Kindred: Kingpin (The Kindred Series Book 1) Page 5
“He looks like he’s barely eighteen,” Tara furrows her brows, “And it was an accident, I didn’t know it was cocaine.”
“Bullshit. I’ve been watching you for the past ten minutes and every ‘accident’ you have results in either lots of drug or booze money wasted,” Ren snickers, “Why are you down here, anyway? You hate being here when the club is open.”
“It got lonely upstairs,” Tara tells him with a pout, “I also have nothing left to do, other than make sure no one burns this place down.”
“I’m sure given the chance, you would burn this place down,” Ren quips.
“Point taken,” Tara chuckles, “Need any help with the bar?”
“I don’t trust you not to water down everyone’s drinks,” Ren eyes her with mock distrust, “Go hover in the kitchens, I’m sure they’d appreciate the help.”
“Fine,” Tara sighs dramatically, chancing one last glance at Ren, eyes wide and pleading.
“No,” he tells her with a firm shake of the head, “You’re a menace when you’re here, I won’t let you ruin all of my nice glasses,” he pinches one of her cheeks, “But I’m glad to see that you’re feeling well enough to be messing with our customers. You’ll tell me why you looked so sad earlier,” he asks, “Over drinks?”
“Not today,” she shakes her head, “Going to see Nona’s mom with Sola. But we can do drinks tomorrow.”
“Nona’s mother?” Ren perks up inquisitively, “Mind if I tag along?”
Tara shakes her head, “I don’t mind. I’ll come get you when we’re about to leave.”
“Alright, bug,” Ren ruffles her hair, “Now run along before you break another one of my glasses.”
“It was one time!”
“And it was one very expensive glass,” Ren chastises, “Now skedaddle,” he shoos her away with his hands. Tara rolls her eyes but decides to go bother the kitchen staff, who are only too pleased to put her on dishwashing duty for the rest of the night.
When the club finally closes down at 4AM the next morning, Tara helps everyone clean up before she locks the building down. Ren and Sola are waiting for her near Sola’s car and when she walks over to them, they decide on MacDonald’s for breakfast, before they go see Nona’s mother.
“So are you gonna tell us why you looked so sad?” Sola asks once they’ve set off.
Tara sighs, expecting them to bring up the subject, “The security guard at my complex was murdered a few days ago,” Tara explains, “He was really nice and I just felt guilty, I guess.”
“Why did you feel guilty?” Ren asks from the backseat and when she looks through the rearview mirror, Tara sees that his brows are furrowed in confusion.
She hesitates. Tara hasn’t allowed herself to think of why she feels so guilty because admitting it, even to herself, would break her spirit even more.
When both Ren and Sola stare at her with expectant expressions, she takes a deep breath, “On the night he died, June came to my apartment and we had an argument… I think he might have…”
“You think he might have killed your security guard to, what, hurt you for arguing with him?” Ren finished for her.
“Something like that,” Tara mutters. She’s viewed Marv’s death as a punishment for rejecting June that night.
“Listen,” Sola sighs, “I know June’s an ass, especially to you, but he wouldn’t kill someone for something that petty. Not an innocent man,” Sola shakes her head.
“Sola’s right,” Ren adds, “I know you have reason to think otherwise, but June isn’t cruel like that. I’ve known him for at least ten years now, he wouldn’t.”
Tara grimaces at their words. She knows the June they know wouldn’t be capable of killing someone to hurt her, but the June she knows would be. She can’t bring herself to see him in the light they see him in.
“I hope you’re right,” Tara says instead, choosing not to argue with them.
No one says anything for a while.
Soon, they find themselves at Mrs. Pivick’s house, where Nona used to live. When they knock on the door, an elderly woman answers and immediately greets them with a smile. Tara has visited the old lady almost every week since she’d found out about Nona’s mother, and both Sola and Ren were close friends of Nona’s.
They’re ushered inside and given a plate of biscuits while Mrs. Pivick brews a pot of tea. They spend a few hours with her, helping her tidy around the house and making sure she has enough groceries.
Mrs. Pivick shows them an album she found lying in a cupboard, opening it up to photographs of a young Nona. They all try to hide the tears they wipe away and Tara feels angry when she thinks of this old woman, having to bury her child. Suddenly, June seems very capable of killing an innocent man and Tara knows she’s not the only ones who think so, judging by the uneasy looks on Sola and Ren’s faces. They part ways soon after, to prepare for the next night’s shift.
CHAPTER FIVE
“There’s a reporter snooping around,” June snaps as he walks past Tara’s tiny white desk, “Take care of it,” he orders, striding into his inner office.
Tara lifts her head at the sound of his voice, eyebrows pulled together in displeasure, “What exactly do you want me to tell him? ‘Oh, sorry sir, you must be mistaken. The undercover drug cartel you’re looking for is down the road, to the left.’”
He glares at her from the open door, eyes darkening dangerously. His arm brushes passed his thigh, a seemingly casual gesture, that is, until Tara hears a solid thunk coming from his desk. She looks down to find his favourite black pistol sitting innocently atop a stack of papers.
He doesn’t say anything, simply lets the threat speak for itself. Tara hates how her hands start to shake from where they’re placed atop her laptop keyboard, hates how her heart rate kicks up and how her lower lip wants to tremble in fear.
Gritting her teeth, she pulls up the relevant file. The man’s name and background is already keyed into the system, a courtesy of Ivan their tech guy, and she has no problems finding his contact information. She knows the drill; lead them in the wrong direction or bribe them with enough money to make them shut up. June hates having to kill people, hates the complications it brings and only uses it as a last resort. She silently hopes that she can attempt to sway this reporter and possibly save his life.
There’s a bitter taste in her mouth when she ends the call and the reporter acquiesces to stay silent for one hundred-thousand dollars. It’s steeper than the usual amount but nothing her boss isn’t willing to pay. She’d hoped this reporter would have been the one to finally take down June’s makeshift empire and silently accepts the bitter disappointment as she stands to give him the news.
He doesn’t even look her way, tongue shoved down the throat of one of the pretty tall blonde models that visits regularly. Tara doesn’t even remember seeing the woman walk in. She wants to be shocked but the scene in front of her is one she’s been subject to on one too many occasions. Grimacing in disgust, she mumbles that she’s leaving and shuts the door before the questionable sounds coming from the both of them get any louder.
She makes quick work of shutting down the laptop and packing away her things, slinging her handbag over her shoulder and rushing out the office in the heels she’s forced to wear.
The trek to the elevator feels longer than it usually is and by the time she makes it to the bar on the ground floor, she’s almost on the verge of tears. Loud music pumps through speakers from all around her and the entire room is fogged from the too-sweet smelling smoke that pours in near the dance floor. It’s around nine-thirty, a Friday night, and the usual weekend night rush is starting to crowd the place.
All around her, people sit in expensively comfortable booths as they watch the dancers on platforms all around the club. She watches a group of middle-aged men whistle loudly when Sola spins around the pole in the middle of the stage. Bile rises in her throat as she hears one of the men whistle again, beckoning the dancer to him with a flick of his wrist.
She can’t bring herself to watch because she knows Sola can’t refuse a customer, so shuts her eyes and hurries behind the bar, spotting a tall man clad in a plain black suit.
Ren doesn’t spot her immediately, is too busy mixing an interesting concoction for the man seated across the bar. Her friend smiles cheerfully, the baritone of his voice carrying over to her as Tara hears him converse with one of the customers.
It’s only when he turns to face her that she sees that the smile doesn’t reach his eyes. He takes one look at her face and sighs deeply, pulling her into a tight hug.
“Rough day?” he asks, reaching past her to grab one of the alcohol bottles from the shelf behind her.
“An understatement,” she mutters bitterly, “Wanna go out for drinks when you’re finished with your shift? I need at least half a bottle of vodka in me to forget about this horrible day.”
“I get off at one, you and Eric okay with that?” Ren asks. They’ve formed a sort of habit over the past few weeks, Tara coercing Eric and Ren to go out with her on the rare days that she actually leaves the club early.
“Yeah,” she mumbles tiredly, “We’ll meet at the usual.”
The usual is a quiet bar near town, a place she and Eric used to go to when she was with the media publication. The place is more of a diner than a bar but they serve decently cheap alcohol that’s drinkable, so they make due. They’re already seated at the usual booth, four bottles of cider in when Ren arrives.
Tara is midway through another petty rant about June the slave driver; Eric nodding in agreement all the while, an angry frown drawing his eyebrows together.
“I don’t know why you just don’t quit,” her friend chuckles after Tara has exhausted herself, “You hate it there.”
“The pay is really good,” Ren chimes in, knowing full well the reason Tara can’t quit and why she can’t tell Eric. They order more drinks and talk about their respective days.
Eventually, she’s drunk enough that the events of a few weeks ago don’t seem as traumatic as they usually do. Eric’s arm winds around her waist as she leans into him for warmth and she spots the warm glint in Ren’s eyes.
“You should take her home,” he says in a seemingly casual tone, “I think she’s had enough.”
“Yeah, I think so, too,” Eric chuckles as she nuzzles into the crook of his neck, “See you,” he says to Ren as he stands and tugs on Tara’s arm.
Her apartment isn’t too far from the bar they were at so he opts to walk her home, hoping the cool air would help sober her up. She complains about the cold air freezing her fingers, so he grabs her hands in his and shoves them into the pockets of his coat, “You’re so fussy,” he quips playfully.
“Shut up,” she giggles but her eyes glisten warmly and he feels his heart jolt when she looks at him through her lashes.
They stop outside her apartment building but she makes no move to pull away, “I miss you,” she frowns as she stares up at him.
“I miss you, too,” he mutters in a barely there voice. He knows she’s flirting but doesn’t understand why. Throughout the many years he’s known her, she’s always been adamant on never crossing that line with him, always waiting for her kindred to find her. He doesn’t know what’s made her change her mind – has noticed the way she covers up her Mark now when before she’d worn it proudly – but he doesn’t care when she looks up at him with an expectant expression. He leans his head, eyes shutting closed and lips almost on hers, only to be stopped by someone harshly clearing their throat.
Eric looks up to spot a man clad in a plain black suit, leaned against the side of the building. He recognizes him instantly as June Park, Tara’s boss, and his eyebrows rise curiously.
“Who the hell are you?” June hisses angrily, “And what exactly do you think you’re doing?”
For a moment, Eric is caught off guard. He stares at June dumbly, “I’m sorry?”
June cusses, striding up to them purposefully and tugging Tara away from him. She goes willingly, eyes widened in surprise as she stares at her boss.
“What’re you doing here?” she asks in a small, guilty voice.
June doesn’t answer, simply tucks her under his arm as he shoots a scowl at Eric, “I’ll take her upstairs.”
Eric is taken aback, eyes wide as he stares at them, “I’m not leaving her with you, who knows-”
“Eric,” comes Tara’s soft voice, “It’s okay. Please go home.”
He glances from her to June before sighing dejectedly and nodding his head. He watches June’s smug expression as he ushers Tara up the stairs and into the building, the new security guard letting them through without a fuss.
The walk up to her apartment is filled with a tense silence and Tara doesn’t know why June is here but she doesn’t want to find out, mind flashing back to a few weeks ago when he was last in her home.
Her hands scramble with the keys, trembling in fear as she struggles to open the door. June huffs in irritation and pulls them from her harshly, opening the door and pushing her inside. She stumbles into the dark hallway, curling in on herself when she sees that he steps into the apartment with her.
He crowds her up against the wall, looming over her as she visibly flinches.
“What?” he scoffs, “You’re okay with opening your legs for that shitty reporter but not for me?”
She doesn’t reply, only continues to tremble between his outstretched arms.
“You’re no better than the whores at the club but you like to pretend that you are,” he chuckles cruelly, “Always sneering at them on stage. What? Are you just jealous of them? Should I have made you one of my dancers instead?” Tara doesn’t reply, simply stays silent as she trembles against the wall.
A beat of silence passes and June scoffs, “Pathetic,” he says before pulling away, “If I see you speaking to that reporter again, I’ll kill him.”
He doesn’t say anything else, simply leaves, pulling the door shut behind him.
The next day, Tara walks into work with a throbbing headache. She expects more snide comments from June and is surprised when he barely looks at her. It puts her on edge and she fully expects something horrible to happen before the day is over.
Lucas keeps shooting her worried glances every time she stands to hand over papers to her boss.
“What?” she huffs after the seventh time his eyes look away quickly.
Lucas doesn’t reply immediately, eyes flitting to June’s closed door before resting on her again, “He’s really angry today,” he tells her in a quiet voice, prominent brows crowding together as his jaw clenches. He’s worried, openly so, and for her. It makes her feel oddly touched, “Just don’t push him too much.”
Tara gives him a small smile, “Thanks, I’ll be careful,” she walks over to her desk to continue with her work, Lucas a comforting presence near June’s door.
June walks out of his office an hour later, dark gaze falling over Tara, “Come on,” he tells her before beckoning for Lucas to follow too. Tara and Lucas share a look before rushing after him.
It’s only when she’s in the car, seated next to him that June tells her they’re going to a meeting with his capos. She’s surprised at the news; usually June keeps her at the club to keep up their front while he deals with the really illegal stuff. She’d assumed it was because he didn’t trust her enough not to go to the police the first chance she got, but the look Lucas gives her from the rearview mirror tells her it’s more than that. A cold sweat breaks out over her skin and she has to clench her fists tightly together to stop her hands from trembling.
They arrive at a shady casino downtown and June leads them up to the fourth floor. When they enter, they’re greeted by a group of men, all dressed in expensive suits. Tara’s able to put a name to each man, having catalogued them when she’d first started working under June.
Frank Palmieri – a rotund man in his fifties with graying hair and yellow teeth – is in charge of the Melrose Plaza section and runs
the main casino rings in their province. Jacob Siegel – the youngest of the lot and conventionally handsome in his pinstripe suit – runs the Upper Eastside and essentially owns law enforcement. Henry Miller – tall, lean, a straight and prominent nose with cherry red lips – acts as running mayor in Lower Trecald. Joseph Lombard – big, stout, looks like a bull more than a man – is affectionately called the Butcher by Lucas and he overlooks the harbor and trade routes. Hendrik Jenkins – with blonde hair, gold teeth and tattoos littering his body – runs Glen Hill and oversees associate businesses while running his own club.
“Who’s this pretty thing?” one of them asks – Frank – when they spot Tara, and June chuckles.