Deceive Me #1

Jared

They say love and hate dance together along the same line.
My feelings for Layla don’t dance on the line; they destroy it.
It’s been seven years since she disappeared without a trace.
And now she’s back, but things have changed—I’ve changed.
I’m no longer the Jared she remembers, the boy who wanted to protect her.
I’m very much my father’s son, and I take what I want, and what I want is Layla.
But this time, I’m keeping her forever.

Layla

Seven years—that’s how long it’s been since I’ve seen him.
After painstakingly putting myself back together, I’m finally ready to start a life without his memory chasing my every step.
Imagine my surprise when my new beginning leads me straight back to him.
Only he’s not the boy I remember.
He’s angry.

Damaged.
Hiding secrets that want to destroy him.
He hates me. He wants me.

I’m not sure I’ll survive the man he has become. His demons threaten to destroy us both.

Poverty.

It’s something I’m not accustomed to, not anymore. Not since my father took me from the slums and brought me to his billionaire mansion. He told me it was all mine and that I needed to buck up and be the son I was destined to be.
I don’t think I can ever live up to his expectations.
The car slows as I approach Woodview Estate. It gives me the fucking shivers. I’m not afraid; it’s more of an old memory, like a fire burning in my mind. One I extinguish as I park my new BMW along the curb. This place is devoid of life, not even the grass has survived. The wilted shrubbery hangs over the side of the curbing. This is Ireland, so it rains all the time, but this place is forsaken. Even the rain doesn’t bother to piss on the landscape. As I stare around me and study a little closer, I start to notice signs of life.
In front of me is a large row of houses, and at the corner of the end house, shadows of movement catch my eye. Behind drawn curtains, light seeps through the small cracks. I’m sure some watch me from the windows. My presence here has not gone unnoticed. I get out of the car and lock the doors. Shadows creep closer. Most of the men have their faces camouflaged inside hoodies. I focus on house number six. I’m apprehensive of the guys at my back, circling closer to my car. The moment I push open the gate to number six, they murmur.
Their whispers reach my ears. “He’s with Chester. We’d better scram.”
Like rats, they scurry. Chester must be the man I’m seeking. Warren only gave me an address, no name. I knock on the door three times before someone answers. The guy who opens it isn’t looking at me, so I’m faced with his profile. Tribal tats rise from the collar of his jersey and wrap around his neck.
He draws a drag of a cigarette, side-eyeing me. His hands are coated in tattoos too. “What do you want?”
“I’m looking for Chester.”
This fucker is a wolf, but I’m no lamb. He faces me, flings the cigarette past my shoulder, and grins. “What for?”
“Can I come in?” I ask, and I take a step closer to him.
His grin transforms into a sneer, but he steps back. “Sure.”
I don’t like that he’s at my back, but I continue to keep a relaxed posture as I walk into the dingy entrance. The smell of smoke and something stronger clings to everything.
“I didn’t pick up what you wanted.” He passes me while lighting up another cigarette. He shoulders a door to our left open, and we step into a sitting room that’s full of guys who are sporting tats just like his. I unquestionably have the right house.
He plops down between two other men on the couch. All eyes are on me.
“I didn’t say what I wanted.” I point at the empty armchair to my left. The guy, who I assume is Chester, nods, and I sit down, opening my jacket.
R&B music plays in the background. A fog of smoke floats close to the ceiling.
A guy near me offers me a rolled-up cigarette. It doesn’t smell like smoke, and I decline before facing Chester. “Could we talk somewhere private?”
He glances at the other men, who laugh, before he faces me. “No. If you have something to say, say it.”
I’m not telling him shit in front of everyone. They all move when I reach into my pocket. I raise one hand as I slowly withdraw the envelope of cash with the other. “Three grand for a word in private, Chester.”
He jerks his chin, and I toss the envelope to him. He catches the cash, shreds it open, and starts counting. Once he’s satisfied, he passes the stash of cash to the guy beside him before standing.
“You’ve bought yourself five minutes.”
My five minutes are in the entrance hall. I assumed it would be someplace more private, but I take the time I’m offered. “I need a gun.”
“What makes you think I can get you one?”
“Warren O’Reagan gave me your address,” I explain.
Something shifts in Chester’s stance. “You don’t look like a friend of Warren’s.”
I smirk. “Neither do you.”
Chester jerks his chin again. “It will cost you.”
“Name your price.”
He thinks about it. “Ten grand.”
For a fucking gun? “I want it wiped.”
“It’ll be untraceable. But it will take time.”
“How long?”
He takes a drag of his cigarette before stepping to the front door. Opening it, he flicks the cigarette outside. He pauses before looking back at me. “Is that your car?”
“Yeah.” I stride toward him.
He lets out a whistle. “Touch the car and you die.” He issues the warning to the group outside and closes the door. “I should have asked for more money since you’re driving a car like that.” He grins.
I don’t smile. “I’ll give you five grand tomorrow and the other five grand when I have the gun.”
He nods, and I hold out my hand. Chester hesitates before he grips my fingers. “We have a deal.”
I’m ready to go when he asks a question he shouldn’t. “What do you want it for?”
I glare at him. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Just asking, brother. You know it won’t end all your problems.” He holds up his thumb and forefinger, mimicking a gun.
“It might end one,” I say before I take off. My car is still unscathed. Driving out of the estate doesn’t make the memories evaporate; instead, I’m yanked right back to my childhood. The very reason I want a gun.
Everything comes full circle. My father once said, “What’s meant for you won’t go by you. Justice will be served in this life or another.”
I say, fuck that. If Justice isn’t served the way it should be, then I’ll take matters into my own hands and deliver my kind of justice.
Once I do this, my life will be my own again. I’ll finally be able to live.