11
With a shrug, I thought, *not my conversation*, and then turning I made to retrace my steps, pausing as I caught sight of Burdock storming away from the building, Satan right behind him.
My eyes homed in on Satan, on the anger in his face. Well, one thing for certain, I decided, whoever *she* is, she certainly has both men fired up over her. I gave a small shake of my head. *Glad it’s not me. I wonder who *she* is anyway*? Feeling for the woman, I began making my way back toward the clubhouse.
SATAN/TORIN
Tell her... Yeah, right. Only if I wanted a knife in my back. At this point, telling Marlowe was the last thing I needed to do, yet, if I waited and told her later, or she found out another way, there really would be backlash. I was in a tight spot, that was for damn sure. Indecision weighing me down, as well the ache in my leg making me irritable as all hell, I jerked open the doors of the clubhouse and blasted through the entrance then into the common room. On seeing several of our latest prospects, lounging in chairs and staring at a large tv screen, game controllers in hand as they passed a blunt among them, I snapped, “Take that shit somewhere else. It smells like a Goddamn skunk in here!”
Jitter, who had been pulling on the blunt, jerked at my words and dropped it into the chair with him. Jumping out of the chair as if his ass were on fire, he threw off the cushion and began shoving his hands down into the creases, looking for the still smoldering weed-packed cigar.
With a shake of my head, I snarled, “Fuck, no wonder you’re called Jitter,” then turning I began making my way toward my room. I had been on my leg too long and it was now throbbing. When it was this bad, my limp became more pronounced, which pissed me off that much more. I was in the mood to destroy anyone who crossed my path. Luckily for everyone, I made it to my room without seeing anyone. Crossing over to the bedside table, I picked up the bottle of pain-relievers and angrily eyed them. I hated taking the damn things, but if I didn’t, an hour from now, I wouldn’t even be able to walk. Unscrewing the lid, I shook a couple into my hand, then popped them in my mouth. After swallowing them, I flopped down on my bed, and raising my arm, I covered my eyes, waiting for the pills to take effect.
Of its own accord, my mind wandered into my past.
I was, to the core, Torintino Markos Dinelli—the son of Demarco Beniamino Dinelli and Carlita Daniela Montero-Dinelli and my path in this life had been cemented into place at the age of thirteen, when I'd sat beside my mother's dying body.
I'd watched the blood seep from the wound in her chest, the tears that had slipped from the corners of her eyes as she'd breathed, “Promise me Torintino…promise your mama you will not let the Cartel draw you in. That you will not let that be your life. Promise me this, Tesoro Mio.”
Tears falling from my own eyes as I glanced at the already still figure of my father, I'd whispered, “I promise, Mama,” then, holding her hand, I'd watched my mother’s breathing become slower, shallower. Finally, her chest had stilled forever.
At the point of my parent's death, Torintino Dinelli had ceased to exist, and in his place, I had become Torin Montero, hidden from the Cartel who had cold-bloodedly killed my parents, within the MC, the Sons Of Morning Star, and raised by my aunt, the ol’ lady of the club's president at the time. It was the only way I could get out of the Cartel's reach. And the day I'd stepped away from the base, I'd walked away a member of a special elite force. Now, the Cartel were chasing their fucking tails—they’d had no idea to watch out for me. The fake name and the club had actually worked in my favor.
No one within the Cartel knew I was still alive and that I was becoming their worst nightmare. None of them knew that I'd marked my parent's murderers as dead-men long before I'd become a specialist…and one by one, I’d been taking them out over the last year and a half.
Carlo would be the last one I'd take out, as he had been the one to take out the hit, and I wanted him pissing and shitting himself in fear. He was the worst kind of slime…for not only had he been the one to hire the hit, he’d had it done on his own fucking brother!
So many secrets, the real humdinger was the fact that Marlowe had cartel blood running through her veins and had no damn idea. I did though. I'd known since I’d had that fucking file slapped on the table before me. Andre Sagatiano, Marlowe and Dillon’s *real* dad, had ranked in the pecking order of the Cartel damn near as high as my own had. As well she had no idea Dillon was coming after me and her.
I had dirt though on both him and the Cartel though—I had lots of dirt, but when I was done putting the motherfuckers six feet under, none of that would matter. Then, the secret I held would stay buried…literally.
Half an hour later
Stay by Rihanna ft Mikky Ekko echoed out from the speakers within the bar and with hands clenched around a bottle, I bowed my head staring at the top of the table, the song resonating deep within me. Cheesy for a man, I know, but I wanted nothing more than for Marlowe to stay, but once she learned how I’d hurt her and still had to, she’d be gone.
My gut was destroyed. My heart—lashed by a cat-o-nine of my own making, but I’d chosen this path and I had to finish it…I couldn’t do anything else.
Leaving her in her room that night I’d made love to her, I'd taken the stairs two at a time. I’d already decided by that time what I was going to do, and the run was the perfect set up for it. I just hadn’t expected Dillon to witness what I had done, and now, I had to end what was escalating out of control. I should have taken Dillon out then too, but I hadn’t known then, what I know now.
Since Marlowe had come back into my life, I'd gotten to the point I'd begun forgetting. Forgetting that this wasn't fairy-fucking wonderland and I'd begun playing fucking house!
Fucking mistake number one on my part! Fucking mistake number two? I'd lost sight of who the fuck I was! What I was—of what I was doing and why.
Drawing a deep, shuddering breath, I allowed my fingers to unclench from around the whiskey bottle, a silent, painful sob ripping loose of my lips. Not only did my heart hurt, but so did my gut. I knew everything that could go wrong—everything that could turn this into a fucking nightmare. Therefore, I had to play my cards right, to do everything a certain way so that it all came together, anything else was…unthinkable.
Lifting the bottle to my lips I drained it.
MARLOWE
I watched Satan from beneath lowered lashes as I wiped down the counter. He had sat silent and alone in that damn corner all evening, and the way he was killing that bottle, he had some powerful demons eating at him. I’d thought once or twice about going over to him, but by the unapproachable air about him, I decided against it. His demons weren’t mine and I couldn’t resolve whatever they were for him. We weren’t friends—his choice. So, all I could do was watch him wrestle with whatever ate at him from a distance, and I feared if I watched long enough, he’d shatter like glass, shards of him flying everywhere, some to never be recovered. Drawing a breath, I looked away, unable to watch him any longer, at the same time feeling emotion begin to stir within my heart.
BURDOCK
“*Stupid mother fucker,*” I growled watching Torin. He was just making this worse. With a shake of my head, I stood and pushed away from the bar. Marlowe’s heart knew who Torin was, her mind was still blinding her to it though. I could see it in her eyes, her trembling hands when she looked at him. Before long, she was going to put it together and it was all going to blow up in the dumb bastards face. Pushing off the barstool, I stood and made my way from the bar as well, following Torin. He was in a mood, and I’d been witness to his moods before, usually once he exploded, only a wasteland remained.