”

  I gripped her shoulders and shook. “Betty, are you fucking nuts? He’s a federal agent tasked to protect us from the very people you sent him to buy drugs from. Doesn’t that ring any sort of alarm bells for you?”

  “But he’s not like that. He caught me using about a month back and instead of turning me in, he’s been listening to me, helping me straighten shit out.”

  I rolled my eyes. “How many times since we’ve been here has Hadley not been tied to our hips?”

  “Never.”

  I paused, hoping she could work it out on her own.

  Her eyebrows creased. “Up until I spilled the beans on my life, where I bought drugs, who was after me—”

  “Us, who is after us.”

  She pushed away. “Yeah, yeah, okay, after us. But who cares? He’s not assigned to us anymore. He’s a lying prick who claimed to love me just before disappearing, like every other asshole in my life. Now all I have is a fake husband, who happens to also have a secret or three that he wants to use against the mob to save his own neck.”

  True.

  She continued. “He told me he could get me out of the witness program. Told me he and I could have a life together. So where the fuck is he, huh?”

  Her fists clenched and I thought she might follow my lead in punching the wall. Instead she raised her fists to her forehead and they slid open. She began rubbing her eyes, inhaling and exhaling heavily.

  I wanted to cut to the core issue. “Betty, Hadley might be dead.”

  She removed her hands from her face, expression neutral, but she said nothing. Her mascara had been spread out in every direction from her eyes, giving them a crazed, cracked-out look.

  I stepped toward her. “You have no idea what he was really after. Maybe he did try and get you the best drugs, or maybe he wanted to use your good-faith info to make a big bust, or…”

  “Or what?”

  “Maybe he sold you out.”

  The shock evident by her body language and expression were enough to prove this thought hadn’t even crossed her mind.

  “Why would he do that?”

  I tilted my head, almost too dumbstruck to respond. Almost. “Do you realize how high the bounty is on our heads? That amount of money, hell, offer just a third of it and plenty of good people would commit to doing bad things.”

  Betty crossed her arms and shook her head. “Well, not Agent Hadley.”

  “If you believe that,” I said, knowing I’d regret these words, “then you’re a clueless bitch who deserves what’s coming.”

  Her eyes grew wide. She reached for something to throw as she screamed, “Don’t you dare talk to me that way, Delvin!”

  I ducked into the hall, yelling, “It’s Frank, damn it!” and made my way toward the clothes I’d stashed earlier. Enough of this wedded bliss bullshit. I had a beautiful woman waiting for me. As I slipped on my hoodie, I heard Betty sobbing in the bedroom.

  I paused, considering whether or not to comfort her. After a brief moment, which I spent reminding myself how crazy I’d be to stand up the jogger, I pushed the ankle tracker disruptor into place, verified the small light stayed green, and then slipped out the back door.

  Quad Angles Park, here I come.

  The first step in my nighttime escapade was simple. I hustled down three houses worth of backyards before cutting up toward the street. Ducking behind a bush, I watched the FBI van for any movement. When five minutes passed, I knew that either my ankle disruptor worked properly or the agents were too preoccupied with the big game to notice my escape.

  I lifted my pant leg, saw the light was still green, and then darted down the sidewalk toward the park.

  Throughout adulthood I had always lived right downtown, part of the action. Having been stuck out in the ‘burbs’ for months now, I still wasn’t adapted to extreme quiet after dark, but tonight I appreciated it. I turned left off my street and onto the curvy and hilly street that dead-ended with an entrance to the park.

  Over the years I developed a strategy that, no matter how late I would arrive, I make it a point to never rush into any situation. As attractive as my jogger was, I didn’t know her at all. She could be terrible at sneaking out, and the last thing I wanted was to jog into the park to find some angry husband waiting for me.

  Reaching the park entrance, I slowed my pace, advancing under the deep shadows created by the tall trees lining each side of the path. Just up ahead was my work shed, full of tools, rakes, sheers, and paint supplies to freshen up benches and other surfaces showing wear and tear.

  I paused under thick tree cover to scan the area. A creaking bench caught my attention. The noise didn’t originate from the playground, or from over by the gazebo, either. There, about thirty feet away, my jogger stretched across the bench I sometimes sat on to toss my sandwich crusts to birds. It offered a great view of the lake, but with one of her hands slipping under the waist of her pants, I don’t think the view was tops on her mind.

  Every cell in my body screamed, “Run to her, before she changes her mind,” but I held back.

  It wasn’t nerves exactly. I mean, my only hesitation was her significant other catching us. I can’t imagine any man seeing this sight could stop himself from confronting her immediately, and yet I waited, and watched.

  My jogger allowed herself to relax, even in the public park. Her loose-fitting jogging shorts and hooded sweatshirt obstructed my view, but her soft moans carried on the crisp fall breeze.

  One moment I was cool, calm, and hidden in the shrubbery. The next moment, I found myself walking toward my jogger, my stagger befitting a mindless zombie in search of his next meal rather than a prideful, calculating man dead-set on making a strong first impression. Judge all you want, but you didn’t hear her soft moans or see her earnest eyes glazing toward overload. I just couldn’t resist anymore.

  I forced myself to maintain a slow pace and to get my body under control. Here was a chance to reclaim a bit of my old life from those fuckers in the mob and the holier-than-thou government a-holes. For months I’d played Frank, the suburban husband doing good for his community, but for one night, ol’ Delvin Crowe needed to take something for himself.

  Just a dozen or so paces away, I decided to reveal myself. I kicked a branch full of multi-colored dead leaves. The crunch reverberated around the deserted park and my jogger stopped.

  Her eyes flashed back open. She didn’t appear panicked or guilty. No, my jogger just flashed a devilish, knowing grin. I waved as she tracked my approach.

  She winked. “Well, hello there.”

  “I got your message.”

  My jogger straightened. “A few minutes later and you’d have been out of luck, pal.”

  It hurt to hear her admit she could’ve found pleasure just fine without my arrival. My self-confidence dropped from a bull on parade to, well, just a really horny bull with a positive outlook on himself.

  I paused just a few feet away, puffing out my chest a little further than was comfortable. “These last few weeks, waiting to meet you, have been almost unbearable. You. Are. Gorgeous.”

  She took off her hoodie, revealing a silky sky-blue top. “You haven’t seen anything yet.”

  Instinct told me to watch for any passersby, but only a fool would look away now.

  My jogger spread her legs apart and arched her back, pushing hardened nipples against her silk top. She curled her index finger
at me in a beckoning gesture.

  I regretted my choice of form-fitting tailored jeans, as there was no give and I needed room. I took a few steps closer. “What’s your name?”

  Her eyes gave me a once over. “You can call me Missy. So, it appears you work out, but your poor choice in shirts is blocking my view. Why don’t you take it off?”

  Doing as she asked, I gripped my shirt and flexed my abs, hoping to impress her. I pulled my shirt up over my face, and as I did so, I heard the bench creak again.

  Tossing aside my shirt, I noticed Missy had stood. She was taller than I pictured. Also, in the dozen or so times per day that I fantasized about meeting her, she never held a gun.

  I tensed. “What the hell is that for?”

  “You pissed off the wrong people, Delvin.”

  “Shit.” Realization hit me like a sledgehammer.

  “Yeah,” she said, her light-hearted tone betraying how much she was enjoying herself. “They only call me for special jobs. Though now that we’re face to face, you don’t look like you’re worth my fee.”

  Peering down at my shirtless chest, I suddenly felt vulnerable, an emotion foreign to me. “If this is about—”

  “I don’t know what it’s about,” Missy interrupted. “And I don’t care. I get paid when the job is done.”

  A chill ran up my spine. “So you’re just going to shoot me in the park?”

  “No, my instructions are clear. You’re to be used as a message to scare off any other fool who thinks they can turn on the mob.”

  Before I responded, Missy added, “I’ve been doing this for a decade, so please don’t try to bribe or threaten me. And for the love of God, have the decency to die like a man. I hate seeing powerful men sob. If you can follow those three steps, I’ll make it as quick and painless as I can. Once I see tears falling or you start praying, or, hell, this one time a guy started calling out for his mommy, no lie—”

  “I get it,” I spat out.

  Her annoyance at my interruption was obvious by her flushed cheeks, but I think she respected me for still possessing a backbone.

  After a few seconds of silence, she nodded. “All right then. Strip.”