Page 1 of Save Us
Prologue
Jonah Fox
“Stay close!” I mutter to Jack as soon as we spy the café in the distance. “And if you see anything suspicious, I mean even a fucking sneeze in the wrong place, you know what to do!”
In the busy New York lunch period, the café looks normal, completely unassuming as the hungry office workers turn up in their droves to order their sandwiches from one of the best delis in town. Of course, this is exactly why I have chosen it. Anyone with a modicum of intelligence wouldn’t dream of pulling out a weapon in the middle of New York with so many spectators on site. Then again, we are dealing with one of the most vicious gangs of New York, where being a thug is statutory if you’re wanting to sign up.
“You sure about this, boss?” Jack murmurs, rubbing his hand against his week-old stubble, the sound of which is like sandpaper on rough wood. “I heard they like to use razor blades on Mayfield members, and that’s only for the lower circles. Can’t think what they’d want to do to someone like you.”
“Pru assured me they just want to talk, nothing more, and if it means reaching my end goal, then I’m willing to chance it,” I reply before straightening myself up and pulling down the bottom of my suit jacket. “Wish me luck and remember to shoot if necessary.”
Jack’s low chuckle reaches my ears as I cross the busy road in front of me, losing myself in the crowd of pedestrians, half of which are no doubt heading to the same place I am. Luckily, I know the owners, especially their daughter, with whom I am acquainted on a more intimate level. As such, I have been promised a table in the the back, next to the window, should Jack need to take aim.
As I saunter past the line of irritated customers, some positively growling when I arrogantly bypass the queue and head toward a reserved table, even though the café has a strict no reservation policy, I try to spot Jack from his hiding place. He signals to me, which instantly relaxes my tense muscles, even if I am being looked at like I’m the devil himself by the other patrons. I can’t help smiling smugly; I guess there are some benefits to being an elite member of Mayfield, and I suppose I’m not beyond taking advantage of some of them. I’ll admit I draw the line at enforced marriages, murder, and rape. However, flashing a smile which many know belongs to Jonah Fox, a descendent of a founding member of Mayfield, in order to get a good table in any New York restaurant, is something I have no qualms in taking full advantage of.
As for what I am going to do with the beautiful Angela Steele once I get rid of Lawrence, well, that is still undecided. I must admit the thought of her submitting to me as her new husband has entered my head on more than one occasion. After all, I will treat her a hell of a lot better than her current spouse, so surely that makes me the better person, doesn’t it?
“Mr Fox,” Violet purrs with a seductive smile, one I am more than familiar with, “your usual?”
“Not today, Vi,” I grin as I take in her delicious curves, “I’m expecting company; coffee will suffice today. When Mr Roman Moore and ‘K’ arrive, please show them to my table, won’t you?”
Violet furrows her brow, smiling at me as though I must have left my senses back at my townhouse before coming here today.
“Yes, I know, not the sort you would expect me to be consorting with,” I smile in answer to her silent questioning, “but I have my reasons.”
With that explanation, she nods before slinking back behind the counter to make my coffee. I smile to myself again, knowing that some of these poor bastards have been waiting a heck of a lot longer than me for their beverage.
While I wait for Roman and K to arrive, I take in the various suits walking in, a few of which are nodding my way, knowing exactly who I am and what I represent to Mayfield. They obviously don’t know how out of favor I now am, with both the Lawrences and the Steeles. I simply tighten my lips before jutting my chin toward them in greeting. After a while, I hold up a paper in front of my face, no longer wishing to engage with people coming in and out for their lunchtime meal.
“Mr Fox?” a low, male voice questions me before arrogantly scrunching down the top of my paper; an action that under normal circumstances, I would sanction with the sharp edge of my tongue. Though, given who they are and how long I’ve been waiting for them to meet with me, I’ll let this one misdemeanor slide.
“Mr Moore,” I reply, then gesture toward the two empty seats on the opposite side of the table, “please, take a seat.”
The older one, who very much resembles his bastard father, smirks at the younger man who remains expressionless, almost lost, not to mention thoroughly exhausted. They pull back the chairs and take up residence inside of them. The older one lets his limbs stretch out confidently and lazily, while the younger one hunches over the table. He clearly isn’t as experienced in these sorts of things.
“You’ll have to excuse my friend here,” Roman says casually, even though he clearly couldn’t give a shit if I excuse him or not. “He’s just returned from a long trip and isn’t used to conversing with Mayfield scum.”
I eye him for a moment or two, with my lips tightening into a smile, which is more irritated than friendly. However, the action of pulling it will at least stop me from lunging for his neck. Roman laughs and pats at his friend’s chest, while K remains silent, not even cracking a smile for his friend’s cheap dig.
“Given that we clearly do not like one another, Mr Moore, I suggest we get straight to the point,” I reply gruffly, taking a little longer to fold my newspaper, if only to keep my hands busy, and to avoid his smug expression. “We both have our reasons for extracting revenge on Mr Steele, as well as Mr Lawrence. Like you, my first thoughts were to use Oliver’s pretty, new wife to get to him, however, I believe if we play our cards more intelligently, we could very well do away with both of them, and without having to hurt any innocents in the process.”
“You may talk eloquently, Mr Silver Spoon, but several of my boys want things done a little more quickly and roughly than what you’re suggesting. Getting rid of Lawrence’s chance of reproducing some all-encompassing heir to the Mayfield throne, as well as sending a bloody message straight to Carl Steele, seems like the perfect place to start.”
“Besides the fact that killing her is a rather crass move on your part, and would only encourage Mayfield to target your gang, Lawrence has already proven that he can simply replace one pretty blonde for another. I’m sure the Steele family have plenty of female relatives who can take her place, should she go the same way Beth Taylor did.” I shrug arrogantly because it’s a fact. Even I was amazed when I heard how quickly Oliver was moving onto the next, closest female relative to Carl Steele.
However, when I glance over to K, his eyes have now fallen to looking into his hands on top of the tabletop. He’s showing what looks like the first bit of emotion I think I’ve seen from him since arriving. I study him for a while longer before eventually moving back to Roman.
“Well, if they can keep going, so can we!” Roman leans back, smiling happily about his plan to keep killing innocent women, simply because they have the misfortune to be called Steele.
“Why have you never tried to target the men themselves, Roman?” I furrow my brow as I question his tactics.
“Too easy; I want to destroy them!” He laughs and slaps K on the back who falls forward on contact. Roman then looks to his friend with something that I would never have expected from him, especially not towards another man; it’s genuine concern, affection almost. “K?”
“He’s right, Roman,” K mumbles, still looking at his hands in lost thought. “You know I won’t hurt an innocent person, especially after everything that’s happened.”
Roman’s hand lingers on K’s back for a moment or two, long enough to confirm my suspicions about them, though I choose to remain quiet. To be honest, I’m curious to see how this pans out between them without my interference.
“Why don’t you go and get us some coffees, K?” Roman suggests softly to him, even though K can see through his obvious attempt to get rid of him. Still, K looks at him briefly before conceding and walking toward the counter, well out of hearing range.