Page 29 of Fatal Scheme

“Not in the car, Jasper,” I say softly, looking up at him through my lashes, and a sinister smile breaks out on his face, one that lets me know exactly what I’m in for.

Sex – that’s all this is.

It’s the worst lie I’ve ever told, but for now, I need to force myself to believe it in order to stay with them, to stay in their circle of trust, and most importantly, to stay alive.

FIFTEEN

JASPER

After dropping Carter off at her own apartment, Tyson and I are gearing up for a long night, but unfortunately, this won’t be the last time we have to do this in the near future, as our lives are beginning to change in ways we never thought possible.

The Masseria’s are supposed to be untouchable this side of the Hudson, but with the Ricci’s growing stronger in numbers, and desperate to steal everything my father’s built over the last twenty years, the target on our backs is growing by the day.

Protection is something we don’t take lightly, so we pick through our box of gear, strapping up accordingly by digging out a Kevlar vest, cargo pants, steel-toed boots, and a black hoodie – as well as everything I need to move like a ghost in the night, equipped with pistols, knives, and a taser, for good measure.

Tyson’s been silent since we tore ourselves away from Carter, our bubble of bliss popped with the news of work coming up, and Ty hates the bloody side of things as it is.

Even so, he knows the consequences of saying no, and understands that in order to stay alive, we have to squash these threats.

He’s on recon, happily handling all facial recognition, data entry, and manning the bluetooth connections while I’m getting down and dirty on the torture side of the operation.

We make a good team, but more often than not, he has to jump in and get his hands dirty, something I always try to take the brunt of.

He may be bigger than me in every aspect, and have the look of a cold-blooded killer, but he’s exactly the opposite, and I stand as his protector, shielding him from the things he just isn’t as cut out for.

The main difference between us is that I was trained by my father, forced to learn how to kill at a very young age, no matter the cost, and Ty’s father did everything he could to escape from this life, but ultimately, trapped them even further.

“You got this, brother?” I ask, watching as he slowly sets up his tech, an unusual pace for him as he’s always first out the door, ready to get the job over with.

“Uh, yeah. It’s just … different,” he says, and I shake my head, unsure of what he means.

“You’ve lost me,” I counter, shrugging my shoulders and attempting to read through his cold stare.

“We have something to come home to. Someone to stay alive for,” he admits, and I rest my palms on the table, his words ripping through me like a knife twisted in my back.

Carter.

As worried as she was for us, she tried to keep the positivity flowing, but Tyson’s always been more emotional than me, feeling things on a much deeper level.

“Yeah, we do. So let’s focus on the task at hand, and get back to her as quickly as possible, okay?” I pep talk him, a little differently than usual, but it’s still effective as he shakes off the funk, following me out to the car.

We load up and hit the road as the sun sets over the horizon, the sky different shades of pink and yellow while we drive down the Garden State Parkway.

The Ricci’s new alliance operates out of a small neighborhood, mostly locally owned businesses, and we set up shop in an abandoned parking lot, a little ways down the road from their main spot, a stereotypical Italian restaurant.

I swear, some of these smaller families are only in this to role play the Sopranos, but alas, I can’t blame them for wanting to get a little dirty, to try to play with the big boys who live on the main spectrum.

“Alright, I’m going to rattle some cages. Cover me?” I warn Tyson, and he only nods, placing a Bluetooth piece in his ear, handing me one, too.

“Be safe,” he says, testing the connection, and it’s perfectly set, him being my eyes as I move through the shadows.

Quickly locating the back of the restaurant, I make my way inside, looking for a dishwasher and a chef, both of them easily spotted as they work at separate stations.

In this open space, I can’t take one without the other, so instantly I have to make waves, something I was hoping to avoid.

“Hands up, both of you,” I say, my voice hushed as I hold the gun on them, my eyes switching between them to see which will be stupid enough to attempt a weapon pull.

Slowly, the chef reaches for his waistband, and we have a winner. I drop my head, pretending to be disappointed as I fire a round straight into his knee, his body dropping as I race over to stifle his screams.