Coming Home - Introduction

“Oh gawd, Ryan, I love you!”

Ryan Westbrook groaned inwardly, as he looked down at the woman lying naked beneath him.  He didn’t need or want to hear this.  Callie wasn’t his usual type, but she was a sweet enough kid.  She was plain, with long mousy brown hair and an Olive Oyl skinny body and one thing was sure.  He definitely didn’t love her.  No, Callie was a means to an end and being the prick that he was, Ryan was using her.

Leaning down and planting kisses along her collarbone, Ryan muttered, “Me, too, Babe,” hoping that would be enough to appease her.  He had gotten this far and he didn’t want to spoil his chances of getting what he needed. Besides, what was wrong with what he was doing?  It wasn’t as if he was cheating on Lisa; she had ditched his ass long ago, even if she still occasionally crashed at his place.  Lisa was a first class, Grade A bitch, who hated everything he liked.  As for Callie, Ryan would eventually get the information he needed and she was getting...well...fucked.  Okay, so maybe that wasn’t the best way to put it.  He shook his head.  Why the hell was he thinking about this stuff now of all times? If he kept this up, Little Ryan was going to be useless to him.  Focus, Ry! 

“Ryan?  Are you okay?” Callie looked at him in earnest with those big blue eyes.  Why hadn’t he noticed her eyes were the colour of a summer sky?  Shit!  Get your head out of your ass, Westbrook!  You need to do this!  “I didn’t freak you out, did I?” Callie asked shyly, as she ran her hands over his broad shoulders.

“No, Babe, I’m okay,” he sighed.  “Are you sure about this, sweetheart?” he whispered as he ran his tongue back up to her neck.  He would at least give her another chance to change her mind.

“Oh yes,” Callie moaned.  “Please, Ryan.”

He nudged her knees apart, settling himself at her opening.  God, he was such an asshole.  Callie deserved better than this, and yet here he was.  Closing his eyes, he thrust hard and deep, eliciting a scream of pleasure from Callie, surprising him slightly.  Who knew sweet, quiet Callie was a screamer?  As he withdrew and thrust again, suddenly felt the hair on the back of his neck.  Did he hear something?  He strained his ears but all he could hear was Callie’s moaning.

“Callie, shhhh,” he whispered, leaning into her, trying to quiet her.  She clawed at him, her hands moving down to his ass and pulling him closer, all the time calling his name.

“Did you lock...” he started, but the rest was lost.  He had realized someone had entered the bedroom, but as quickly as he had turned, the blow came, knocking him back and off the side of the bed.  Callie let out a screech as she realized that they had company, scrambling to find any kind of cover.  Despite the ringing in his ears, Ryan reached for the nightstand.

“Touch that gun and I’ll kill her right here,” Frankie Girardi hissed.  Callie responded to the threat by screaming Ryan’s name.

Oh fuck, Ryan thought.  Something was seriously wrong.  Slowly bringing himself to his feet, he turned to his attacker.  “I’m okay, Callie,” he managed, hoping to calm her fears.  “What the fuck, Frankie?” he intoned with more bravado than he felt.  Frankie Girardi was Louie Raposa’s right hand man, and Louie Raposa was the top mobster in Thunder Bay.  Louie was also Ryan’s boss.

“You got yourself a shitload of trouble, Ryan, my man.  Louie ain’t too happy with you,” Frankie said, a grin across his brutal, fleshy face.  He was short, but built like a fireplug.  He had always been quick to anger, the victim of a well-formed ‘little-man’ syndrome.  He always dressed in expensive suits and today was no exception.  He stood at the end of the bed, the gun levelled at Ryan’s chest, his finger lingering over the trigger.  He had never liked Ryan and he knew the feeling was definitely mutual.  Frankie Girardi was a psychopath who truly enjoyed killing. 

“Yeah?  Well then why wouldn’t he tell me himself?  Why the hell would he send you?”  Ryan crossed his arms across his chest, pulling himself up to his full height of six foot two.  He towered over Frankie, but right now, he had the advantage.  Ryan was trying to ignore the fact he was standing there naked, wearing nothing but a condom.  He shot a glance over at Callie who had managed to pull covers over herself, but was still terrified.

Frankie smiled again, enjoying Ryan’s discomfort.  The asshole had always been too fucking arrogant for his liking.  “You know he doesn’t do his own dirty work.  Move away from the gun,” he said, motioning Ryan away from the bedside.

Ryan racked his brain as he took a couple of steps further from his only chance, trying to think what he had done to draw Louie’s ire.  He had been slowly working his way up the ladder within the organization and thought he had become indispensible to Louie.  Was it Frankie acting on his own, jealous that Ryan may be soon taking his coveted spot at Louie’s side?  Frankie had gone out of his way to make it known that he never trusted Ryan.  Either way, this whole situation wasn’t looking good.  A sliver of fear snaked up his spine, even as his eyes darted around the room, contemplating  an escape route.

Without warning, Frankie fired, the sound of the gunshot almost deafening in the small room.  Callie screamed as she watched Ryan fall.  “Shut the fuck up!” Frankie yelled, turning the gun on her.  Cowering, she pulled the covers up closer to her chin.

Hot searing pain shot through Ryan’s leg as he hit the floor.  “What the fuck was that for?” Ryan ground out as he struggled to catch his breath.  He could feel the warm sticky blood slipping down his bare leg.

“Well,” Frankie said, training the gun on Ryan once again.  “It would seem we have a rat in our midst.”  He took a step closer to where Ryan was struggling to get up.  “And that rat would be one Ryan Joshua Westbrook,” he spat.

“You’re fucking nuts, Frankie.  I’m not a rat,” Ryan insisted, but he knew he was in deep shit.  He didn’t know who the hell had sold him out, but someone obviously had.  He struggled to get up, gritting his teeth against the pain, but it was no use.  There was no way that he could make his leg work.  His only hope now was that somehow he could get Callie and himself out of this alive.

Frankie walked around the room, laughing, before coming back to stand beside Ryan.  “You know, I knew you were just too good to be true.  You came waltzing in here, all ready to work your way in to the organization and now I know why.”  He turned and planted a swift kick to Ryan’s ribs.  “You’re a fucking cop!”

This time when Callie let out a scream, Frankie wheeled on her and fired.

“NOOOO!”  Ryan screamed as he watched the red spread across the sheet covering Callie’s breasts.  He was powerless to do anything and it terrified him. “GODDAMMIT, FRANKIE!”  This was going to shit fast, and Ryan knew his time was almost up.  “I’M NOT A COP, YOU STUPID FUCKER!” he screamed in frustration, managing to get into a sitting position.  He now had Callie’s death on his conscience, and he had nothing left to lose.  Despite the pain, he lunged for the nightstand and the gun.

“See you in hell, Westbrook,” Frankie laughed, as he pulled the trigger. 

The force of the bullet slammed Ryan back to the floor, all air rushing from his lungs.  He tried to pull air in, but he couldn’t, only hearing a sickening gurgling noise.  He brought a shaky hand up to his chest, feeling the warm stickiness there.  Lifting his hand, he managed to focus his eyes on the bright red liquid dripping from his fingers.  Even as his mind registered the sound of sirens, he knew this was it.  Sorry, Dylan, he thought as let himself be pulled into blackness.