Resurrection (Wesson Rebel MC Series Book 3) (3 page)

Prophet

I stare at the bathroom door Vita disappeared behind. The silent woman with hazel eyes full of fire bothers me. The shock that lined her oval-shaped face followed swiftly by hope the first time we met, stirred the demons I keep in a cage. The freckles that trail across the bridge of her nose are charming, innocent in a way I know she can’t be. Not with the wicked parallel scar on her neck and the secrets she laid bare. I curl my lip up in disgust.

Didn’t I learn my lesson about women last time?

Part of me loathes her, for the memory jog. Here among Wesson, I found my true home. I can be whatever I like. No one judges me. There’s no set of hoops to jump through and no right or wrong way to do things. I put the pain of my past behind me and never looked back.

Until now.

We can run from the things that haunt us, but sooner or later, they show back up…hell bent on doing us damage.

Jewel Ritchie. The blonde beauty with brilliant sky blue eyes, delicate features, a slight petite, frame and pouty pink lips had rocked my world. She was everything I could’ve dreamed up. Born to a pair of deaf parents with partial hearing, she made the tough decision to get a cochlear implant, placing herself smack dab in the middle of the hearing world and the deaf community.

I thought she understood me and loved me. I could never have guessed the type of evil she was capable of. An image of her lips twisting into a condescending smirk fills my head. I long to throw back a shot of whiskey, but I know the amber liquid can never save me from the things running through my skull.

It’s a dark, shadowy place full of pitfalls and pieces of me, I wish never existed. This woman playing the starring role in my memories is on the top of my regrets list. She laughed while my world fell to pieces. The jail cell she’s rotting in is too good for her. The best thing that came from her trial other than an admission of guilt was the annulment the judge granted me. But I would never see her dead. That would mean the punishment ended. I wanted her to suffer for the rest of her miserable life. Long sobered up, I lean my head back against the headrest and close my eyes, wishing I could stop the flow of memories.

I can’t remember the first time I understood I was different from the rest of my family. Maybe it was at the parade when I covered my ears to escape the blaring horn of the fire-truck while the four of them stood beside me, still and unmoved. Perhaps it was the trip to the grocery store where only I heard the cashier calling my mother to inform her she left her card. Whatever the particular moment it connected in my head, I always felt the divide. It might as well have been a line drawn in the sand. I can’t say it was their fault entirely. They never expected to have a child like me. Not with the odds being what they were and my three siblings being deaf. Then I popped out, a surprise in more ways than one. One foot in two worlds, I was forced to choose. I did for her— I chose wrong.

The memory of when I met pure evil disguised as an angel fills me with unease. I can recall it, like it all just happened yesterday…

… I power-walk toward the building, cursing my job for keeping me late, yet again.
Filming the videos for the new class we would be launching at the college were taking longer than anticipated. It’s exciting being a part of what felt like real progress. For the first time, our small town could be considered downright progressive. It’s a victory I relish, after growing up in one of the two deaf families in our tiny community. My legs eat up the concrete and I shift the messenger bag on my shoulder. Something solid knocks me off course. I stumble, right myself, and reach out to do the same to the person who’d collided with me like a bumper car.

“I am so sorry. I wasn’t paying attention to where I was going,” a soft voice says.

When I glance down my heart nearly stops.

The fading sunlight catches the golden strands of her long, straight hair. It flows around her round face and shoulders. Her upturned nose is wrinkled up while her brilliant blue eyes are wide and full of apology.

“It’s okay. Neither was I.” I offer her a smile and do my best not to feel completely inadequate in front of the blonde goddess before me.
Say something!
“Are you going to CODA?”

She bites her bottom lip.

I then bite the inside of my cheek, stifling the moan that threatens to creep up.

“To be honest, I’m not sure. I thought maybe, but…” She tucks her hair behind her ear and reveals a pink cochlear implant I’d missed previously. “… I’m not sure I’d fit in. The story of my life.” She gives a weak laugh.

“I think we all feel that way. That’s the great thing about CODA. There’s no judgment, just a safe place to talk things out and belong. We all know the feeling of one foot in both worlds.”

“Yeah? What about being hated by half your family for a decision you made that allowed you to hear?” she asks.

“I can’t say anyone else here has an implant. However, I can say we are a small, but loyal bunch. I can tell you we’ve felt wronged because we were born with hearing or some level of it. I think if you give it a chance, it could be good for you. I know it was for me the first time I felt like I was in a room with people who understood me.”

“Okay.”

I blink and shake my head as if to clear it. Had I just imagined her response? “I’m sorry?”

“Okay, you sold me. I’ll give it a chance. I mean at the very least, I’ll have you, right?”

“Absolutely,” I choke the words out.

“Great.” She flashes me a blindingly white smile.

My heart threatens to break out of my chest. I made her feel comfortable. She’s looking at me as a protector. It’s a unique feeling. Normally, the only person I’m defending is related to me. People seem to equate deaf with dumb. There was no way I could stand by and allow the heckling to happen right in front of my face. I offer up my arm. “Chuck Rowe, at your service.”

She giggles and slips her slender arm into mine. “Jewel Ritchie.”

“Welcome to CODA, Jewel.” I open the door, and we step through. Suddenly, life is looking a little bit brighter for me. There’s something about this woman that inspires my protective instincts…

A loud slam pulls me from my sleep and the memories fade to nothing again. I sit up in the bed and look around. The sunlight pouring into the room blinds me. Holding my hand up to shield my eyes, I blink to adjust my vision. My bed shifts. I blink again and struggle to focus on her elegant fingers.

“Rise and shine. You have twenty minutes to get ready,” Vita signs to me.

I grunt. People think silence isn’t as annoying as actual voices. They would be wrong. She’s an entirely different person this morning with her fitted black suit, four-inch pumps, and the softer shade of brown hair that suits her far better than the black. Her scar is hidden by a colorful scarf and her face is done up with makeup. Gone is the laid back girl from the farm.

Her ruby red lips tug at something low in my belly. I hate myself, but I’m not dead and she’s gorgeous. I push my body out of the bed, and she tosses me a garment bag. I stumble to the bathroom. I’m too hung-over right now to argue. After closing the door behind me, I lean back against it. It’s going to take a miracle for me to get through this. I lay the bag across the counter.

It’s for Wesson. They’ve never let me down, and I can do nothing less but come through for them.

I start the shower, slip off my clothes, and gratefully step beneath the spray. I haven’t even looked at the clothes she brought me. If her get-up is any indication, it’s going to be something stiff and constricting. The warm water chases away the lingering fatigue and grogginess. I feel like I’m walking into this half-cocked. I know nothing about organized crime, other than what I gleaned from
Scarface
and
The Godfather
. If the portrayal on screen is even half accurate, it’s scary as hell. She gave us a watered down version of the truth. Maybe it’s safer that we don’t know. I shove the rational voice in my head away.

I’m here to do a job and go back home.

As I unzip the gray bag, the past comes back to haunt me. I haven’t worn a suit since I left my old life behind. My hands tremble. It’s like putting on a uniform that represents the worst time in my life. I swallow down bile and push through the anxiety. Even the boxers, socks, and shoes she included are high quality. It’s a far cry from the jeans, T-shirts, and steel toes I’ve been wearing. It makes me wonder just how much money she’s sitting on.

Enough to kidnap someone over.

I watch the man I’d come to love disappear as I became Charles Rowe once more. The face looking back at me is older, but the eyes are positively ancient. I’ve seen too much, even before I became a prospect. Jewel’s face flashes in my mind. She laughed as they hauled her away with handcuffs. I’ll never forget the cackle. I adjust the red tie and step into the soft Italian loafers. If I do this and we save Houdini, at least one family will be reunited. It’s more than I can ever do for my flesh and blood. I cling to the thought as I brush my teeth with the travel set she left me. If nothing else, Vita is a planner. I step out looking like a movie extra.

She claps her hands.

I’m glad someone likes it.

“Perfect. From now on, this is how we will dress. Only the best and most expensive. Anything else makes us look weak or broke.”

I frown.
Who thinks like that?

“This is my world. I know it inside and out. I need you to trust me. Dallas wouldn’t have sent you with me if you weren’t smart. Not even with your ability to sign. Whatever your feelings toward me, I ask you to set them aside, and work with me. My brother’s life depends on us. He saved me and protected me all these years. It’s time I return the favor.”

“I respect that. I’ll go along with you. But that doesn’t mean you can boss me around, or I’ll do everything you want me to with blind obedience.”

“I never expected that.” She frowns.

Weren’t you?
I don’t respond to her aloud though.

“This isn’t Vita anymore. I’m Elisa Lorello. There’s a lot of rules and expectations that come along with that. Believe or not. I don’t like it any more than you do.” She rises from the bed and begins to gather her things, effectively shutting me down.

I’m fine with it. I don’t want to keep talking to her. However, there’s going to come a time when I show her how I feel about her cold shoulder.

Chapter Three

Vita/Elisa

I sip on my orange juice, wishing it had a healthy dose of champagne. The man hasn’t called since I hung up on him. Funny, I was so quick to cut him off, now I’d give anything to hear his voice again. I run my fingers through my hair and stare at the piece of paper. I’ve been using the internet to sketch out who’s left in the family. They try to keep a low profile, but in this day and age, social media is a given. There’s nothing explicit on the sites, but pictures tell a story all their own. I can see who’s hanging with who and try to decipher where their loyalty most likely lies.

Uncle Lorenzo was the second born son. It gave him a position of power. Unfortunately, it was my Aunt Giada who was born two years after my father, who got all the common sense. If she’d been born a he, she would’ve ruled our family with an iron fist and a kind heart that would have you follow her into hell. Instead, she plays the role of dutiful wife and sister. If I can convince her my side will come out on top, she’ll bite.

Prophet taps on the table and I glance up.

“What is this?” Prophet asks between gulps from a mug of coffee.

I set down my pen. “Family tree and my thoughts about them.”

“Want to give me the run down?”

I nod. “My aunt Giada.” I tap my finger on her name. “Sweetest woman you could ever know. But don’t let her heart fool you. She’s strong, shrewd, and carries a lot of power of her own. She played princess to my father’s prince for a long while when Papa ruled. They know and trust her in the old families. She has two sons, Omar and Nicolas, and a daughter, Julia. They were always more interested in money and bling than the family. That might’ve changed, but I’m willing to bet they are lackeys. It’s the only reason Uncle Lorenzo would allow them to remain intact. He says jump and they ask how high, or he starts to make plans to clean house. Lorenzo has always been a hot head with a penchant for blood lust. He doesn’t ask twice, forgive, or do things peaceably.”

“He keeps his kingdom intact by filling everyone with the fear of God,” Prophet replies.

“Exactly.”

“And him?” He taps Christian’s name.

I roll my eyes. “Complete playboy. Babied his entire life, he always goes with the flow. He was my favorite uncle growing up.” I shake my head.

“Why did they let this happen?” he asks.

“I doubt they knew. Lorenzo waited until my father settled into his rule, then swept in and took out anyone he thought would protest.”

“Like who?”

It’s an honest question. The pain it causes rips open old wounds. My heart lurches. “My Papa’s brothers, and their sons and daughter. They were old school and willing to battle to the bitter end. When everyone saw they brought down the untouchables, I’m pretty sure all thoughts of protests died and they all rolled over.” I shake my head.

I can’t blame them. Maybe if we hadn’t been on the receiving end of the axe, I would’ve done the same.

“How can you know who’ll go for your pitch?”

“I can’t.” I shake my head. “I’m going with my gut.”

“That serve you well in the past?”

I want to slap the smart-ass expression off his face. “You don’t have to like me, but you will respect me. I can’t risk going in there with you and looking weak. They’ll go for the jugular. I know Dallas has arranged for us to have men from the chapter here in Philly, but right now it’s just you and me.”

“Aye, aye, captain.” He salutes. “Mind telling me what your pitch is?”

“A man like my uncle is messy and abrasive. That’s a lot of resentment built up over the years. The old heads don’t like attention drawn, and with Lorenzo, I can say without a doubt, his dealings are coming back to haunt him. Everyone can be bought if you know the right thing to offer.”

“So, you plan on coming in like Lucifer and tempting them with the apple?”

“I’ll do whatever I need to, Chuck.”

He scowls at the nickname. “I’m supposed to be your what? Manservant?” He snorts.

“Interpreter, trusted friend. The only things they understand are sex and family. They’ll assume you’re sleeping with me and that you’re in it for a piece of the empire.”

He flinches.

The response stings more than it should.

What have I done to this man that’s got him so disgusted?

I ignore the intense desire to touch my scars. Thanks to the cover-up I applied on the flight, the survivor’s brand is hidden.

“Should I call you mistress then and make it easier?”

“Are you determined to make this as difficult as possible? I have enough pressure on me as it is. You want to spit out what the problem is, so we can hash it out?”

“I told you, I don’t like women like you,” he signed slowly, like he wanted me to feel the hurt that came with each word.

The disdain in his eyes would’ve killed me if it was a weapon. “Women like me?” I shake my head.
Deaf women
? “What does that even mean?”

“Deceitful liars with pretty faces.”

Pretty faces?
The statement is a backhanded compliment. “And you would do differently in this situation?”

His brow furrows and he glances away.

Ignoring him, I return to my sheet of paper. I need to guess right on this one. I continue to surf the web, wondering vaguely how the hell Dallas had managed to pull this plane and what his associates in Philly will be like. I need more than muscles. I need the semblance of class. Even our dimwit lackeys have expensive suits, shoes and a polish, mostly thought to be for the wealthy. It fits our “businessman” exterior.

Before I know it, the plane is landing and I’m looking at Pennsylvania. My stomach clenches as we set down on the landing strip in Atlantic Aviation. The private airport is all but dead. The blocky two story white building with blackout window is a ghost on the horizon, heralding my return to the city I once fled with nothing but the clothes on my back and a lifetime worth of psychological damage. I clutch the arms of my seat as crippling fear and doubt sweep in like a storm hovering on the horizon. The adrenaline that kept me moving forward is no more than fumes and I’m back in the lion’s den.

I have to do this. This is for Ira.

I can’t bear to think of him as Matteo right now. It’s a title we left behind with the reapers who tried to take our souls down to the underworld. Images of my brother through our life flash through my brain. Growing up, we were two peas in a pod. He had the patience of a saint when it came to his clingy little sister. He patiently put up with all my growing pains, held me when I had my first heartbreak, and made up for the constant absence of our father.

For him, there’s nothing I can’t do.

The door opens and I get myself together. Unbuckling my seatbelt, I stand and grab the medium-sized designer luggage. I turn to look at Prophet and pause. “We are the top of the food chain. Remember that. Everyone else is a non-factor. We run things, fear nothing, and laugh at those who try to threaten us. This is all a game of chicken, and no matter what, we need to be the car barreling toward the other one until it jerks out of the path of our vehicle.”

He stands a little taller. His brilliant blues eyes grow shuttered, his face closes off, and he gives me a curt nod.

He’ll do.

Twenty minutes later, we’re in a rental car on the way to a location I hope is still valid. My father was a paranoid bastard. We had a number of offshore accounts, safe houses, and off the grid bug out locations. He swore by places to get a new identity, cash, and a car. There’s no way Lorenzo found them all. We worked at keeping them between the four of us to keep them reliable. Rats in families aren’t as uncommon as you’d think. Especially now, when the old school code has been broken wide open and we’re all doing our best to breathe life into a crumbling culture.

I round the corner, constantly glancing in my rearview mirror for signs of someone following us. The hard part about driving is the inability to sign. Maybe that’s a blessing. We continue to drive as I circle around, take back streets and double back. I turn the trip into an hour and a half, but it’s worth it when I pull into the side driveway of the old brick two-story home. In the back, there’s a massive structure that holds what I’m looking for. After turning off the ignition I step outside. I can remember my father drilling this location into my head. It’s the closest to our old home, but we never had a chance to regroup and come back at Lorenzo. Not with all the medical care and therapy I needed, just to function normally.

The painful road to communicating with sign language is imprinted into my brain. When you lose your main way of conversing suddenly, it’s crippling. You can’t express yourself because no matter how you write it, there’s no tone or hint of intention. It took weeks of pouring over books, videos, and later, a tutor before I could speak freely with my brother again. All that time he spent nurturing me, he should’ve been rallying for a comeback. He lost his rightful position for me. And now, can get it back.

I dig into my leather purse and pull out the set of keys that make me want to cry. The ‘best daughter’ key chain is a reminder of how amazing my father truly was. I feel Prophet’s eyes on me. It makes me resent him. These are private moments. Not something I want to share with anyone, let alone someone who hates me for what another woman did. “Wait here.” I hold my head high as I walk to the garage and open the padlock. The rusty lock whines and I use all my strength to make the key turn the tumbler. It gives with a heavy clank. The chains rattle as I pull them free.

The building is at the end of a long drive, set off from the road. I doubt anyone has been by in ages. I step inside and spy the four covered cars. They’re all black, nondescript sedans with hidden compartments in the back, near the spare tire. Identities are in the safe in the corner
. I don’t need them this time, Dad.
It’s a resurrection, not an evasion. My heels echo over the concrete ground as I walk to the car closest to me and pull off the cover. Dust flies and I turn my head, coughing. The car still gleams like it did when we waxed it last. It looks good, but I know I’ll need to put some work into it before it’ll run. I turn around and sign, “Do you know anything about cars?”

“A little, you?”

“I know enough. Please go bring the gas I brought from the station and the new battery. ” He nods, and I unlock the door with my keys. Sliding behind the wheel, I say a silent
thank you
to my father. I used to think he was insane; all the drills he made us run, the plans he had ready to put in motion at a moment’s notice. Now, I wonder if he expected this from his brother someday. Crafty bastard.

Why didn’t you do more to take him down, Dad? He should be the one in the ground, not you.

Family can be a weakness as well as a strength. I pop the hood, drop my purse in the passenger seat, and shrug off my jacket.

Prophet returns and raises an eyebrow.

“I’m not afraid to get my hands dirty,” I sign with a huff.

He smirks and I roll my eyes. He thinks he has me all figured out and it pisses me off. I use the anger to fuel me. It’s easier than thinking about the issues that steal the wind from my sails. We work well as a team when we’re not talking. I remove the battery and begin to spray the ether into the carburetor. Satisfied, I straighten. “Okay, put in the gas and we’ll give it a try.”

He nods.

If ever a miracle was going to happen… I crank the engine. It sputters, but catches.

He looks impressed.

I grin.

Never underestimate a Lorello.