by Meg Jackson
“Don’t call my sister a bitch,” Cristov hissed. He looked at Mina, shook his head slowly, and sighed. She wasn’t going to let this go. He hated his family sometimes. Not a damn one of them knew how to let things go, even when those things were a sure and sturdy poison. “And answer her question.”
“Goddammit,” James said, tears at the corners of his eyes, his hands curled around his knee, rocking back and forth slightly. Kennick was driving again. “He lives at some fuckin’ low-income shithole called Coral Manor. Fuckin’ dirty little immigrant hovel, alright? Fuck!”
“That was easy, wasn’t it?” Mina asked, turning in her seat to face the road ahead. Kennick looked at her, studying his sister. It was as though, for the first time, he realized how much she no longer fit the description of “kid sister”. She looked back at him, smiled. That smile took every inch of woman away from her, turning her back into the pre-teen who cried about braces. He turned back to the road, made for the highway that would lead them to the hotel. He didn’t have time, now, to ruminate on how time passed and people changed.
He realized, all too well, just what he and Cristov were getting into.
They might not ever get out of it.
Roper had taken the bait, which was good. He’d given James an address to meet at, expecting to see a wounded Damon, all gift-wrapped and ready to be killed. At least, that’s the best that Kennick and Cristov could hope for. That was the best case scenario.
The worst case scenario was that Roper was onto them, somehow, and luring them into a trap. Based on the number of cuts they’d seen at the fight, Cristov and Kennick knew they were outnumbered by at least eight men. Seven, if they could get Jenner a gun. But they didn’t want to have to shoot anyone. If they did things right, there’d be no blood – at least, not until they were far down the road.
Before dropping Mina off, Kennick took the gun back from her and slipped it into the glove compartment. To make room for it, he had to readjust the other items in there. Items that made James Whitley’s eyes widen, made him lean forward in his seat until Cristov pushed him back, roughly.
“Where’d you get all that?” James stuttered, still looking at the glove compartment even after Kennick had snapped it closed.
“Miami’s a real playground, isn’t it?” Cristov hissed.
When they pulled away from the hotel, Kennick saw, in the side-view mirror, Mina pull out her phone and press it to her ear.
The address Rig had given was twenty minutes from the hotel, and they passed the time in silence. Cristov kept his eyes hard on James. Kennick knew that Cristov had the most at risk; Kennick would leave a wife behind if things went sour. That alone was enough to make him want to turn the car around and book it back to safety. Cristov – he may not have a wife, but he had something much more important to live for. Hell, Kennick almost wanted to turn the car around for Cristov’s sake.
But if they did that, it would never end.
And they needed it to end.
Before they led the bikers back to Kingdom, where it would only be worse, where more lives would be in danger. It was Kennick’s duty to keep his people safe. Of all the responsibilities of a rom baro, that was the most important, the one that could never be forgotten or ignored.
“When do you want to make the call?” Cristov asked from the backseat. The GPS told them they were close.
“Soon,” Kennick said, glancing at his brother in the backseat. “Soon.”
“Te avel mange bakht drago mange wi te avav po gunoy,” Damon said, absently: all we need is good luck. With luck I would not even mind sitting on a dunghill.
Kennick glanced back at his brother in the rearview. We need more than luck today, prala, he thought.
40
“Can we talk about this now?” Kim said, sitting on the bed in Ricky and Cristov’s room. Ricky turned away from the window, where she’d been peering out, anxious for her man to return.
“Now? Our boys are out there, probably doing something very fucking stupid, and you want to talk about why I didn’t tell you the minute I found out I was preggo?”
“I don’t care that you didn’t tell me the minute you found out,” Kim said. “I do care that you’re not married, you’ve only been dating Cristov for like…ten months, and you’re…you’re…”
“I’m what?” Ricky asked, putting her hands on her hips. “A drunk? Because I haven’t touched a drop in seven months, and you know that.”
“No,” Kim said, brow furrowed, shaking her head. “You’re…”
“Irresponsible? Sloppy? Immature? God, you sound like Mom,” Ricky said, turning back to the window. Kim watched her sister, her slender body not yet showing the baby inside it.
“It’s none of those things either…well, I mean, you are kind of messy…and you do eat potato chips for dinner most of the time…”
“I wouldn’t feed my kid potato chips for dinner,” Ricky sneered, looking over her shoulder. “I’d make them a nice, wholesome meal and save the chips for myself. And, by the way, you knew Kennick for how many months before you married him? Five? Six? And since when do you need a paper from the government to say that you’re in love? That’s pretty damn traditional thinking for someone who’s supposed to be a progressive mayor.”
“How are you going to pay for all the baby things, who’s going to take care of it, are you going to quit your job? You could be editor next year, but not if you’re going to be on maternity leave!”
“Do you think I haven’t thought of all that? Cristov makes his own schedule at the tattoo parlor, he can be a stay-at-home dad while I’m at work. And we make plenty, combined. And I really don’t think any kid in the kumpania is allowed to go around in dirty diapers, anyway. You know there’s like a million old people there who love bouncing babies on their knees.”
Kim was silent for a long moment.
“I know,” she finally said, and Ricky realized from the wet sound in Kim’s voice that she was on the verge of tears. “It’s just…you’re my baby sister, Ricky! My baby sister is having a baby!”
Ricky melted, looking at her sister. She walked from the window, sat beside Kim on the bed, took her hand.
“I know,” she said, and smiled. “Isn’t it wonderful? You’re going to be an aunt, Kimmy.”
Kim shook her head, but a smile slowly spread across her face. She wiped at her wet cheeks with the back of her hand.
“Aunt Kimmy,” she said, as though trying it on for size. The smile grew, and a light came into Kim’s eyes, as though realizing for the first time what Cristov had revealed in the hospital room. “Ricky, you’re having a baby!”
Ricky laughed, pulled her sister in and squeezed her tight.
“Mom’s gonna kill you, though,” Kim said, now joining in Ricky’s infectious laughter.
“Are you kidding me?” Ricky said with a smile. “I’m not telling her until the kid goes to college.”
Kim pulled away, still laughing and wiping at her cheeks.
“You really think a kid raised by you and Cristov is going to college?” she teased. “That baby is going to end up touring the world with a rock band, or living in Bogota raising alpacas.”
“As long as it’s happy,” Ricky said, smiling down at her still-flat stomach.
“You’re gonna be a good mom, Ricky,” Kim said, looking at her kid sister with new appreciation.
Ricky kept smiling, but a seed of worry still budded in her heart.
I hope I’m a good mom, she thought, and then looked back up at the window. And I hope you get to meet your dad…
There was a knock on the door. Kim sat straight up; the men had keys. Ricky glanced at her sister, then went to the door, peering through the peephole. She sighed in relief, opened the door to let Mina in.
“How did it go?” Ricky asked as Mina entered. “Did they find James Whitley?”
“They did,” Mina answered, seating herself at a chair beside the wooden table.
“Where are they?” Ricky asked, s
tepping out into the too-bright day and looking both ways up the block of rooms. “Did they go to the hospital?”
“No,” Mina said, straightening herself up. “You better sit down, Ricky.”
Ricky turned to look at Kim; her sister was pale as the sheets she sat on. She looked at Mina, the girl’s face stoic but dour.
“Those lying motherfuckers…”
41
Tricia had been staring at her phone, waiting for updates from the girls, but it was Damon’s phone that rang first. It was on vibrate, and for a moment Tricia was confused; she could hear the buzzing, but she knew it wasn’t coming from the phone in her hand.
“Hello?” Damon’s voice drew Tricia’s attention up to him. She’d been sitting on his bed, beside his feet, watching him sleep in between bouts of prolonged phone-staring. But his voice didn’t sound like a man roused from sleep.
They shouldn’t be calling him, Tricia thought, annoyed. He needs rest, recovery, not to worry about what his brothers are getting themselves into…
“Thanks,” Damon said, looking at Tricia as he spoke into his phone. A beat passed, in which Damon’s eyes flicked away and then down. “Yes, I know. Don’t.”
When he hung up, he still wasn’t looking at Tricia, and he didn’t offer her any explanation of the call.
“Um,” she said, impatient. ‘Who was that?”
Damon answered her question with one of his own.
“Weren’t you afraid?” Damon asked. “When you learned they were there? The…”
“The Steel Dragons?” Tricia said, not needing him to finish. She rose and came to stand by his side. “No. I wasn’t. Maybe, for a moment, I was. But they couldn’t hurt me. I was safe, with Kennick and Cristov and the girls. You weren’t safe. I was afraid. For you.”
Damon rose up in the bed, biting back a wince of pain. He drew his hands around her waist and pulled her in close, close enough for her hips to hit the side of the hospital bed, eyes searching hers for the truth. He found it, and nodded.
“A good woman,” he said, recalling the words he’d said to her just a few days before – which now felt like years. “Brave in all the right places and all the right times.”
Tricia blushed. She hadn’t ever sought his approval, never really thought that he might change his mind about her. But she had to admit, it felt good, knowing that what he’d seen in her, before ever knowing her, had proved true.
“I should have listened to you,” he said, his eyes turning sad. “You were right. Those first few blows I landed – I’d waited for them for so long. But even before he cut me, I realized they weren’t really going to change it. I don’t think anything ever will change it. If I could have killed him, I would have. But all that would have done…I’d just have one more man’s blood on my hands. That’s it.”
“Damon,” Tricia said, reaching out to hold one bearded cheek in her hand.
“But I still need something,” he said, shaking his head gently. “I know where he is, Tricia. I forced Mina to find out. She just called. And I’m going to him.”
She stiffened in his grasp. Her brown eyes widened, then narrowed in confusion – and hurt. All his words were contradicting themselves. What could he possibly hope to gain from seeing Curly again? He knew that Curly’s blood wouldn’t be a salve for any pain.
“You’re not going in this condition,” she said, voice firm. “You haven’t been released yet. You’re basically a rag doll, Damon. No, I won’t let you. It’s crazy. You’re crazy.”
“That’s what you said when I invited you on this trip,” he said, offering her a sad smile. “And I got you to come along anyway, didn’t I? I might be crazy, but…I’m going. And you can’t stop me. And you know that.”
“Why?” she asked, surprised at the choked sound of her own voice. Her cheeks were wet. She was crying, without even realizing that she was. “Why, Damon?”
“I’ll tell you,” he said. “Because I want you to come with me. I need you to come with me. I want you there, when I let it go. When I let it end.”
She swallowed hard, dropped her hand from his cheek. But she didn’t turn away. She listened. And when she was done listening, when Damon was done talking, she nodded. She’d go. She’d be with him, because he needed her…and she needed him.
“Alright,” she said, voice thick and wet.
“Our love a difficult instrument we are learning to play. Practice, practice,” he said, speaking softly and in a rhythm that Tricia had grown accustomed to.
“More C.D. Wright?” she asked, smiling through her persistent tears. He nodded. She wiped at a cheek. “Do me a favor, Damon.”
“Anything,” he said.
“No more poetry until this is done.”
42
The house they pulled up to looked like it had seen better days. The whole neighborhood, in fact, looked like it had seen better days. Kennick hadn’t expected much more from the thugs after the trials had decimated their numbers and their wealth. The mighty had definitely fallen. They just weren’t willing to admit it yet.
Cristov had just hung up the phone. James was staring at him, wide-eyed and shaking.
“You boys are crazy,” James said. “You’re crazy as fuck. What do you think is gonna happen when…”
“That’s none of your business,” Kennick snapped from the front seat. “Don’t you worry your fucked up little head about what happens to us. You’ve got enough to worry about with yourself.”
James shut his mouth, but still looked pale as a ghost, and trembled all over.
“You think they saw us pull up?” Cristov muttered, looking out the window. His question answered itself when the front door of the house swung open. One of the men from the fight stood in the doorway, shading his eyes with his hand.
“Get out,” Kennick said, his voice a low growl. Cristov lifted his gun and pointed to the door on James’ side. It took the man a moment to figure out what was expected of him, but eventually got the point. “And keep your hands up.”
James got out of the car, holding his hands above his head. Slowly, Kennick did the same, his gun still in his jeans. He walked to the side of the car that faced the house, motioning for James to follow. The figure in the doorway turned, shouted something into the house. There was a long moment of silence. Then the man in the doorway disappeared. Cristov lay down in the backseat, still holding his gun in both hands.
“That’s Roper,” James whispered as another figure appeared in the doorway. Kennick nodded, eyes flashing.
“What the fuck is this?” the man in the doorway yelled. Kennick kept his voice steady.
“Surrender,” he yelled back. “My people want this to be done. You killed my brother. I don’t want anyone else dying. Just wanna talk.”
The man in the doorway stood still. Then he turned and beckoned to someone behind him. Slowly, he emerged from the darkened door, walking down the cracked path towards Kennick and James.
Don’t freak out, James, Kennick thought, and you might just make it out of here alive.
“You wanted his body,” Kennick said as Roper approached. “You’ve got it. Fuckin’ hate you with every inch of my body for taking it from us, but I got to do right by mine. And I got something else for you. Two pounds of the purest gypsy powder you’ve ever seen. We just want this done.”
“Like I fucking believe you?” Roper growled, his gun in his hand, a scowl on his lips.
“See for yourself,” Kennick said, nodding to the window behind James. Roper growled low in his throat, unwilling to break his stare. The two armed men behind him apparently didn’t do much to make him feel safe around Kennick.
“The fuck is this, James?” Roper said, now turning to the junkie. “You didn’t say shit about this when you…”
“I told him what to say,” Kennick interrupted. “I knew you wouldn’t agree to meet me otherwise.”
“I asked him,” Roper snapped. “This fuckin’ true, James?”
The man’s hands were shaking i
n the air, his lips cracked and trembling. Don’t be an idiot, James, Kennick thought. Their whole plan depended on this miserable fuck not being a miserable fuck for once in his life.
“Yeah,” James said, finally, swallowing hard. “They made me make the call. Said you’d only trust me”
Good boy, Kennick thought, begrudgingly admiring the way James lied without lying.
“The smack’s in the glovebox. A gun, too. All yours,” Kennick said. “Body’s in the back.”
“Check him,” Roper barked to one of the men behind him. “And you check the glovebox. See if this is some dirty gypsy trick or not.”
Rough hands grabbed at Kennick’s body, patting him from the shoulders down. Kennick’s heartbeat raced as the hands neared his waist, where the gun was stored. But he’d known they would check him. They’d be stupid not to. It was part of the plan.
Behind him, the third man opened the passenger side door, fumbled the glovebox open. Roper kept his eyes on Kennick and his hands on his gun while he side-stepped James, peering into the backseat where Cristov lay – looking very much like a dead body, a body that could be mistaken for Damon’s by an untrained eye looking through the glare of a window at full daylight.
“Fuck,” the man giving him the pat-down said. “He’s holdin’.”
The man ripped the gun from Kennick’s waistband. At the same time, Roper stepped back from the window, not sure of what he’d seen. And the man in the passenger seat emerged with a gun in one hand and a heavy brick of powder in the other.
“Shit,” Kennick moaned. “Of course I’m fuckin’ holding. What kind of idiot do you think I am? Who would risk coming here without any heat? Take it. It’s yours. Just let me go back to my family, alright? You got the dope, and you can take the body. You even got some pieces off the deal.”
“I don’t know if that is the body,” Roper said from the side. “Doesn’t really look like him from where I’m standing.”
