Wickedly Twisted

Dockworkers

Eros

The dockworkers' union boss sits across the table with his right-hand man and his lawyer, and they look like a couple of smug assholes. They traded in their Carhartt jackets and double-knee jeans for Polo shirts and khaki pants, and I'd bet my left ventricle that they're headed out to play golf when we're finished.

The whole blue-collar worker thing only means something when it comes time to convince the rank and file to fall in line.

"We've had a long and profitable friendship," I say and study the main boss, a guy named Owen Grady with a ruddy complexion and a squashed face like a gourd three weeks past Halloween. He looks out of place in the dining room of the Drake, but looks aren't everything. Grady's a player, and a good one. "I'm hoping we can continue that way."

"I agree, Eros," Grady says and sips his coffee and nibbles on his wheat toast. Fucker must have a bad heart or something. I catch him eyeing the bacon on his lawyer's plate like a dope fiend. "You've been good to the dockworkers and we don't forget that."

"But?" I glance between the men. His lackeys look uncomfortable, but Grady only sits forward.

"But we've gotten some good offers recently, and I'm a businessman. I have to do what's best for my people, which I know you understand." His smug smile makes me want to crack his knees in half.

"Of course," I say and hold back from saying, you're doing what's best for you, f*****g scum-sucking shithead. "It's only that sometimes the lowest bidder is not always the best bidder, as you're well aware."

"Very true, and out of an abundance of respect for you and your organization, I took this meeting this morning. I would love if we could continue our friendship, but the terms of that friendship are going to change."

The man has the most punchable face I've ever seen, and if he didn't wield considerable power in this city, I'd crack his f*****g nose myself. He sits there thinking we're equals, but his tenure as union boss is temporary, while I plan on controlling my family for a very long time. I'll outlive this f**k, and I'll burn down everything he built when he's gone.

Instead of voicing those ideas, I gesture to Lycus, who clears his throat. "We're willing to match whatever the Italians offered you," Lycus says. "We want your continued friendship."

What we really want is for the dockworkers to turn a blind eye to the shipments we bring through their ports. We want them to shut the f**k up about the stolen goods, the counterfeit shoes and electronics, and the heaps of drugs. We want them to give our people contracts, and to happily take their cut and wet their beaks, and make everyone fat and rich.

Instead, the f*****g Italians want to swoop in and take them away from me, and Owen f*****g bootlicker Grady says he can only service one family at a time.

Bastard should be used to servicing multiple people at once with the way he loves to f**k his friends.

Grady only nods. "That would be very generous, but unfortunately, it isn't all about the numbers."

"We'll beat it," I say and clutch the edge of the table to keep myself calm. I think about Cara riding my c**k. I think about coming between her legs. I think about basically anything other than throttling this red-faced f**k. "Tell me what they offered."

"Eros, really—" he starts, but I interrupt him.

"I've been good to you, Grady. I've been good to you personally." I catch his subordinates giving each other a look, and I can tell this makes poor little Grady uncomfortable. I'd bet he didn't tell his people about the extra cash I was paying him. I bet he wasn't handing out the envelopes of kickbacks like he should've.

But instead of wilting, he sits up straighter and glares at me. Grady's a player, all right.

"Mr. Khazan," he says harshly, getting all formal on me. "It isn't about money. It's about you."

I stare at him for a beat and glance at Lycus. My underboss looks as confused as I feel. "How the f**k is this about me?"

"It's about your leadership." Grady softens and seems like he's almost pleading. "Your family's been on the brink of ripping itself to shreds ever since you took over from your uncle. Now, I won't say I miss the man, but the way you came to power—" He shakes his head, looking uncomfortable. "It was ugly business, you know that. You raised the temperature in the city and the heat hasn't died down since. The Italians are promising me stability, and you can say what you want, but that's not something you can match."

I sit back in my chair and stare at the man. He meets my gaze, the little f**k, confident in his assessment. He thinks he's beyond my reach, that I won't whisper his name to my soldiers and send them off to end his pathetic little life whenever it pleases me, but he's wrong. Nobody is above me. Nobody is outside of my grasp. The only reason he's still living is because I find him useful. Grady may be flexing his muscles now, but he's smart and doesn't give a f**k about morals, which is what I need from someone in his position. I show him my teeth in a rough smile.

"You're right, Grady, nothing was given to me. I took what I have now. And you should think about exactly how I took it before you next open your sniveling little mouth."

He shakes his head. "Threats won't work, Mr. Khazan. Really, I'm sorry. We've had a good run, but it's time for me and my people to find more solid ground."

"I am the only solid ground in this f*****g city," I say, leaning forward to stare into his eyes. "You think the Italians are going to be around five years from now? My family is Chicago. The river's in my f*****g blood. You turn your back on me, and you'll find yourself without a friend and all alone in my city sooner rather than later, and I will not feel pity when I extract everything I've always wanted from your pathetic, begging lips."

Grady's lawyer starts saying something about statutes and laws, and I tune him out, staring at Grady and thinking about all the ugly, vicious things I'm going to do, until a movement nearby catches my eye.

It's a person standing in the entrance to the dining room.

I look over and my heart skips a beat. Lycus says something but I can't hear him anymore. It's like the table receded into the distance.

Cara's standing there, staring at me.

I didn't think I'd see her again. I assumed she'd take the money and hit the road. If she's on the run, I figured she'd want to get the hell out of the city as soon as she could.

But there she is and now she's walking toward me.

And she looks f*****g pissed.

"Excuse me," I say, interrupting the union lawyer as I push back my chair.

"What are you doing, Eros?" Grady asks, looking annoyed. "We're not finished."

I hold up a hand to silence him as Cara storms over.

The whole table stares at her, but she's only got eyes for me.

The wad of cash I left for her is clutched in her right hand, unrolled and flopping as she waves it up and down.

She shakes it at me like she's brandishing a pitchfork.

"You f*****g son of a b***h," she says through her teeth. "You absolute low-life piece of s**t. I am not a goddamn w***e!"

She throws the money at me, the bills fluttering in the air, some of them falling down to rest on the heads of the union bosses.