Elect

Chapter Eight Chase

I’d lost my damn mind. But I panicked. I didn’t know what else to do. I didn’t see any other way out of our predicament. And I knew, I knew it was possible they’d been watching us. The photos would prove my story. Now I just had to make sure my cousin wasn’t going to shoot me and throw my body into Lake Michigan.

We walked silently to the car. I started it and headed back toward Nixon’s house. Nobody said a word. All I could focus on was the faint music of AWOLNATION in the background and Nixon’s heavy breathing—which meant he was pissed.

Great.

“So,” Tex finally said ten minutes later, “That was a rush.”

I smirked and then heard Nixon chuckle next to me. Soon all of us were wiping tears from our eyes because we were laughing so hard.

“It’s like living on a bad TV show.” I chanced it and looked at Nixon. He was still smiling, but the smile wasn’t reaching his eyes. Stressed. He was stressed.

Nixon sighed. “It’s so much worse than that. I uh”—he licked his lips and reached out to touch my shoulder—“I owe you man. I wasn’t thinking clearly—I couldn’t think. When he pulled out a lock of Trace’s hair, I just—”

“We all panicked,” I interrupted him. “I was just hoping you would catch on to what I was doing.”

“Took me a few minutes because I blacked out at first with visions of strangling you.” Nixon moved his hand from my shoulder and hit my chest.

“Ouch,” I huffed.

“Thank you,” Nixon said. “Both of you. For protecting her. For helping me redeem my family’s name.”

“Well… guess we get to torture it out of Phoenix and the rest of their family,” Tex said from the backseat. “Our mission just turned a hell of a lot bloodier.”

I pulled into Nixon’s driveway and waved at one of our men standing outside the door.

I turned off the car and faced Nixon.

“Don’t hold back,” he whispered. “When you interrogate, don’t hold back. Pull fingernails off, rip skin, use hammers; get as graphic and scary as you can. Because if we don’t figure this shit out soon—”

Trace’s grandfather was going to die. But it was so much more than that. When someone was killed—it never stopped with the boss. No; the Family normally took out the entire line. The Sicilians did a cleansing, and Trace would be included in that. She would be cleansed, just like her grandfather. And a new leader would be appointed.

One we had no control over.

Nixon sighed. “Phoenix has to know something we don’t. There was a moment…” He shook his head. “I don’t know, a moment when he seemed genuinely scared.”

“Um.” Tex raised his hand. “Who wouldn’t be scared? That was Luca Nicolosi. Rumor has it that he and his brother are still at odds from some sort of drama that happened over twenty years ago. Last time they saw each other they were both in the hospital for months.”

I looked at Nixon. He pressed his lips together and pulled the car to a stop.

“Tex,” he said without turning around, “give me and Chase a few minutes, okay?”

Tex reached for the door and paused. “You guys gonna kill each other?”

“No,” we said in unison.

“Because if you are—”

“Tex,” Nixon growled. “Go.”

“Fine, fine.” The car door slammed and again we were blanketed in silence. Shit.

Nixon pulled out his favorite antique gun and began playing with it. Hell, all I knew was that if his finger slipped it would be no accident. I leaned back in my seat and waited for him to say something. I tried to look unaffected—but Nixon only pulled out that gun when he was feeling sentimental about the person’s death. Great.

He unloaded the gun and played with one of the bullets, weighing it in the palm of his hand before loading that one single bullet back into the chamber. With his other hand he pulled back on the hammer and aimed the gun at my head. Well, shit.

“Just because you’re blood doesn’t mean I would hesitate to pull this trigger,” Nixon said, calm as a freaking sunny day. “My love for Tracey trumps my love for you—always. While I appreciate what you did tonight, I can’t seem to get over this sinking feeling that you’ve been just waiting for an opportunity this whole time, and I’ve been blind as sin while you swept in.”

I swallowed. “I guess you’ll just have to trust me.”

Nixon laughed. With the gun still pointed at my neck he leaned in. “That’s the damn problem. I trust you more than anyone.”

“Why is that a problem, then?”

Shaking his head, Nixon pulled the gun from my neck and put the safety back on. “It’s a problem because you’re my family. You’ve been to hell and back with me. If I lose you—” Nixon cursed. “You’re like a brother to me, Chase. Being betrayed by you? Well, I can’t imagine a worse fate, other than being betrayed by Trace. So how do you think it makes me feel, to put the two most important people in my life together? She loves you. I know she loves you. I know you love her. And I’m forcing you together… I can’t control what happens and in the end, if I’m betrayed… Shit, Chase, I don’t know if I could actually survive it. Do you get what I’m saying?”

“Yeah,” I croaked. “You’re scared as hell.”

“Got that right.” Nixon laughed. “But I guess if I wasn’t scared shitless, she wouldn’t be worth it, right?”

“She is.” I swallowed and paused. “Worth it, I mean.”

“It would be a hell of a lot easier if she wasn’t.”

“You’ll have to tell her tonight.”

Nixon exhaled and rubbed his eyes. “I know.”

“And then—”

“I said I know,” Nixon snapped. “Just, give me tonight, give us tonight and I’ll see about putting her in her own room next to yours, all right?”

“For appearance’s sake,” I said out loud, more to convince myself than anything.

“Yes, just in case Luca decides he wants to have a family dinner with us and we have to invite the devil into our promised land.”

“Right.”

The car fell silent again. I didn’t know what to say; I mean, what are you supposed to say? If I’d been hanging by a thread yesterday, then you can damn well assume I was hanging by thin air at this point. I would never betray Nixon—never. In that moment I decided—I would rather die than hurt my family, and I’d rather die than hurt Trace. This meant only one thing: Even if it killed me, I could no longer put myself in a position where I was lusting over Trace. Yes, we had to make it look real, but I needed to be mindless about it, just like I was mindless about killing… Right now, both of these things were my job. My heart screamed in outrage, as if the idea of ignoring its pulsating rhythmic chant of Trace’s name was a cardinal sin. But I knew it wasn’t. No, the great sin would be to give in to myself—and if that happened Nixon wouldn’t have to kill me, I’d put the bullet in my own frantic heart. It wouldn’t be worth it. There would be no justification for my actions, just a very dark future in the seventh circle of Hell.