Page 105 of Malice
“Fine. You sure you don’t want me to come in with you?” Roach asked as he lit a smoke, the little end glowing brightly.
“Naw, this piece of shit is all mine. If the fat fuck makes it out here, lasso his ass and drag him down the road.”
“Dude, I’m riding a motorcycle, not a horse. How about I just run him over?” Roach said as he leaned forward on his bike. “Still not sure why I couldn’t bring the truck. At least I could’ve had a nap.”
“Stop bitching. You sound like Mannix when he misses the next episode ofThe Young and the Restless.”
“Yo, no one is that bad, except maybe Naomi.”
We snickered as I gave the area a once over and wondered if I should’ve brought Wilder too. The cabin home was set way back from the road in the middle of the swap. This was not my usual hunting ground, and I preferred the concrete and crack houses to chase my prey. On the plus side, there were no neighbors for miles. The smell of wet foliage and rotting undergrowth mixed with the typical humid stench made me think of Louisiana. I’d had to venture out that way a few times this past year on missions for Chase or Beast since I never saw our Prez. I just couldn’t get used to the brackish smell that permeated everything around the Mancini Mansion. I had to give it to the Mafia family, though. They sure did know how to treat a guy right.
Cracking my neck, I revved my bike and wheeled into the driveway. I could have walked in, and that would’ve been a fuck load quieter, but I wanted to take him by surprise in a different way.
As I suspected, the sound of the bike drew Jim out of the house with a large rifle in hand. I pulled up beside his truck and cut the loud engine. My eyes skimmed over the shitty cottage-style home and any possible security system. There were no cameras that I could see and only a light on his porch.
“Who the fuck are you?” Jim called out as soon as the engine died.
A smile spread across my face. “Fuck, it is good to see your face, Jim. It’s me, Kai,” I said, leaning on the handlebars. I really could have a career in acting because all I could picture was ripping his balls off with my bare hands.
My gun was inches from my fingers, and they flexed and tingled, ready to grab it and shoot Jim where he stood. It would be quick, clean, and easy, but I wanted more than his death. I wanted answers. The rifle remained trained on me, but when I continued to smile, Jim turned the gun up.
“Kai? As in Kai, who used to be at Dave’s?” he asked, a sheen of sweat breaking out on his forehead. His hands gripped the rifle tight enough to see the slight shaking from where I sat. The look of shock on his face told me he didn’t know about Nick and Irene yet. That was good, very good.
You’re going to be more than nervous before this night is through.
“Yeah, man. Took me forever to find you.” I looked around at the surrounding trees and swamp. “No idea how you like to live out here with all these gators.”
“What are you doing here?” Jim asked.
I let my smile fall and replaced the look on my face with shock.
“Jim, I came to have a beer like old times. It’s been forever, but our talks in the garage are some of my best memories.” Lifting my leg over the back of the bike, I kept my eyes trained on his hands. Walking over to the six stairs that led up to the porch, I stopped with my hand on the railing. “I can go if you want. I honestly thought you’d be happy to see me,” I said and rounded my shoulders, hoping that I gave off a disappointed look.
The sound of the gun’s safety being kicked into place was music to my ears, and the part of me that loved to kill smiled in the back of my mind.
“Wow, Kai. Sorry, man, I’m a little jumpy living out here. I don’t get many visitors, and you’re the last person I expected to see.”
Jim smiled, and it was like being transported back in time. He had the same dopey expression that had always set everyone’s mind at ease. It was the look that had sat in the garage, told stories, and let me have a beer even when I was underage. At the time, it felt like he was a cool uncle and the type of man I could’ve told anything, including my biggest fears. Ending up just like my father had always been at the top of my list.
I walked up the steps, and Jim did the same stupid dance he had when I was a teen. He got low and wiggled back and forth as he held his arms like a linebacker. The fucker wanted a hug, and I mirrored his pose and laughed as we embraced. The moment he touched me, the anger burning inside me rose, and I had to force myself to keep the smile on my face. My mind screamed that he’d touched Raine. He’d touched what was mine. He'd put his filthy cock in her. I planned to take it off.
“What the hell are you doing here?” Jim asked, pulling back and squeezing my arms as if he hadn’t been involved in sending me to jail. Like he hadn’t attacked Raine. My jaw twitched with the images my mind kept replaying on a loop, but I managed to hold the smile.
“I came to visit. I got out a little while ago, but it’s been tough getting back on my feet,” I lied and stuffed my hands in my jeans pockets. “I’m just getting around to reconnecting with the few people that I considered family,” I said, laying it on thick.
He swallowed, and I saw a glimmer of something in his eyes. Regret, maybe. He could regret all he wanted, but it hadn’t stopped him from doing what he’d done or ever coming forward to have my name cleared.
“Yeah, man…Listen, I’m really sorry I didn’t visit you in prison,” Jim said, rubbing the back of his neck.
“I won’t lie. That hurt. Dave and Irene washed their hands of me, and I had no one. I thought you might visit, but I gave up hope after the first year,” I said. That wasn’t a lie. I hadn’t known Jim was involved, and I’d kept hoping someone I thought was a friend would show up to see me.
Lifting a shoulder, I let it drop. “I’m hoping to reconnect, have a beer, and then head out. I’m leaving Florida. There are too many bad memories.”
“Fuck, man. I’m so sorry. Come on in. Let’s have a beer,” Jim said, turning to the screen door and yanking it open.
I stalked him inside, my eyes searching every corner of the small home. There was a mounted gator head on one wall and pictures of Jim fishing and holding up a huge fish he’d caught. There was a particular picture that caught my eye as Jim stepped into the kitchen. The wall heading into the living room had a framed photo of Jim, Dave, and a guy I didn’t know on a hunting excursion. It looked to be somewhere like Africa, based on how they were dressed and the boar at their feet. It wasn’t the boar that held my attention. It was the face of the man with the same tattoo on his hand. There he was in a color photo, as he held a gun and smirked for the camera. This had to be Frank.
“Here you go,” Jim said, handing me one of the bottles.
