Wicked Honey (18+)

Chapter 31

Arrow's arms slowly fall from my sides. Isaiah let's out a soft chuckle as he walks in before us.

The smell of stale cigarettes and mens cologne pours from the open door. The lights are oddly low for 4 o'clock in the afternoon. And the music sounds like some sort of old 70s sad rock.

But I step inside, Arrow and Grey following closely behind.

The place is dark, but my eyes adjust. The old mahogany bar is empty. But there's a few gambling tables that are filled with older men. Almost all of them with salt and pepper hair and a gut that goes well past their waistband.

I follow Isaiah's back, still flanked by Arrow and Grey. He stops at a half-full Black Jack table. I'm close behind but Grey pulls me back into him as Isaiah kneels down beside the table, speaking lowly to the man at the end of the table. The man nods a few times as Isaiah speaks, even glancing over his shoulder once but I can't get a good look at his face.

Finally, he rises, and Isaiah stands with him. Grey's fingers tighten on my hip. But when he turns, they loosen. The man is very clearly drunk. His eyes heavy lidded and sloppy. He barely manages to look up, icy blue eyes lolling over the three is us. He looks like the epitome of a drunken sloppy gambler. Wrinkled face, bags under his eyes, deep frown lines on his cheeks.

Isaiah escorts us to an empty table. The man doesn't speak as he slides into a chair. Arrow pulls one out for me and I sit. The man tracks the movement and narrows his eyes. Grey doesn't sit with the rest of us. He just stands behind my chair.

"Did you find out anything?" Grey snaps at Isaiah.

Isaiah shrugs. "Ask away." He says, motioning to the man.

Grey looks irritated and but his steely eyes flicker to man. "Do you still make contact with the Italian mob?"

The man shakes his head. Grey just narrows his eyes.

"Do you have any contacts within the mob at all?"

The man hesitates but shakes his head. Grey just grows more suspicious. Grey leans down onto the table beside me, his arms flexing right next to my cheek.

"What do you know?" He grits out.  His voice caressing over the top of my ear.

The man just stares at him. Seconds tick by and he says nothing. The air crackles with tension when finally Isaiah clears his throat.

"Antonio can't speak." He says, looking more and more relaxed as Grey's irritation grows above my head.

"He can't speak?" Arrow sounds tired as he runs a hand down his face.

Isaiah shakes his head. "The Italians left him alive, but they didn't exactly leave him with the ability to spread mob secrets." My eyebrows tug together as Grey pushes back off the table. Arrow lets out a breath. I catch Isaiah's eyes and at my confused face, he rolls his eyes. "They cut out his tongue, Ivy."

I curl my toes in my shoes to keep from reeling back away from the table. Disgust curling in my stomach.

"Yes or no questions it is." Arrow grins at the man. The man gives a hint of a sloppy smirk and I'm shocked he's so causal about the loss of his tongue. I really don't think I would be.

"Do you know her?" Grey continues to question  him, like the fact that the man has no tongue doesn't affect him at all.

The man looks at me. His eyes so droopy I'm not even sure he's looking at me or can see me at all. But the longer he looks at me, the more they steady. He searches my face.

After a moment, he looks back at Grey and gives the barest of a nod.

"How?" Grey demands, only to be met with dead eyes. "Dammit, get me a pen and paper."

Isaiah moves and returns a minute later with a small paper notebook and a pen. Likely what the waiters and waitresses use. He slides it over  to Antonio who stares at it for a moment before clumsily grabbing the pen.

He slides the paper over to Grey. We both lean over to read it.

Bosses daughter. It reads in messy hand-writing. It's barely legible.

My stomach sinks.

"Your old boss? His daughter?" Arrow looks like he might not believe him.

Antonio nods and something in my chest crumbles. The part of me that believed this was all some sick joke. The part of me that hoped it was a mistake. That I wasn't involved in any of this. That my sister wasn't. That my mother wasn't who I thought. That my father wasn't who I thought. But now- now that hope it was gone. Dissolving into the air with cigarette smoke and cologne.

"How do you know?" Grey sounds near breaking. Like he's ready to crawl across the table and rip the man's teeth out too.

The man sighs and grips the pen again.

Three words this time.

Three words that make me want to crumble all over again.

They've been looking.