Scars and Secrets (Loose Ends Book 1) Page 3

  “Hold off on Iowa. We ready for extraction?”

  “On your go,” he sent back.

  “Tomorrow?”

  Leaving an identity behind was the worst for Van. He got to be himself again. Donovan Cintron had the worst kind of luck. The worst kind of demons. He didn’t want to be that guy, but his time was up.

  Again.

  He took a breath. Typed, “Yes.”

  Chapter Two

  Coney Island was dreary as fuck.

  Levi Nieto grimaced as he walked along the pavement, hands shoved into the pockets of his heavy jacket, shoulders hunched. He’d been at the condo overlooking the boardwalk for all of three days and already he had cabin fever. He’d done his best to say inside, hidden, because someone wanted to hurt him. Sullivan Black thought that threat was serious enough to send Levi into hiding. But he’d gotten tired of staring at the walls, tired of the silence, and ventured outside. Except there wasn’t anything out there to see. Just the pitiful ocean, ghostly streets and him.

  Hating it all.

  This wasn’t where he wanted to be. He was missing everything, especially the life he’d struggled to put together back in Seattle. Building anything had been rough going for the past seven years, but he’d remained in Seattle the longest. Always running, always moving, moving. This was his life.

  Hiding.

  People he didn’t know, who didn’t know him, were coming after him. For something he had no part of. A fucking list. Someone put his name on a list and suddenly he’s on the move once more. Running and hiding like a goddamn kid on the playground.

  He was exhausted.

  Mentally. Physically.

  If he had a choice he’d have given up a long time again. But he didn’t just have himself to worry about.

  He’d never been to Brooklyn before Sullivan Black escorted Levi to this place. Closest he’d come while living in Philly was fucking a man who lived in Brooklyn. Juan Pablo Castillo was the reason he was here now. He’d made it so Levi could hide out here, with bodyguards around him he couldn’t see. They hadn’t seen each other or spoken in a long time, so Levi had no idea how his former lover was, but he still trusted Pablo with his life. Still trusted Pablo to protect him.

  It hadn’t been the easiest thing to do, given Levi’s history, but he’d never once regretted it.

  He had one regret. The FBI agent he’d married.

  Donovan was the reason Levi was here now. The fallout from the worst mistake he’d ever made kept coming. The debris would not stop piling up, as did the anger in Levi. He’d made strides over the years, sure, but being thrust right back into this shit didn’t help at all.

  He quickly shied away from thinking about it. Dwelling on it only took him to places he dared not revisit. A candy store caught his eye and he slowed his steps. Candy wasn’t normally a staple, but the pretty sign, in both English and Russian, piqued his interest. A few months after he’d turned ten he’d been placed in with a foster mother who spoke fluent Russian. That was a happy time, being placed in that house.

  He’d met Gia there. His first love, and the mother of his child.

  Fuck. Don’t think about Gia.

  Before grief could numb him, Levi pulled the door open. A bell tinkled when he stepped over the threshold of the small shop. The sweet smell hit him at once, making him smile. The place was stacked, floor to ceiling with sweets. He strolled around, browsing. There were candies from all over the world; Japan, the Caribbean, Europe, and of course the US. He bought a couple bags of Russian chocolate and toffee then brought it up front to check out. Since no one manned the counter, he pressed the bell near the cash register.

  A guy strode from behind a curtain of beads that led to a back area. His lips were red and swollen. Neck too. Why his lips were the first things Levi noticed he had no idea. He was tall, guy behind the counter. Gorgeous, but dangerous if that glint in his eyes had anything to say about it. His face was pierced. Brow, bottom lip and the tattoos were everywhere.

  Goddamn.

  Eyes a gorgeous mish-mash of blue, gray and green looked Levi up and down. “Hello.”

  “Uh.” Levi cleared his throat. “Hi.”

  The guy grinned. He wore a black t-shirt stretched at the front as though someone had fisted it and pulled. The counter was low enough for Levi to see he also wore faded jeans—sans a belt—that rode low on his hips, exposing skin.

  Levi flushed when the guy caught him staring and grinned with a raised eyebrow.

  “Uh. I’m getting these.”

  The black ring—looked like tungsten—on the other man’s ring finger declared him off limits. Not that Levi was interested. He had a penchant for looking.

  “You’re new,” the man said as he rung him up. “Haven’t seen you around these parts before.” The unspoken question rang loud in his voice, making Levi frown.

  “How would you know I haven’t been in Coney Island before?” And why did that even matter?

  “What’s your name?” The guy held on to Levi’s candy, face serious as he watched Levi.

  “Levi. What’s yours?”

  He walked around the counter, through the gate and over to Levi. This close Levi had to admit dude was intimidating as fuck. He smelled like the candy he sold. Also Levi could be wrong, but it looked as though there were fingerprint marks around the guy’s neck.

  “I know everyone around these parts,” the guy said softly as he leaned close, crowding Levi who took a step back and found himself pressed up against the glass case. “That’s my job.” Fuck, but he smelled like sex, too. Sex and candy. Levi inhaled him. “So I know you’re new.” He dropped his gaze to Levi’s lips.

  “You haven’t told me your name.”

  “Tell the man your name, Rush.” Someone spoke from behind the counter, over Levi’s shoulder. Footsteps echoed then another man appeared.

  This one was just as tall, African-American with dark skin, bald head and eyelids riding on the low side. His lips were swollen too, and much like the pierced man taking liberties with Levi’s personal space, the newcomer exuded power, confidence and danger from every gorgeous pore.

  Levi knew men like these.

  He’d married one.

  “Rush?” He addressed the younger man still too damn close for his peace of mind. “That’s your name? You own this place?”

  “Dima Storm-Zhirkov.” Tatted and pierced guy winked at him with a lick of his lips. “Coney Island is mine.”

  What did that mean?

  “Xavier Storm-Zhirkov.” The newcomer nodded to Levi. “Dima is mine.”

  They were a couple. Married. Levi pursed his lips and nodded.

  “Where are you staying, Levi?” Dima asked. The mildly curious question was anything but, somehow Levi knew that.

  “How does that concern you?”

  “In case you don’t stay around long enough,” Dima said in a low tone. “You should know. Nothing and no one comes through Coney Island without my knowledge or approval. I knew about your arrival before you and the Fed drove up.” He smiled, a gesture that chilled Levi’s blood. “And half of the men outside protecting you from whoever’s gunning for you? They’re mine. I’m the reason the Fed was allowed to come through, and leave. Alive.”

  Holy shit. Where the hell had Sullivan brought him? This was Pablo’s hideaway spot, in the midst of what, gang territory? “I don’t—” He sidestepped and found his exit blocked by Xavier. “I don’t want any trouble.”

  Dime laughed. “Of course not. You’re alive” He touched Levi’s cheek with a tattooed finger. “You’re no trouble.” His voice dropped an octave. “At least not that kind.”

  “You flirting with the man, Rush?” There was a barely any hint of curiosity in Xavier’s voice as he addressed his husband. Those two communicated with silence, a connection Levi didn’t know he envied until this point.

  “Maybe.” Dima’s hand stayed on Levis face, but his gaze was on his husband. Everything about the two of them, their intensity, reminded
Levi of another time, another place, and another man.

  They’d been like this, he and Van. The shit they got up to felt like another world.

  “I have to go.”

  “Not so fast.” Dima’s eyes burned when they rested on Levi’s face. “Stay a while.”

  “Yeah.” Xavier was at Levi’s side, closer now, their shoulders brushing. “Stay a while.”

  But Levi wouldn’t. The two of them hit too close to home for him. He needed air.

  “Thanks for the candy and the protection.” He lifted his chin. “And for not killing the Fed. Or me.” He ducked under Dima’s arm and strode to the door, escaping onto the sidewalk with a loud sigh. He didn’t run back to the condo, but fuck if he didn’t power walk the short distance. His fingers shook as he punched in the code to enter the building, and once he was safely inside the elevator headed up to the condo, he dropped to the floor.

  He shouldn’t be here. This wasn’t his world, the danger, the fear. Especially the fear. Fucking Dutch had blackmailed him onto a list that now held Levi’s life hostage. And for what?

  The elevator dinged open when it reached the penthouse floor, but Levi didn’t get up immediately.

  “Yo. Yo. Yo.”

  The words registered first then the Timberlands. Levi’s lips curved before he brought his gaze from those boots to the face of the man grinning down at him from just outside the elevator doors.

  “Mateo.”

  Mateo Oliveros winked. “’Sup, Levi?” He looked the same, effortlessly sexy, but still untouchable in that uniquely street way he never apologized for. His light brown skin were courtesy of biracial parents—a Caucasian father and Latina mother—he’d told Levi all those years ago. With twinkling dark eyes and dark hair, Mateo wore a gray long-sleeved t-shirt and sagging jeans tucked into the Timbs. Levi also knew that under those clothes Mateo’s skin was covered with colorful tattoos.

  Despite being a criminal, Levi had trusted Mateo and his friend and boss, Juan Pablo Castillo, back then. He trusted them now. After years of being fucked over by who were supposed to be the good guys, he found himself surrounded on all sides by criminals.

  He knew what to expect from them.

  “Need help up off that floor?” Mateo raised an eyebrow.

  Levi didn’t speak. He held out a hand and Mateo pulled him upright and into a hug. They slapped each other’s backs before breaking the embrace.

  “What are you doing here?” Levi asked.

  “You’re here.” Mateo slung an arm around Levi’s shoulders as they walked to the condo. “Thought I’d drop by, check in on you.” He stopped, dropped his hand and faced Levi. “You’re not okay.”

  And that was news? Levi scoffed. “I haven’t been okay for years, Mateo.”

  “Yeah.” Mateo blew out a breath. “So Pablo will be coming by to see you soon. He’s on his way back from Costa Rica.”

  “Thank you.” Levi smiled at him. “You guys. You’re just…you’re amazing.” These men didn’t know him from a hole in the wall, yet they’d decided he deserved to be protected, and they’d done it.

  Strangers.

  They treated him better than the man he’d married.

  “I’m amazing.” Mateo shrugged. “Dunno about the others.” He chuckled. “Want to meet my husband?”

  Levi choked. “You’re married.”

  “Hell yeah. Don’t act like you don’t know I’m a catch.”

  “You’re more than a catch.” Levi swallowed the pang of envy and nodded. “Yes. I would love to meet your husband.”

  Chapter Three

  Van and Dutch came face to face when his boss and a gang of agents burst into Wyatt’s bedroom. Van played his part, yelled and cursed, demanded his lawyer while Wyatt promised the FBI didn’t know who they were messing with. They were handcuffed and taken to a secure facility in blacked out SUVs. On arrival, Van and Wyatt were escorted to separate rooms.

  “Why do I need to be in Iowa?” Van asked as soon as the door closed, giving him and Dutch their privacy.

  Dutch was dressed the way he always was, suit—this one a bluish-black—and tie, face expressionless, gray eyes watchful. His skin was tanned for a man who spent more time in an office than he did in the field, and his dark hair curled at his nape. Tall and muscular, he was magnetic, compelling. More so because he didn’t know or likely didn’t give a fuck. He was a man with secrets, that Dutch. Some Van knew and a million more he didn’t. He used to like Dutch, used to respect him.

  Now Van simply tolerated him.

  “Sully came to see you,” Dutch said.

  Van stood with his back against the wall as Dutch did the same on the opposite side of the small, windowless room. “That doesn’t sound like an answer to my question.”

  Dutch regarded him like he was a petulant child. “I’m guessing he told you about the list.”

  “Someone had to, right?” Van lifted a brow. “We both know you wouldn’t have told me.”

  “Your father did it,” Dutch said bluntly.

  That revelation made Van blink. Then he laughed. “That must suck, yeah? Dear old dad being your partner and all.” When he really thought about it, that shit didn’t surprise him, not really. His father was not a man to be trusted. Dutch should have known that from jump. It didn’t even hurt him that Mark put Van’s name on there.

  But for Levi’s name? The old man had to die.

  “He wants to see you.” Dutch pushed away from the wall. “He gets you, and in return he’ll pull the list. Destroy it.”

  “Ah.” Van nodded. So that’s what was in Iowa. “I’m the sacrifice.”

  Dutch didn’t say anything, he didn’t have to.

  Van tossed a gold lighter onto the table between them. It was a lighter yes, but it doubled as a USB drive. And it held all the incriminating documents he’d gotten on Wyatt Gilman. “Everything you need on Wyatt is on there.”

  Dutch made no move to pick it up, keeping his gaze on Van. “You plan on going to New York?”

  “You plan on trying to stop me?” It didn’t matter to Van that Dutch knew what Van would or wouldn’t do where Levi was concerned.

  “Is that a good idea?”

  Van went up to him, got in his space and in his face, mouth curved when Dutch didn’t even blink. “You think it’s a good idea to question me when it comes to my husband, Hunter?” he asked softly.

  Dutch’s gaze didn’t waver, he remained calm as ever even though Van knew how much it fucked with Dutch that Van knew his real identity. He couldn’t wait to see the man who’d make that fucker blink.

  “Unless you want me to make your business everyone else’s business…” Van smirked. “I suggest you back the fuck off when it comes to Levi and me.” He touched Dutch’s tie, tugged on it once before stepping back. “That’s a threat, by the way. In case it’s been a minute since anyone had the balls to threaten you.” He winked. “I assume you’ve got a plane ready to take me to Iowa?”

  “Israel Storm,” Dutch said as Van turned toward the door.

  He glanced over his shoulder. “What?”

  “Israel Storm, based in Queens—”

  “I know who he is,” Van told him with a frown. He was familiar with the Jamaican drug dealer and gun runner in charge of all things criminal in Queens, New York. “Why are we discussing him?”

  A slow smile spread across Dutch’s face, a smile that didn’t survive the climb to his eyes. “He’s Mark Dulles’s son. Seraphina Cook’s son. Your brother.”

  * * * *

  Still reeling from Dutch’s bomb drop, Van stepped off the plane in Iowa. The last thing he wanted was to come face to face with his old man, especially knowing Mark was responsible for putting Levi on some Goddamn list.

  Now, his knowledge of Israel Storm didn’t help at all.

  Of course Dutch had been almost gleeful to offer up the proof when Van asked for it.

  He had a brother. A criminal, drug dealing, gun selling brother.

  Seraphina’s son,
who wanted to meet Van.

  His denial had been swift and filled with all the bitterness that ran though his blood. No way.

  But he had to meet with Mark if he wanted to keep his fellow agents safe. He put his game face on, adjusted the strap of the duffle he carried over one shoulder. He’d let Dutch be the one to communicate with Mark and iron out the details of their meet.

  All to be done in secret, because Mark Dulles had never acknowledged Van as his son. He never would. That would bring questions, and Mark was running for president on a platform of pro-family, pro-religion, pro every goddamn thing. As a republican, Van’s father did not support things like gay marriage.

  Van—his very bisexual son—was married to a man. Van would never be acknowledged. As a kid, that chafed like nothing else. As a grown man who knew better, he was fucking thankful he had no public ties to Mark Dulles. Dude wasn’t even on Van’s birth certificate. A deliberate move on Mark’s part, Van always suspected.

  He’d grown up with a mother and a father who loved him. Jacinta Rodrigues had married Arturo Cintron when Van was five, and he grew up calling that man dad. He’d earned that title and so much more. But Van had known Arturo hadn’t been the one to father him, and he’d yearned for that man. That connection. Mark Dulles showed up every once in a while to toss money at Jacinta to make sure she kept her mouth shut about their affair. The affair that happened when he’d been a congressman and still married to his third wife.

  Jacinta never shared how she and Mark Dulles met, and it didn’t matter. He’d used her, impregnated her, and bought her silence. Then he’d shown up when Van’s parents had been killed at seventeen, bringing promises, keeping Van on that leash since he’d craved his father’s love and affection. Mark put him through college with the expectation that Van would be joining the FBI since Mark was Deputy Director at that time. But Mark expected certain things.

  Chief of them were a son who could go to town on pussy all day long, as long as he didn’t go near dick. That didn’t work for Van, because he didn’t discriminate with his bed partners. He chose them based on connection, not so much on what they had between their legs.