The Kings also don’t come into our businesses. There aren’t any unspoken rules on it, but to my knowledge, none of them have crossed into Leone territory before. They are literally the Kings of New York in their mind, but they know where the lines are drawn in the sand. They’ve never tried to get into our business, and we haven’t flexed our numbers in theirs. If they’re doing so now, it makes me wonder why they came intomyplace and not one of my brothers’.
Perhaps Vinny’s plan with me being the face is starting to work. People coming to talk to the “easy” brother hoping to get a favor or something. If the Kings are looking for a friend, I can be that. Anything else and they’ll find out why Danny sent a team to my location.
They won’t show themselves, but I know they’ll have eyes on me. I wouldn’t put it past my brother to have already bugged my place when I first moved in. He does it out of love, in a messed-up, controlling way with zero privacy, but I’d rather deal with that than getting killed and no one knowing. Or worse, the killer gets away.
I’ve got plans for my death. Now that I’ve been so close to it, I have wants and desires on how I go out of this world.
Some claim they want it in battle. Others want to die old and in their sleep. I don’t really give a shit on the how, just that people knowwhodid it.
One of the guys I was with shot the asshole who shot me. I wish he hadn’t. I would have enjoyed hunting his assdown. But now I’ve got the wound of a lifetime, and that fucker gets the easy penance of death. I can’t even tell you what he looked like. The boogeyman who haunts me is faceless, nameless, and already beyond my reach.
Some might think that’s better. No face means no one to fear specifically. But also no one to hate. No one to force the anger on. Instead, all I see is nothing other than my own reflection. And the hate for them transfers to what I see. To me.
I don’t want to hate myself. But I do. And I don’t see that changing anytimesoon.
Chapter 12—Payton
Ishould be tired. Or complaining about being sore. But the pills the doctor left are working wonders. I feel as if I slept for days, but a glance at my phone shows it’s only been a few hours.
Taking my time, I rise slowly from the bed and look around, still in awe that Tommy told me to stay in his guest room. He didn’t even ask. “Instructed” is more like it. But that’s something I’m learning about Tommy. He expects people to do as he says. If he wants to know something, he’ll ask; otherwise, he just tells you what to do.
He didn’t want to know if I wanted to stay, just declared it. Which, if asked, I might have said I wanted. I tell myself that it’s only because the thought of going back to my apartment terrifies me right now. I don’t know if they’ll come back, or if they even left.
They wore masks. They could be my neighbors for all I know.
Actually, theymustbe my neighbors. They knew my habits well enough to know I’d be home. The more time I think on it, the more I realize it wasn’t random. Sure, that could have happened, but me opening the door and them immediately pushing me back inside with a punch to the face seems like more than good timing. They didn’t speak, just hit me, knocked my stuff around, took what they wanted—and left.
My hands tremble again at the thought of what happened, and I shake them out. Standing, I grab the sweater off the desk chair and put it on before leaving the room.
Water on my face. That’s what I need to shred the memory of them hitting me. I might not be able to go back to sleep, but I’d rather be awake and my defenses up than half asleep and have the nightmares bleed over into my dreams.
Voices draw my feet and my attention as I pass the bathroom and head to the end of the hallway. I only mean to peek out. To see who it is and then go back to pretending I’m not here. But I don’t. I can’t. Not after I see who Tommy’s speaking with.
I don’t make a sound, but they notice me anyway. I hear Tommy call my name, but I can’t do more than blink. My attack comes back to me full force. Not because I see them standing there, but because of what was stolen. Something I’d forgotten about until this moment. That’s what the two other men are here for. Not for a private dance, but probably to watch me bleed out.
“Payton,” Tommy calls once more, waving me farther into the room.
“I have to pee.”
One of the new men smirks. The other holds my gaze as he says, “We’ll wait.”
My eyes dart to Tommy, who twists his head quickly at the other man’s words before looking back at me. A look that has me stumbling over my feet as I hurry back to the bathroom and shut the door, locking it. Not that it’ll do me any good.
I sit on the toilet and breathe. Hyperventilate, actually. I wish I had a paper bag or something. Time seems to stall as I look at the subway tile across from me. I count the tiles, hoping it’ll calm me.
The double knock on the door has my heart pounding faster. I would question if I’m having a heart attack, but I know I’m too young for that, or so I tell myself. And despite what I want to call this, I know I can’t die from fright alone.
Another knock, and I already know who it is before I open the door.
Tommy.
His eyes take on an edge I’ve never seen before, not that I look that much at him. Just when I see him. And then I can’t take my eyes off him if I can help it.
But there’s nothing friendly about this look. A cold sweat breaks out on my shoulders.
“We should talk.”
I shake my head, but the decision is taken out of my hands when he grabs my wrists. Not hard, but there’s no way to pull free. He leads me from my self-imposed confinement into the living room and on the couch. Next to the two Kings, who I fear more than anything I’ve ever known.