Permanent Lines (29 page)

Antonio.

He walked over to where we were standing immediately; for a second, I thought we were
done for. His furrowed brows and less-than-pleased expression gave me every indication
that he didn’t want us there, but as soon as he was within arm’s length, he extended
his hand.

“Antonio Antonacci,” he said, a strong Long Island accent present. “Welcome.”

I nodded my head and shook his hand with just as firm as a hold as he did.

“Dominic Russo,” I said. “And my brother, Lorenzo,” I introduced Micah.

Micah played the part to the T. He shook his hand but also looked him over appraisingly.
We needed to appear just as weary as them. This was an illegal ring that we were participating
in, so it was imperative to show our apprehensiveness in their business.

The sides of his lips turned to a grin. I wanted to fucking wipe it off his face,
but I had to chill.
In due time, though, asshole.

“My cousin, Joey, spoke highly of you two,” he continued. “I value family and keeping
a low profile.”

“As do we,” I responded firmly.

He nodded again with that fucking smile, then raised his hand to the tables. “Feel
free to sit at Joey’s table. I’m waiting on a few others and then we’ll get started.
I look forward to taking your money.” His smile grew to a full grin.

My eyes squinted as I shot him a “we’ll see about that”
smirk. He enjoyed it, but not as much as I did.

Micah and I took the two seats farthest to the left of the table, leaving the front
and right ones open.

“Would you like to cash in, gentlemen?” Joey asked as soon as we were seated.

“Yeah, sure,” I answered as Micah and I both reached around to our pockets to grab
the cash from our wallets. I noticed Antonio still standing in the same spot as before,
still watching us. I nodded my head in his direction, pointing out that I was watching
him, as well.
Two can play at this game, fucker.

By the time Joey was passing us our chips, a new group of guys moseyed in. This group
was made up of five guys, weighing in at no less than three hundred pounds each. They
were by no means scrawny—I’d bet they never missed a visit to the gym. Now these fuckers
weren’t what I was expecting, but at least there would be more force behind their
anger to help take down the asshole when things got messy.

Antonio seemed much chummier with them than us and even a bit asswipey, too, which
meant these must be the West Coast contingent. The fact that he wanted these guys
in his ring was obvious, and to be honest, who wouldn’t? If you wanted someone backing
you up, it’d definitely be these guys, but there was something else I picked up on—Antonio
was intimidated by them. I could hear the nervousness all over his voice. No chest
raising or strong stance could wash away the shakiness in some of his words. I grinned
discreetly at Micah. He was a needy little fucker with these guys, and if they decided
to join forces with Antonio, they could put a strong backbone back into the Antonacci
ring; he needed these guys, but was scared as fuck of them at the same time. I loved
every fucking second of watching him squirm!

I was hunched over the table, elbows resting on the velvet covering, my hands together
and fingers intertwined. When three other guys took a seat next to us, I glanced down
at my watch. I knew time was of essence and these guys liked everything to work on
schedule.

The guy directly to my right noticed my gesture.

“Working by the clock?” he asked.

I looked straight at him. “Nope, just on time.”

He nodded his head. “Joe,” he said while extending his hand.

“Dom,” I greeted. “My brother, Enzo.”

He seemed friendly, but we weren’t here to make friends and we had to appear that
way. Business was at the forefront. We needed to remain confident and only here for
one reason. To win money … especially since we were going to be calling them cheaters
in a few. We took the game seriously, and that’s how we appeared.

There was no welcome speech or announcement of game rules before Joey started dealing.
This was underground, not a casino, after all. The game was established.

Before picking up our cards, Micah and I pulled the sunglasses from our pockets, garnering
most everyone’s attention.

“I like these guys!” Antonio called out from the other table as he lit a cigar. “No
bullshit. Watch out, fellas.” He motioned to the guys sitting beside us.

“Pussy glasses,” one of the guys to my right said with a low, heavy chuckle.

I tilted my head to the side and lightly shrugged my shoulders as if to say, “Whatever.”

We ignored his dig and picked up our cards. My fucking excitement was humming when
I saw what I had right out the gate—a fucking full house. I smirked before placing
my cards face down and starting the bet, pushing $200 in.

“Ahh, look at Glasses coming out big,” the same guy said, holding his cigar on the
side of his mouth, still arranging his cards.

Micah traded in two cards while the others did one or two as well. I stayed where
I was and kept my sight on the table, never looking at anyone around us. When everyone
had their cards, we laid them down, mine going down second to last. Micah had a flush,
the guy to my direct right had a three of a kind while the other one folded. The talker
grinned when he laid down a four of kind before taking the pile.

I snickered and shook my head, remembering what Maddy said—try to stay away from always
putting down matches because some perceive that as amateur.

“Snicker all you want. I just took your money,” he chuckled again.

I rested back in my chair and exhaled, acting annoyed before cracking my knuckles.

After a few hands, the talker had taken most of the piles, but I wasn’t too far behind
and the others had decent size chip piles, as well. It was by no means a shut out
so far.

Talker put down another four of kind, making me shake my head before leaning into
Micah’s ear, acting like I was whispering something.

“Problem, gentlemen?” he asked, eating right out of my fucking hand.

I licked my lips before peering over at him; he couldn’t see my eyes, but my body
language was definitely presenting my less than enthusiastic view of his playing.
It actually wasn’t hard to do or even an act. The guy was an asshole, a cocky son
of a bitch that was already rubbing me the wrong way.

“It appears luck is on your side,” I told him dryly.

His blood was beginning to boil; the veins starting to bulge from his neck made that
perfectly obvious. I wanted to smile so damn bad—this was almost too easy.

“It ain’t luck,” he said in a gravelly tone that would make any kid run crying to
their mom, causing Joey to hold the wire connected to his earpiece to his mouth and
whisper something in it.

Within seconds, I could hear Antonio stand up from his table and the click clack of
his dress shoes against the cement floor. Man, I wanted to smile. It was so fucking
easy riling these guys up. They were so fucking dumb with egos so big that it was
laughable.

Antonio didn’t say a word, only stood a couple feet behind the table, watching with
his arms over his chest. Talker didn’t like that, turning immediately.

“Need something?” he asked, glancing over his shoulder, cigar still hanging from his
mouth.

Antonio licked his lips and shook his head. “Just watching,” he said.

Talker rolled his eyes before turning back to the table. I couldn’t tell if it was
rage or humor that was consuming him at the moment. He definitely was one of those
guys that wasn’t afraid of anyone and would keep talking his shit to piss people off.
I didn’t know his power or background, the only thing that I knew was he was a part
of a West Coast ring. I would assume the West Coast contingent was just as dangerous
as the one we were sitting in.

As soon as we got our next hand of cards, Antonio stepped forward. It was intimidating
even to me.

“You ain’t gonna watch me play,” Talker said to Antonio.

“Don’t forget whose seat you’re sittin’ in.”

“I know damn well, but I don’t know this fucker,” he pointed at me, “and I don’t like
his tone.”

I stood, broad and with a no bullshit stance, making him rise too. The guy was pissing
me off, and I didn’t care who he fucking was or what we were there for. No one talked
to me like that. No one!

Antonio stepped forward, coming between us.

“Wanna dance, Glasses?” Talker asked. “Because I’d fucking love to.”

Antonio put his arm up, pushing the other guy back. Talker wasn’t okay with that,
shoving Antonio back away from him with enough force to make Antonio stumble backwards.
He moved to me next, right hooking me in the face.

I don’t think so, fucker!

My hand swept across my face, revealing the blood that was already falling on my arm.
Everything went red. I’d had enough, lunging at the guy full force, connecting with
his nose.

“Not in my cellar!” Antonio came back, trying to break up the fight that was beginning
to get ugly between me and Talker. I didn’t care. I didn’t care where I was or who
I was fighting. I had rage in me that no one could compete with. I wasn’t stopping.
I wasn’t letting down, but before I could get another punch in, Talker threw another,
but missed, hitting Antonio straight across his jaw instead.

It didn’t take more than a second before Antonio’s men swarmed, laying in punch after
punch on Talker. It was no longer my battle with him—he was surrounded, getting the
living shit kicked out of him by everyone else. This, of course, caused Talker’s guys
to jump the pile too. I took this as my opportunity to back out and let them take
care of each other. It was almost like dusting my hands clean of the situation. They
were all preoccupied dealing with the mess I started. I looked up and glared—the man
that made my skin crawl with fury was standing alone. Antonio was on target for me
to take down myself. It was like a spotlight shining down, my golden opportunity to
get revenge—to take down the fucker that hurt my girl. I didn’t care that it was against
the plan. The only face I could see was his.

Antonio was mine.

With heavy feet, blood boiling, and anger so high that even I would question my sanity,
I walked with determination, pushing aside any falling body in my way. To my side,
I could see Micah throwing punches, but he was good, like I knew he would be. I had
no worries, no reason to stop. I was balls out ready to finish what I came here for,
lifting my arm, ready to plow as soon as I was close enough.

Antonio glared at me, holding up his arm to block my punch, but stumbled back a little
from the force. When his feet were grounded again, he lunged forward like a caged
animal, ready to go. “You’re messing with the wrong guy,” he spit, hitting me in the
jaw.

I wiped my arm across my face. “You’re exactly who I want.” I held up my arm, diffusing
his block before socking him in the gut. His other arm was already coming around though,
locking around my neck, pounding his fist into my face.

He was solid and tough to go up against, but I wasn’t backing down. I wouldn’t fall
to him. I would never let him win. I wasn’t leaving or going down without giving every
last piece of myself to him … to ruin him.

We kept at it, taking blow after blow from each other for I don’t know how long. Everything
was happening so fast. Even though I didn’t feel any pain, I knew that I was fucked
up.

And then things got real.

A gunshot sounded, making me fall. I was hit, by what I didn’t know. I couldn’t move
and felt as heavy as a ten-ton tractor trailer. I was out. I didn’t know if I was
awake or even alive, but I knew I was being lifted. I was off the ground again and
feeling weightless. I was flying. I was moving in mid-air, but then hit again, head
first then body after, even hearing the hard smack on the cold floor.

Sometime after, I faintly heard, “Merrick!” It sounded like Micah, but I couldn’t
be sure. “Come on, dude … move. I can’t fucking carry you.”

I blinked my eyes again and again until they came into focus. We weren’t in the cellar
anymore, but in a room that felt like the walls were closing in. I jumped up, scared
as fuck. I heard gunshot after gunshot again and saw two guys in front of me, both
pulling each of my hands with so much force I wouldn’t be surprised it they separated
from my body.

“Fuck, fuck,” I started to mumble as my feet began to move. We were running in a hallway,
one my legs dragging and barely usable. There was a door maybe only five feet in front
of us. I couldn’t feel my body, I still didn’t know if I was alive, and I sure as
hell didn’t know what the fuck was happening. My body was weightless, my head blurred
…

I blinked again and I was in the back of a car. I was dead. I was sure of it, but
then I heard her voice, the voice that would always make my heart pump and my blood
flow.

“Baby,” spilled from my mouth with the minimal amount of energy that I had left. I
didn’t even know if it was audible, but it sounded it to me.

Her hand touched my face, giving me the first feeling of survival in what felt like
hours. She was nodding her head as tears fell from her eyes. “I’m here, babe. I’m
here,” she choked out before sniffing.

It was then that I felt pain.

“AHHH!” I yelled, reaching for my leg.

“Don’t move, babe. Please don’t move. We’re gonna get you help.”

I tried to stay still, but I couldn’t help it—my leg hurt so fucking bad I wanted
to tear it from my body.

“Merrick, please!” Amelia said through choked up tears.

“What the fuck is wrong with my leg?” I finally asked.

“You were shot.”

That fucker shot me?!

“We’re almost to the apartment, just stay fucking still.” I heard Joey say in front
of us.

“Joey.” I sat up a little. “You’re alive,” I pointed out, finally getting a visual
of where we were and who was in the car. It was the Tahoe. We were all crunched in,
Amelia and I lying in the back.