No Strings Attached

Chapter Twenty Three

“He makes me sound like such an old grump, doesn’t he?” he looked over to a chuckling Antonio with a frown on his face, “I just want the best in my ranks, what’s wrong with that?”

“Nothing,” Nate shrugged, “But I’ll probably be completely out soon. Me and Shannon are going to ... make a go of things. I don’t want to subject her to me being back on rank.”

He’d been thinking about it a lot recently; about moving on and concentrating on the business side of things. He wasn’t Jayden, he had a lot of history in the scene, he’d been doing it now for five years, he’d grown up under Franchetti’s gnarled demon-ridden wings. Besides Tori and Jayden, this was the family that had taken over when he’d lost his big brother and his parents in the space of a year.

But maybe it was time to move on.

“I should have known Helen of Troy would have something to do with this,” Franchetti muttered, reclining in his chair as he appraised the younger man intently – his dark brown eyes studying Nate, “You’re sure about this? Nobody is ever really out – you know that. Sometimes it’s better to stay inside the circle and stick with the devil you know. Out there is brutal – especially with the enemies that you’ve made over the years. This isn’t a fucking country club that you stroll in and out of, don’t make Caine’s mistakes.”

“No, I’m not sure,” Nate grumbled, looking into his mug as though the answer might be hiding in there, “I’m thinking it over.”

A stark, intent silence fell over the three of them as they considered Nate’s words. For each of them, Nate coming out of rank would have repercussions – he’d been at the front line of their dealings with other crews, pulling out would mean a big lifestyle change if he was actually going to survive it.

Once you stepped out, you had no visible shield – he’d be practically a walking, talking target board.

“Dobrev has been putting out the feelers,” Franchetti said gruffly, drumming his fingers on the table, “On you. That’s why I’m here.”

The feelers ... Dobrev? As in the Russian drug lord - was planning a hit? What the fuck?

“He’s working with Sebastienne, who by the way is almost clinically obsessed with your little Yoko in there,” Antonio quipped grimly, swiping a biscuit out of the packet.

“Whatever your next move is with Tourniquet,” Franchetti ordered quietly, as he heard quiet footsteps coming from the bedroom, “You need to make it quickly.”

“But Dobrev?” Nate said quietly, “I thought he was living in fucking Croatia?”

“He is,” Franchetti shrugged, “But he’s not only got an export of girls coming over here, there’s a three million annual take on the drugs he’s supplying. You’re getting in the way.”

Nate ran the palm of his hand over the sharp rasp of dark stubble that littered his jaw, restless energy palpitating from him, as his bare foot tapped against the wooden leg of his chair. This wasn’t good – Sebastienne had obviously been making contacts. Tourniquet would be almost impossible to drag down if there were those kinds of figures riding on the place. Even tearing the French man to pieces wouldn’t be enough, no matter how much he wanted it. He would just be cutting off the head for another one to grow in its place.

"Just me? Or Jay as well?"

"I've only heard your name," Franchetti replied.

"But that could be because he's not rank anymore," Antonio pointed out.

Shit, shit, shit.

“Tell me about these girls,” Franchetti murmured, his eyes shrewd and narrowed on Nate, “Clarke mentioned he’s been pulled up?”

“One’s been gone just over a fortnight, the other? Five days.”

“Any backstory?”

“Clara maybe,” Nate exhaled slowly, “Sophie definitely not. She’s not like that.”

“Give me full names, and I’ll background check them,” Franchetti said quietly, rising from the table as Antonio pulled out a notepad for Nate to scribble on.

“They were both already checked for the job,” Nate reminded him, scribbling down some details with the pen that Antonio handed to him.

“I’ll look in closets Casey,” Franchetti mumbled, pulling his Ray Bans off the table.

A bedraggled, and almost asleep Shannon appeared in the doorway, pulling one of Nate’s t shirts down her slender, bare thighs self consciously.

“Aah, Sleeping Beauty!” Franchetti clapped his hands, “It’s good to see you looking so well!”

Shannon looked over to the man confused, he was only vaguely familiar to her – definitely not familiar enough to be greeting him in her underwear – and she laughed nervously, her eyes silently appealing to Nate for help.

Nate pushed back his chair, and drew her onto his lap, knowing she’d feel much more comfortable without her body on show – hell, he’d feel more comfortable! Antonio’s menacing dark eyes – back into cool, calm collected psychopath mode as he was – kept flickering over Shannon’s bare skin. Nate knew he wasn’t leering – the bodyguard would never disrespect him like that – but Shannon was a temptation regardless.

“This is Franchetti, babe,” he murmured in her ear, “Remember, that night after Tourniquet?”

She gasped softly, “I’m so sorry, I was such a mess that night, I didn’t put the pieces together!”

Franchetti smiled indulgently – his dark, aloof features instantly becoming softer and more approachable. He must’ve been a very attractive man in his youth, Shannon surmised, albeit a little short.

“Don’t trouble yourself over it sweetheart, it’s to be expected,” his dark eyes turned serious as they narrowed on Nate, “Just remember what I said, it needs to be quick.”

Nate rested his chin on Shannon’s dark hair, his eyes calculating and merciless as they looked on his superior.

“And Dobrev?”

“It’s just feelers right now, so far it’s been rebuffed from every angle over here. But you know as well as I do, you have about forty eight hours max before a newbie picks it up.”