Naked Desires

Gabriel

My fingers curl at my side, the only emotion that'll show on my body. Rain falls heavily from the heavy thick clouds above, the noise of it echoing in the quiet area beside the water. Shipping vessels float idly on the horizon, bringing in container loads of goods, and ahead of me the crane creaks and groans as the chains turn, spinning on the rotator as the first view of the car breaks the surface of the turbulent water.

The black sedan was barely a car anymore, the body crumpled and crushed, water filling the inside and spilling out the broken windows the higher it is lifted from the water. There were no bodies inside, but I didn't need to see them to know that they were dead. We would be lucky if we even found a corpse. These waters surrounding the city were deep and turbulent in weather like this and the likelihood of his body still being in this area was slim. He was likely somewhere at the bottom if there was even anything left of him.

Shouts and orders come from the crew as they maneuverer the car towards the yard, lowering it slowly to ease the burden on the already weakened vehicle.

I watch, nails biting into the palms of my hands. The rain has soaked through my suit, wetting the expensive material, and causing it to stick to my damp skin beneath. It runs down my face, over my eyes and mouth but I do not move or seek shelter from the storm.

Footsteps to my right have me turning my head to the visitor, a man, dressed in a long, beige trench coat jogs towards me, a large umbrella sheltering him from the rain though it does nothing for the spray kicking up from his feet to wet his pants.

"Mr Saint," he greets, drawing in a breath. I note the brown folder clutched in his hand, held to his chest to protect it from the weather.

I hold out my hand without a word. Hesitantly, the investigator hands it across to me, keeping his fingers curled at the edge as if he didn't want to hand over the information to me.

Interesting.

"Before I hand this to you, Mr Saint, I'm sure you can understand my worry for the family."

"They are of no concern to you," I tell him sternly. I don't yank the folder or snatch it away, he'll give it to me, "I trust this has everything I requested and the confirmation I asked for."

"Yes, sir, they are who you suspected them to be." "Good."

He finally lets go and I tuck the folder into my jacket, holding it there with my arm.

"Walk with me, Mr Garrett."

The investigator swallows but steps with me, keeping stride as we walk towards the edge of the yard where the water crashes against the concrete blocks beneath. White spray leaps into the air, some crashing onto the ground and running across the concrete, merging with the puddles of rain and sea water already on the ground.

The gravel crunches beneath my shoes as I walk silently to the edge, stopping only when my toes touch the lip of the concrete block. Mr Garrett stops besides me.

He fidgets nervously, his grip on the umbrella handle tight enough that the skin across his knuckles has turned white. The man was scared. As he should be.

"Did you discuss the case with anyone but myself?" I ask. "No, sir."

I nod, knowing it was a lie. I hated liars. He swallows, fidgeting.

Behind me, the car has touched ground, the remaining water inside rushing out and flooding beneath my shoes, bringing with it debris from the ocean, soggy seaweed, and a few small fish flapping uselessly in the shallow water around my feet.

"I..." Mr Garrett stutters, "I wish to terminate our arrangement, Mr Saint."

"Is that right?" I smirk, casually reaching around to the gun tucked into the back of my pants. He doesn't notice the move, instead choosing to watch the vessels slowly coming into dock.

"Yes, my wife and I would like to retire. Travel some."

He wanted to run with the money he received for selling the information within the folder. He'd been in my employ for several years now, he knew how it worked, how I knew everything, saw everything. He wasn't the only investigator on my payroll after all.

I silently click the safety off, raising the gun to the side of his head.

"Mr–" he doesn't get to complete his sentence before I pull the trigger, silencing him. Blood splatters across my face and over my white shirt but I don't move to wipe it away while I watch his body tumble lifelessly to the ground, thumping into a puddle, the water turning red.

I don't have to order the clean-up. Two men step up, hooking concrete blocks to the man's ankles and wrists before they empty his pockets, placing the wallet, keys, and phone into a bag and then they roll the body, the concrete blocks scraping across the floor. They lift them to the edge, kicking them off and forcing the body to follow. There're a few seconds before he starts to sink but I continue to watch, feeling absolutely nothing as the body of the investigator begins to sink, down, down he goes, being swallowed by the darkness and to never see the light again.

I pull a tissue from inside my pocket, running it over my face. It comes away red.

"Keep searching," I tell the men around me, "No one rests until his body is found." I order, referring to the task that brought me to the yard in the first place. It was an impossible quest, I knew that, but that familial tie that tugs at the grief I refuse to show forces the words from my lips.

They nod but they knew it too.

My brother's body would never be found.

But his secrets, they hadn't been buried with him.

Gabriel

The car rolls out of the shipping yard slowly, the gravel of the lot crunching beneath the tires and I watch as my men continue to wash away the blood staining the ground. Dragging my eyes from the scene, I bring them down to the folder in my lap before opening to the front page.

Two sets of eyes stare back at me, one pair the color of the sky, a blue so vibrant they appear almost neon against the tanned skin of the woman, the other set, hazel in color, were almost too big for the small face they were looking out from.

The child held all the characteristics, the dark hair and hazel eyes, and the grief I refused to let out twinged inside my chest, reminding me of the pain, of the loss.

I close the folder as the driver pulls out of the yard, joining the heavy traffic of the Marina District. The rain doesn't cease or lighten, it pummels the city of Redhill, California, relentlessly, drenching pedestrians risking the rain and flooding the roads. The air was thick with humidity, a storm brewing with heavy, dark clouds tumbling through the sky just as violently as the water that crashes against the shores that boarder a large portion of the city.

My driver flows us through the traffic, leaving the Marina District to enter central city, the roads busier, smog and smoke rising from the cars and buildings surrounding us.

Redhill had been the home of the Saints for generations. My great great grandfather immigrated from Italy with his wife, setting up the foundation to what was now the ruling family who owned the majority of the city and some surrounding areas. It came at a heavy price. Corruption ran deep, morals were lost as my family before beat and murdered their way to the top, lining their pockets and that of their family until no one would question who was in charge here.

We held the crowns and the people of this city bowed down to us. The throne now belonged to me. The last true Saint whose blood matched the first Saint that stepped foot in Redhill and claimed it as theirs.

Family was all that mattered. We looked after each other, killed for each other. As long as family stayed at our side we would forever remain on the throne. We controlled the money, the drugs, the guns. The corporations and businesses added to our wealth and in return we beefed them up, kept them running and protected. The cops were on our payroll, the government in our pockets. We ruled it all, pulled the strings, them the puppets and us, the masters.

No one had been able to stop us all those years ago and no one would dare try now. I would kill and keep killing for the family, and that body I put in the marina today wasn't the first and wouldn't be the last.

I would not grieve for my only true brother, the older one of the two of us and the previous ruler of Redhill, until I found who was responsible for his death. The scene appeared like an accident, he lost control of his car, plunged it into the water that surrounded the city, and his body was lost to the sea, but until that was proven, it would be investigated as if we had been crossed. And should I find out someone crossed the Saint family, their punishment would be slow. Torturous. I'd make them wish they were never born by the time I was through with them.

We had plenty of enemies, plenty of people wanted what we had and attempts on our lives were common. They often targeted men like Mr Garrett, paying them for information in hopes they'll snag something to use against us. It wasn't common that the men I employ turn, but when they do...

It was why he was dead. He crossed us by selling what was in this folder to one of those families to use against us, which one, I didn't know yet. But I'd remain one step ahead. I always did.

Pulling out of central Redhill, the driver navigates through the streets, taking me towards the beach front where golden sands stretched out for miles, the sea crashing against the shore as the rain and wind tempered the ocean before climbing the hill. My house sat on a cliffside, overlooking the water on one side and the city on the other. I could see the whole city from my balcony, I could see the kingdom that had been built on blood, sweat and tears.

The car comes to a stop in the circular courtyard in front of the large, mostly glass building, the lights within glowing softly as staff meander through the halls and in the many rooms of the property. I see Atlas, my half-brother waiting in the foyer, his head angled down, reading something on his phone.

It was a difficult relationship between us, including his twin, Asher. Born from my father's infidelity, they had a right to the family business but could never rule. My ancestors had placed rules and laws that only we abided by, children born outside of a marriage from adultery were punished. Given roles but never the crown. Atlas and Asher were destined to simply be pawns for me to use.

There were other rules, passed down to each generation and we all knew them, including my dead brother, yet he kept that secret and ignored those laws that had strengthened this family through the years.

Some of them may be archaic, but they were there for a reason, even if they made no sense to someone on the outside.

Clutching the folder, I climb from the car when my door is opened for me, the driver standing and waiting for me to enter the house before he climbs back in and drives away.

Atlas glances up to me where he lingers, pocketing the phone as his eyes drop to the folder. A crease forms between his brows but he knew what was inside. All the ones closest to me did.

"Take a visit to Mr Garrett's wife," I order, "Find out what she knows and then dispose of her." I don't bother to wait for his obedience, he'll comply and do as I ask.

I find my mother in the kitchen, but my other half-brother was nowhere in sight. She sees the folder, eyes lighting, "And?"

I nod once and she sags in the chair, relief washing through her, "And Lucas?"

"His car was pulled from the Marina this morning."

Grief crumbles her features, tears instantly welling to her dark eyes as her hand clutches her chest, "No."

"His body has yet to be recovered."

"There's still hope," she whispers, her voice thick.

I doubted it. Lucas had been missing for three weeks already, his car only just discovered. He wouldn't have stayed away, he wouldn't have ran, and if he had, I'd have to kill him myself.

But Lucas was dead, there was no other alternative.

But I understood her grief and her denial, her eldest child was dead, and she hadn't said goodbye. I place a hand on her shoulder and lay the folder in front of her. Perhaps this would help bring her closure while I figured out what to do with this new information.

The child in that photo belonged to my brother, he became a father sixteen months ago. He knew about the child and chose to keep it from us, leaving the mother to raise the child alone with the child holding the wrong last name.

The boy belonged to the Saints. He was the next generation.

And I would have him.

Amelia

I was running late. I glance at the clock on the dash of my car, I had a little over ten minutes to make it six miles across the city in rush hour traffic. It didn't seem possible.

Not when the cars ahead of me were at a standstill, horns blasting and shouts echoing though the noise which does nothing to move the traffic on. I don't know how I lost track of time, the bar where I worked was busy, busier than usual for a weekday and I'd been rushed off my feet, same as the other girls that worked there. If it hadn't been for Julia practically screaming at me to leave, I'd likely still be there, serving drink and food to the suits that wandered in for dodgy business meetings and backhanded deals. The bar wasn't exactly the most upstanding place in the city and the suits only came during the day in the week.

I ignored it mostly. I was no stranger to the darker side of life and didn't care much whether what they were doing was illegal or not.

The engine of my beat up chevy sputters, blowing out a plume of black smog from the exhaust as the wipers stick halfway up the screen, not able to clear the water falling against it. It had heavily rained all day, and if I couldn't get these damn wipers to work, it didn't matter if I was late because I wouldn't be able to see where I was going.

I lean over the steering wheel and slam my fist down hard, forcing the wipers to move an inch, I do it twice more and they finally unstick, clearing the window.

I roll my tires forward in the traffic, but I was still stuck, just like everyone else.

I couldn't afford the late pick-up fee the daycare would charge me for this.

"Move!" my voice joins the chorus of other angry and impatient people, not sure what or who I was shouting at but feeling better, nonetheless. Screaming always helped.

I reach across to my phone, dialing the nursery to let them know. I'd have no choice but to pay the fee if I wanted to keep Lincoln there. I'd have to figure out where I would take the money from. Food wasn't an option now my son was eating more than just pureed vegetables, but I guess with summer now upon us, the heating could come off with the days warming up ready for the height of the season. Nights still got a little chilly in the apartment, but I could keep us warm until the temperatures evened out.

Sighing, I tell the nursery I'll be late, holding my tongue when they explain the fees and then hang up, slumping in the chair as the car crawls through the traffic.

Thirty minutes later I pull the car into the lot outside the daycare, jogging through the rain into the building. The young girl at the reception desk smiles and calls back for them to bring my son through.

My whole mood lightens the moment my eyes land on him. He giggles, dimples sinking into his chubby cheeks, hazel eyes bright and innocent. He mumbles and gurgles and the moment he sees me, he thrashes in the woman's arms, trying to get to me. I take him instantly, wrapping my arms around him and placing him on my hip as I pepper his face with kisses. After signing off on the fees to go on the invoice, I leave the daycare.

I was thankful it was my day off tomorrow, today had been stressful and this just added to it, plus, I wanted to spend time with my boy.

Being a single mother was tough. Nothing was ever good enough. There was never enough time.

But I made do.

And I had no regrets with the life I chose to lead.

Sure, I wish things could be different, but wishes are for children and reality was cruel.

I place Lincoln into the car seat in the back, strapping him up. He giggles as I tickle my fingers against his belly, smiling down at his sweet little face until a warning shiver runs down my spine. Stiffening, I finish securing him in and straighten, glancing over my shoulder.

Growing up and having the experiences I had, I wasn't fool enough to ignore my intuition.

Rain wets my hair and soaks my clothes, but I don't move as I scan the area around me, looking down each street I can see and in the lot I'm parked in. I don't see anyone, but that doesn't mean they aren't there.

I had chosen this daycare because it was in a quieter, nicer area of the city. It was more expensive, but it was better than the ones closer to the bar I worked in and where we lived. I didn't care about the distance if it meant my son was cared for and safe.

I don't rush or run to the driver door; I didn't want to draw attention to myself. Starting the car, I hold my breath as the engine ticks, threatening not to start but then it catches and I back out, sliding into the traffic. I keep an eye on my rear-view mirrors, making sure I'm not being followed.

Most would call it paranoia, I call it survival.

It had been months since I last saw anyone from my previous life, but I doubted they'd forget about me. They were cruel, and unforgiving, and spiteful enough to try and fool me into a false sense of security only to come and try and take it from me again.

The last two years have been the only years I've been free in a way. I was no good to them pregnant and after my son was born, I'd finally learned to stand up for myself, telling them no and running from them. I would save my son from them. I wouldn't allow him to grow up in an environment like that.

I drive carefully through the city, towards the city centre where my apartment was on the lower end, close to the Marina District.

It wasn't a well-cared for building, owned by a hideously corrupted landlord who would rather snort his money up his nose over paying for much needed repairs to the building. But it was cheap, and I couldn't afford anything else.

It's growing darker by the time I pull into the lot outside the apartment building, the rain still falling in torrents, the clouds tumbling through the sky. It was much warmer than it had been, despite the weather, but there would be enough of a chill inside to make living uncomfortable. The windows had blown the seals long before I'd moved in and there had always been a draft though I could never figure out where it was coming from.

Taking Lincoln from the seat, I slide his bag onto my shoulder and start towards the front doors, curling my body over his to protect him from the rain.

The hairs on the back of my neck stand up as that same inclination of being watched runs over my body. Swallowing, I head inside, taking the stairs quickly. Once inside the apartment, I double lock the door and slide the bolt across for extra measure. The landlord would likely charge me for the extra security I'd placed on the door when I moved out, but I'd rather be safe than sorry.

Placing Lincoln down in the playpen set up in the living room, I switch on the old TV that was missing pixels and had a crack down one side, disturbing the cartoon playing on the screen. Loud, happy music plays into the living room, distracting Lincoln enough for me to head through to the kitchen.

I glance out the window that looks out into the front of the building. These streets were always busy, cars and people never far and that was no different today. No one stood out.

Sighing, I run a tired hand down my face. I refused to believe it was paranoia.

I wasn't over-reacting.

Shaking my head, I quickly wash up the dishes from the previous night I hadn't managed to get round to this morning and then begin dinner, boiling some pasta on the stove and cooking some chicken in a pesto and cream sauce for Lincoln and me to share.

When that's ready, I pluck Lincoln off the floor and place him in the highchair at the table and take the space next to him.

He's a mess in minutes, pasta and cream in his dark hair and smeared across his face. I didn't expect anything less. I eat in silence watching him use his tiny hands like mini shovels to stuff the food everywhere but in his mouth.

After finishing our food and washing up, I get Lincoln ready for bed and join him on the couch, cradling him to my chest while a rerun of some sitcom plays on the TV. It was dark now, the rain still hammering against the window. My son curls into me, snuggling his face against my chest as I rock him to sleep.

It had only ever been me and him, he was all I cared about now.

It doesn't take him long to fall asleep against me and while I'd usually place him down now, I choose instead to drag an old blanket from the back of the couch and drape it over us as I make myself comfortable on the sofa, keeping him warm with my body heat and the blanket now that I had to keep the heating off.

He doesn't stir as I shift and get comfortable, telling myself it's only for an hour and then I'll put him down and get some rest myself.

He snores quietly and I feel my eyes getting heavier the longer I stay there, and I'm just drifting off when a loud boom shatters the silence of the apartment.

I bolt upright, waking Lincoln who instantly begins to cry and turn to the door in time to see the locks shatter as someone fires a gun from the other side, shooting out the latches.

A scream gets lodged in my throat, but I don't dare make a noise. I scurry from the living room, rushing to the back of the apartment and the one bedroom in the place. Lincoln cries and I try to soothe him, but fear and panic makes my voice shake and tears sting my eyes.

I should have left the city. I shouldn't have stayed.

I wanted to get enough money together first, but I realize that was a mistake. I should have known they would come for me, that they wouldn't let me go.

My stepfather was an evil man, and I was about to find out just how far I was prepared to go to protect my son.