The Book of Brooke

Chapter 7

For the first time, I'm thinking about something other than Jacob. It's Garrett this time. What was the name that he mentioned? Blackjack. Who in the world is blackjack and what the hell does he want with my brother? He's already in jail for the rest of his life, so why did Garrett tell me now?

To get me to believe he was innocent? I don't even know if I actually believe him, but if it's true, I need to get him out of there. Yeah, he did kill his wife, but he didn't do it for himself. He did it for this "blackjack" guy.

I tell Corey about what Garrett said because I have no intention of keeping my promise of keeping my mouth shut.

"Damn." Corey says after I finish telling him. "That was crazy."

"Yeah. So how do we find this guy?"

Corey looks alarmed.

"What?" He asks. "Find him? You don't. You stay as far away from this dude as possible. Don't get it twisted, Brooke. This is dangerous. You don't want to mess with this."

"But Garrett's in prison for something that he was told by someone else to do."

"And you'll be dead if you seek this blackjack dude out."

"I'm a grown woman. I can handle myself, Corey."

"You know what. Do what you want. I'm out." Corey says, immediately getting up and leaving my apartment.

I am a grown woman and I will find this man.

*

I am a grown woman and this man has found me. As I am cooking myself a dinner of boxed macaroni and cheese, my doorbell rings. I give the pot of macaroni a stir with my wooden spoon before yelling out a quick, "coming!" and going to the door.

Before I open the door, i'm fully expecting Corey to be behind it, saying that he left his phone or, more likely, apologizing to me for not believing in my abilities to find the man who made my brother murder his wife.

When I open the door, it is not the friendly, soft-faced Corey behind it, but instead three big, scary looking men. The one on the left speaks first. He's wearing all black, with a suit and dark sunglasses. He towers over me, at least 6 foot and has broad shoulders and a thick torso. The other one on the right looks really similar, dressed exactly the same but shorter and with a receding hairline instead of the cleanly shaved, bald head of the man on the left.

"Good evening. May we come in?" The one on the left asks.

"Um... no?" I say.

The one on the right puts his hand inside of his suit jacket and pulls out a small but just as deadly black pistol. And it's pointed right at my heart.

"Let me ask you again." The left one says. "Can we come in?"

I nod furiously. "Sure, sure. Come on in."

Soon enough they're in my apartment and on my couch, with me sitting on the chair in front of it. The guy on the right is still pointing his gun at me, so I make sure not to make any sudden movements.

The guy in the middle, the smallest guy, hasn't spoken yet. He's still taller than me and looks a lot stronger than me, but he doesn't have the thickness to him that the others have, and he's dressed differently. He's wearing more casual clothes, but I still feel underdressed next to him since he's still dressed sharp.

"Who are you?" I ask.

"Someone who could end you with a pull of a trigger." The guy with the gun says.

"Yeah I got that." I say, looking into the barrel of the gun. "But why are you here?"

"Wouldn't you like to know?"

"Shut up." The middle one says. His voice is husky, masculine, and there's a hint of an accent in there that I can't identify. "We're here because we know that you know things that you shouldn't."

He runs a hand through his jet black hair. I can see a full sleeve of tattoos peeking out from underneath his shirt sleeve, and when he does, his bicep flexes enough that his shirt seems like it's going to rip at the seams.

"What are you talking about?" I ask, playing coy.

"Don't play dumb with me, sweetheart." He chuckles. "I know you're not stupid."

"How could you possibly know that?" I ask.

He looks up at the ceiling, and raises his slender but strong finger up to the sky. I look up to where he's pointing and notice a small and barely noticeable camera. Damnit. He knows that I know.

"Blackjack." I say. "You're him, aren't you?"

He smirks.

"Pleasure to meet you."

Rage bubbles up inside of me, a sort of fury and fire knowing that this man is the reason why I not only lost my sister in law, but my brother too. And he has the audacity to be all charming about it too?

"I think you should leave." I say firmly standing up.

"Really?" Blackjack stands up, inching towards me. "Because last time I checked, you weren't the one with a gun."

He's just centimeters away from my face now, and as scared as I am, I'm looking at his face. He's close to my age, maybe even the same age as me, but he's nothing like the guys that I've dated. No, he's more commanding, more assertive, more sexy. His face is clean shaven, and his hair is neatly trimmed. Even from this angle I can see that his jawline is strong and his eyes are an unreadable green.

"What do you want?" I ask.

"Isn't it obvious?" He asks, pulling out his own gun, a shiny, polished silver revolver. "I'm here to kill you."

Blackjack cocks the gun.

"WAIT!" I yell.

Blackjack rolls his eyes.

"What is it now?"

"People will know. That i'm missing. That i'm dead. This is a big apartment, lots of people around. Yeah, and my friend comes over pretty often too."

"Corey. Yeah. We'll take care of him too."

"You don't want to do that." I say.

"And why not?"

"We can be useful to you." I blurt out. "What do you want? Money? I can give you money."

"Sweetheart, this right here is Prada." He points to his stylish boots. "I don't need your money."

"Okay well then what do you want?" I ask, not thinking. "Tell me. I'll do it."

Blackjack looks over his shoulder, then back to me, then back over his shoulder.

"Can you believe this?" He says to who I'm now presuming are his henchmen. "This little girl thinks that she can be of use to the fucking mafia."

"Actually I'm pretty sure we're the same age, I might even be a bit older than you by the looks of it." I say.

"Shut up." The right henchman says.

"Let me tell you what, sweetheart. When I have a job for you, I'll call you. Until then, you might want to check up on whatever's in that pot of yours." He nods towards the pot of macaroni, which now smells like it's burning.

He steps back as I run to the burning pasta, trying to salvage it, and when I look back, they're gone without a trace.