Page 62 of Broken Promises
A fucking Knight in shining armor. No sword or horse in this fairy tale, though. A gun and a drug empire are all I got, but I snatched the princess anyway.
Instead of focusing on what eludes me, I wonder what she’s doing. Is she having fun at the ball? She promised to call if anything happens, but I worry anyway... I’m fucking tired of worrying. Tired of thinking about her. Tired of the chaos she turned our lives into.
Granted—unknowingly, but stillchaos.
I had it easy before she came along. Money, power, respect, women. What the fuck was wrong with that? Why did I have to fall in love with Tinker Bell? Sassy, feisty, troublemaker. My life would be much easier if I hadn’t walked up to her that night in Delta. If I stayed locked in my office, none of this would be happening. No kill order, no worrying, nofeeling.
I can safely say I wouldn’t swap the chaos for one peaceful day. Despite all the shit that came along with her, I’m glad she stormed into my life and showed me there’s more to it than money and power.
She’s my more.
Still, I need space, peace, rest, and a reset, so after arriving back from Vegas early in the morning, I went straight to bed. Not a dreamless sleep, unfortunately, but six hours worked a treat to re-charge my batteries. Later in the afternoon, after a quick shower, I order food from Layla’s favorite restaurant and sit in the living room with a bottle of cognac, trying to stop the express train of thoughts for a little while.
Jackson’s hunt for Morte continues. He employed the best of the best hackers in the country to track the motherfucker. I knew it’d be difficult considering that Morte is well trained, a careful master of camouflage. I hoped to have a lead by now. The footage from the cameras at the hospital in Dallas wasn’t helpful. Morte can’t be seen entering or leaving the building. Fucking Houdini.
He came prepared. He knew where the cameras were and purposely avoided them all, making it painfully clear that getting a positive ID on Morte will be damn near impossible.
An hour later, after the first proper meal in three days, I polish the last three fingers of cognac from the bottle. “I can’t go on without you” by Kaleo plays from the speakers around the house when the security alarm clicks once. My head hits the back of the couch as a jab of irritation spoils my drunken bliss. I’m barely touching base with reality right now and don’t want to talk to Spades tonight unless he’s here to relay good news for a change.
Hope bursts when instead of Spades, Grace enters the room, wrapped tightly in a long, military-green jacket.
“What are you doing here?” I frown, squinting against the bright lights she flipped on.
“I forgot my phone.” She stops by the bar, eyeing the coffee table where the empty bottle of cognac stands in the company of a full one. “What’s wrong?”
If not for double-vision making it hard to focus on her face, I’d say she looks worried. I try to tear myself from the couch to put out the cigarette but fail miserably. I throw it on the table instead, missing the ashtray by a mile. That’ll burn a hole in the plush carpet Layla bought to keep her feet warm while we watch movies in the evenings.
Shit... I guess drinking isn’t helping much. I’m still conscious, still thinking about her.
“Are you okay? I asked you what’s wrong.” Grace is suddenly right in front of me. She takes the glass out of my hand and touches her small, cold hand to my forehead.
“Make me a drink.” I move away from her touch.
“Looks like you’ve had enough.” She points at the empty bottle on the table. “Was it full?”
“Get me a drink,please.”
Two wrinkles mark her forehead, and an exasperated huff follows. “Only if you tell me why you’re on the best route to alcohol poisoning. What happened?”
Hanging my head low, I close my eyes to stop the room from spinning. One or two more drinks, and I’ll be out. A dreamless state at last. A few hours of complete peace.
“Where’s Dalton?”
“At my friend’s house. He’s staying there tonight. I had errands to run, and he fell asleep before I got back.”
I smirk under my breath, lighting up another cigarette. Grace is no longer on the couch. How the hell did she get by me unnoticed? She’s at the bar, a fresh bottle of cognac in hand.
“Have a drink with me. Go ahead. Make yourself a drink. You’ll sleep in the guest bedroom, and come morning, you’ll take care of my hangover. It will be huge, I assure you.”
“I don’t doubt it.” She huffs out a laugh. “It’s a miracle you’re still able to articulate properly.”
“Bacardi should be there somewhere.” I wave my hand at the bar. “Layla loves mojito. Try it.”
“I’ll have a glass of wine if that’s okay. I don’t know how to make a mojito.”
“Neither does Layla. She can’t cook either. Or clean or iron a shirt, but I love her anyway. She’s... she’s flawless. Mine, so fucking mine. I can’t function without her.”
Grace grabs my hand to cuff my fingers around a glass of cognac. “Clearly. You’re a mess.” She plops down beside me, sipping on the wine, eyes closed, I think. It’s hard to tell when there are currently three of her sitting beside me. “I envy her,” she says quietly.
