Semblance Read online

  “Don’t say I’ve never done anything for you, babe. Now you owe me one, and I plan to collect.”

  Drake’s gaze followed the long stretch of Natasha’s perfectly manicured finger.

  Willy.

  The idiot had come to the club. He was probably walking straight for the back, or dancing his way to the back, whatever, as if he didn’t have a care in the world. As if Tony wouldn’t have the entire crew looking for him. They knew his supplies would be low after the bust; they knew he would have to return to fill up the tanks. Unfortunately for Willy, he was too stupid to know better.

  The least he could do was wear a less conspicuous shirt. Shit, the kid stood out like a sore thumb.

  Drake turned a frown on Natasha. “I don’t think pointing at a person counts as a favor.”

  “Hmm, maybe not for you,” Natasha purred, “but I never sell myself short. See you around, Drakeybo.”

  Drake shook his head as Natasha departed, turning on his mic. He headed in the direction that he had last seen Willy. “Hey, Frankie, Willy’s in the club. I saw him headed toward the back.”

  “What a stupid fuck. He should be halfway to Alaska by now.”

  “I am heading that direction now.”

  “Where? Alaska?”

  Drake snorted. “Aha, ha ha, very funny.”

  “You want me to take point on this, Boss Man?”

  Drake caught sight of Willy again, toward the back talking to a woman who looked like she desperately needed a savior. Drake shook his head. Not only was the man stupid enough to return to the club to get another fix, but he wasn’t worried enough to not pick up women on his way. He was a fool, but in Drake’s experience, those who got involved with Boredega usually were. Drake knew he was.

  He should have let Frankie take point. He wasn’t in the mood to deal with this shit tonight, but you didn’t get anywhere sitting on your ass. If he wanted to take over Frankie’s position, he needed to prove he was capable of handling these types of situations.

  “No, I got this. I’ll let you know if I need you.”

  “You got it, Boss Man. Keep your mic on so we know what’s happening. I’ll keep an eye on the club.”

  “You got it.”

  Drake approached Willy from behind. The woman’s eyes darted to Drake as he moved toward them. She gave him an approving up-and-down before settling into a confident smile. However, as he approached, her once-approving invitation turned to wide-eyed concern, and she took a half step back, almost tripping over her own feet. Drake felt a self-satisfied tug curl his lips. Her reaction was from the expression on his face. Whenever he had to deal with one of Boredega’s men or any jackass who made a scene in his club, he put his intimidation face on. It was a good look, a mean look. He knew it was. It had taken a lot of practicing to make it right.

  The woman wasn’t paying attention to Willy any longer, keeping her cautious eyes on Drake. He raised a brow at her as he put a hand on Willy’s shoulder, fingers digging in tight. Willy turned at the touch, eyes wide.

  Drake grinned, knew it wasn’t pretty. “We need to talk.”

  “Hey, Drake,” Willy began but stopped as Drake’s look hardened even more. Willy tried to back away, probably just realized what type of trouble he was in and wanted to run, but Drake held him firmly by the shoulder.

  “Excuse us, ma’am,” Drake said to the woman, who was already quickly retreating into the pulsating crowd. Drake shifted his glare back to Willy, who visibly swallowed. “Come with me.”

  Drake didn’t give Willy a chance to respond, to decline, to beg or plead; he dug his fingers in Willy’s shoulder and shoved him ahead of him, pushing him toward the back of the club.

  Stumbling, Willy trembled as he headed the direction Drake led him, past the bathrooms and storage rooms and down the narrow hallway that would take them directly to Drake’s office. Willy didn’t struggle against Drake’s grip; he knew he wasn’t going to get out of the club if Drake didn’t want him to.

  Drake pushed open the door to his office, dragging Willy in by his arm. Drake forced Willy up next to his desk and stopped, opening his top pencil drawer and pressing a button hidden at the top. A quiet snick let him know that the hidden door was unlocked. Willy watched the door open with wide eyes. He looked up at Drake, who, though he wasn’t an exceptionally tall man, towered over Willy’s smaller stature. Drake watched him swallow hard as he was led into the dank white room.

  The room had many purposes, but the most common of them was an interrogation room for Boredega and his men. The walls were reinforced and had extrathick soundproof insulation. There were no windows and only the one entrance. The chair that sat in the middle of the room had cuffs attached to the arms and the legs. There was only one other piece of furniture: a tall cabinet containing a multitude of different instruments used to extract information from the room’s guests. Drake made it a rule never to open that cabinet. Nothing from that cabinet would get him what he needed, but the stories told by those who were victims or witnesses to the cabinet made it a very effective tool.

  Drake put Willy in the chair and clicked the cuffs into place. Willy looked at his restrained hands blankly, then back up at Drake, who closed the door with a loud clank.

  “I don’t know what you think happened, Drake, but it was nothing like that. I didn’t tell them cops anything! I swear it!” Willy’s voice trembled as he faced Drake.

  Drake didn’t say anything, just leaned back against the wall in front of Willy, letting him talk. He knew the silence was unnerving, and the threat of what could happen in the room created loose lips. While he waited in silence, he clicked the cord by his neck that kept his line of communication open. He preferred to do this type of thing radio silent, but Frankie rarely let him do anything without a presence in the room. Drake was lucky that he had allowed him to leave his radio on instead of coming into the room with him. It made his job a little easier. He could work around a sound device.

  “I got picked up by the cops for a breaking-and-entering thing. I didn’t even do it. That’s why they had to let me go. Could only hold me for twenty-four hours. I had nothing to do with the house being busted. I didn’t say anything.”

  Drake smirked. “If you had nothing to do with it, then why do you know that’s what we are here to talk about?”

  “Because! It happened when I was in the clink, man! I heard about it when I went to get my fix down in the Loop. They were low on supplies because of it. That’s why I came here. Come on, Drake! You know me! You know I wouldn’t say anything.”

  Drake shook his head. “You know that it doesn’t matter what I think, Willy. It only matters what Boredega thinks. And right now, he thinks that you gave up the drug house to save your ass from more drug charges.”

  Willy shook his head adamantly. “No, no, I wasn’t even in for drugs this time! It was on suspicion of a breaking and entering! I had nothing to do with it.”

  With no warning, Drake shot forward and punched Willy across the face. Backing up, he clenched and unclenched his fist. He hated the feel of flesh breaking along his knuckles. “You gotta give me something to work with here, Willy. If you didn’t rat out the house, then who did?”

  Willy hung his head, eyes blurry from the punch. Blood worked its way down from his nose. “I don’t know. I don’t know how the cops knew about it.”

  Drake punched him again, this time from the opposite side. “You gotta do better than that.”

  “I don’t know!” Willy shouted. Drake punched him again and then again, switching it up. He would do two straight to the face, then one to the gut. It had to sound good, and gut punches always had a dramatic effect with the huff of forced air.

  He paused every couple of swings to see if Willy had anything to add, but besides some whimpering babble and a spit of blood, he didn’t have much to say.

  Drake almost wished Willy would give him something. Some name, or some wild goose chase to send them on, anything to make the beating stop. But Drake had to ha
nd it to the kid. He stuck to his guns. Another reason the kid was too stupid to survive this shark attack.

  “Please, please stop,” Willy whimpered from his chair. Drake backed up, tilting his head so the mic was close enough to Willy for his words to be heard clearly. The distance made it easier for him to see Willy, and he couldn’t help but cringe as he looked him over. The man’s nose was obviously broken, his lips cut, and eyes already swollen. Blood dribbled down his chin, his nose, and the side of his face.

  He knew it didn’t seem like it, but Drake was doing his best to keep Willy from becoming dead. He didn’t know what would be happening if Frankie had been the one to bring him in, but he knew that Willy wouldn’t have been walking out of the room after they were done, if walking again ever.

  “You finally think of something?” Drake asked.

  “I don’t know who gave up the house. I don’t know. Please, don’t hurt me any more.”

  Drake sighed, “That’s not what I was looking for, Willy. You gotta give me something.” Drake willed him with his eyes. Come on, kid. Give me something so this can all end. Give them a show so I can let you go.

  But for all the hard times they had given the kid over the past few months, for all the jabs the kid had taken about his choices in life and in fashion, he really did have moxie.

  “I told you! I told you I don’t know anything. I told you I didn’t say anything. I don’t know. Please stop. Please, please stop.” His words leaked out of his lips.

  Drake reached into his pocket and pulled out a syringe he had grabbed in his office as he dragged Willy through. He held it up so Willy could see what it was.

  “You know what this is?” Drake asked, knowing full well that Willy knew exactly what it was. The man was hooked on it, after all. “Willy, look at me! Do you know what this is?”

  Willy slowly lifted his head to look at the syringe. He eyed it with a mixture of fear and relief. He must have been jonesing after being in lockup. He nodded, then looked at Drake full on. “You gonna kill me, Drake?”

  Instead of answering, Drake moved so he could crouch down by Willy at eye level. “You know what is very interesting about this drug? It was originally made by pharmaceuticals as a short-term anxiety suppressant. Kind of like a Xanax on steroids. Selecure, the magical elixir. They even sold it for a bit over the counter. It worked, I mean, it really worked. What am I talking about? Of course you know it works. You use it regularly.” Willy’s head lolled as Drake continued his lecture. “Weird thing about Selecure, though, if you take a small dose, the dose intended, you get high. High enough that people started driving off the road and hallucinating at work—that’s why they took it off the market, you see. But if you take more than what’s intended, then the drug does a jacked-up thing to your brain. It stimulates your pain sensors. Nothing can be happening to you, no physical harm, but your body will feel as if it’s being torn to shreds.” Drake paused dramatically, watching a thin stream of blood course down Willy’s cheek to his chin. The putrid stench of fear filled the air as Willy’s eyes followed any movement Drake made with the syringe.

  “Add just a little bit more—” Drake tipped the syringe toward Willy, who unconsciously struggled against his bonds. “—like what I have here, and it signals your body to shut down, leaving you in intense pain but unable to move or scream. All you can do is wait it out or hope for death.”

  Willy eyed the syringe warily. Drake watched his face carefully, searching for any sign that he knew who sold out the house or that he had any information that would be good enough for him to stop.

  “I’ll give you one more chance, Willy. What do you know?” Drake watched as Willy debated what to say. His face changed from calculating to formulating, then returned to resigned complacency.

  “I told you I don’t know. Just get it over with,” Willy said, then turned his head away.

  Drake paused to blink. Well, that was unexpected. They had all underestimated him. He was stronger than they thought. Drake had brought many men into this room, and not many of them left without telling him everything they knew or making something up to get them out of there. An iron will like that, the guy could be useful.

  Drake looked thoughtfully at the syringe he held. It held enough to cause Willy some serious pain. But he knew he didn’t need to get any information from him anyway. Willy didn’t know anything.

  Holding the syringe up to the light, Drake depressed the plunger, letting a stream of liquid jet to the floor.

  Reaching up to the collar of his shirt, Drake clicked off his mic. He knew it was loud in the club, and he hoped Frankie wouldn’t notice the radio silence. Grabbing Willy’s wrist, Drake ignored his pained whimper as he pushed up Willy’s sleeve so it was tight around his upper arm, cutting off blood flow. Drake tapped the crease Willy’s elbow. “It’s your lucky day,” Drake said, wringing another pained moan from Willy.

  Drake readied the needle against Willy’s skin and then used his free hand to hold Willy’s chin up to him. Willy was beyond panic, eyes rolling in his head.

  “Willy, look at me,” Drake demanded, pressing his fingers roughly into Willy’s chin. “Hey, hey, look at me.”

  Willy’s swollen, bloodshot eyes met Drake’s. Drake just stared at him for a moment, making sure he was there and that he was listening.

  “I am about to do this,” Drake said, nodding toward the needle. “It’s not enough to do anything but give you a nice high, all right? But I need you to do something for me, okay? When I put this needle in your arm, I need you to scream. You hear me? Scream, okay?”

  Willy’s wide, panicked eyes narrowed slightly before he gave a small nod. Drake released Willy’s head and turned his mic back on. Then before he could think about it anymore, he pushed the needle under Willy’s skin and depressed the plunger.

  Willy stayed true to his word, letting out a strangled scream as the liquid flooded through his system. He moaned loudly and then let out a short cry.

  Drake could tell the moment the drug fully took over because Willy’s head dropped back and his eyes drooped to half-lidded. He worked his jaw, trying to speak, but no words came out, just garbled sounds.

  Covering the mic with his hand, Drake knelt close to Willy, their heads only inches apart. He spoke in a low voice so the mic wouldn’t pick him up.

  “You’re going to be okay, all right? I’m going to put you in the back storage room and lock it from the inside. As soon as you feel able, get the hell out of here. Go out the back door at the end of this hallway. Don’t talk to anyone, or stop to see anyone, and definitely do not get any more drugs. Got it?” Drake waited for Willy’s loose nod. At least he thought it was a nod and not just a fall of the head.

  “Once you get your shit, get out of here. Leave and don’t look back. Get out of the city, hell, get out of the state. Just fucking go. You got it?”

  Willy nodded again, this time more clearly. Drake clasped him on the shoulder and then undid the cuffs to release Willy’s hands. Drake pulled him up, supporting his dead weight as he opened the door into his office. He half dragged, half supported Willy as he walked through the office. As soon as he opened his office door leading back to the club, he glanced out into the hallway to see if anyone was around, then quickly pulled Willy to the first storage room available. He lowered him to the floor and then covered his mic.

  “Remember, don’t go home…. Leave. Got it?”

  Trying to push himself up into a sitting position but failing, Willy collapsed so he was flat on his back. “Why?”

  Drake licked his lips. Why what? Why didn’t he kill him? Why didn’t he torture him more? Why did he make him scream?

  Drake had lots of reasons. Because he had never killed anyone. Because he didn’t like the look or smell of blood. Because he wasn’t the bad guy everyone thought him to be.

  Because he was the one who had given up the drug house.

  But he couldn’t tell Willy any of that.

  “Because it’s your lucky day,” he
said instead, glowering down at Willy. “I never want to see your fucking face again.” With his last words, Drake locked the door and closed it behind him.

  Fucking Wednesdays, Drake thought as he headed back to the bar.

  Chapter 2

  THE CLUB was finally starting to clear out as Drake sat at the bar nursing another scotch. He’d had a few since he’d locked the storage door behind him. It wasn’t unusual for him to imbibe when there was shit going down, so he wasn’t worried about seeming especially nervous and antsy. At his third scotch for his second round at the bar, Scotty came to sit beside him.

  “I think now is a good time to put the brakes on, don’t ya think?”

  Not turning to look at him, Drake drained his glass. “Aren’t you supposed to be working?”

  Scotty didn’t even twitch at his boss’s jibe. He pushed a glass of water to Drake. “Eh, it’s starting to slow down. Workday, ya know? Julie can handle it.”

  Eyeing the water with distaste, Drake spun his empty scotch glass. “Business seemed good today.”

  “Hm, yeah, it wasn’t bad for a weeknight. But are we going to talk about business, or are we going to talk about how you’re downing a bottle of Black Label all by your lonesome?”

  “I don’t see how what I’m drinking should be concerning you. Your job is to pour it, not ask questions.”

  Scotty raised a surrendering hand. “Hey, sorry. I didn’t mean to overstep.”

  Drake let his head fall. He hadn’t meant it how it sounded. Well, he guessed it was more like he didn’t mean what he’d said. He’d had too much on his mind. Between dealing with Willy, his apparent lust for Scotty, and Natasha throwing him glowering looks all evening, he was starting to feel like the canary the cat ate.

  “Hey, stop, I’m sorry,” Drake said, putting his hand on Scotty’s arm before he could leave. “I am having an off day is all.”

  Scotty glanced down at Drake’s hand on his arm and then looked back up, golden eyes meeting Drake’s dark ones. Drake shivered at the look but hid it by removing his hand and shifting on his stool.