Bad Wolf

by Jo Raven

“She was. I dreamed of her this morning. She told me… she said to remember.”

  “Remember what?”

  “Everything,” he whispers. “Remember everything, so I could turn my life around. That was her last gift to me.”

  “I have to go,” he says, shrugging on his jacket. “I have to, Gigi.”

  It’s late at night, and we’ve spent hours curled together on the sofa, watching mindless TV. His hands are warm now, his face not so pale. He looks much better.

  And determined to go look for Sebastian at the gang’s meeting place.

  “Please, don’t.” I want to hang on to him, stop him. “I have a bad feeling. Call him again. He has to answer, sooner or later.”

  “The funeral is tomorrow.”

  Crap. “Family is not only the one given to you, Jarett. I can be your family. My family can be your family. Staying in that gang will get you killed. I don’t want you to die. That’s what your family should want for you: to live.”

  “Listen to me.” He looks serious as he takes my hands in his. “I’m leaving the gang. And I’ll find a way to get Seb out, too. But right now, I have to find him. Like you found me. He needs to know about his mom from me.”

  That makes sense. And hope fills me like warm air, lifting me up, because this is the first time he has talked about the future. “Okay. Go find him. Then come back to me.”

  “I will, I promise. Sooner or later, I’m always coming back to you, Gigi.”

  There’s music playing in my head, a sweet melody. I swear I can hear it. It comes from inside my head, inside my heart. I look at his bowed head, his lashes throwing long shadows on his cheeks, and I love him more than ever.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Jarett

  The backroom of the bar where the gang usually meets is empty. I give another call to Seb, but it goes unanswered.

  The bartender shoots me a dirty look when I come back out. “Nobody’s here.”

  “Yeah, I noticed. Any idea where they all are?”

  “All of you should stay the hell away from here. The police came around sniffing the other day, asking about your gang. I don’t need no cops in my goddamn business—”

  I slam my fist on the bar, rattling the glasses he’s been drying. “Where. Are. They?”

  “Had a big job coming up, so Angel said.” His hands flutter anxiously, gaze skittering to the door behind me, as if expecting someone to come in and save him from me. “Some huge deal. Everyone was stressed for days.”

  Ah fuck. The big job Angel was talking about is tonight?

  Reaching over the bar, I grab the front of his shirt. “Where? Think.”

  “What? Oh no, I don’t know. They didn’t say.”

  “I said, think.” I shake him. My gun is a warm weight in the small of my back, and I fight the urge to pull it out. “You probably eavesdropped on the whole thing, didn’t you, you filthy little shit? Where are they?”

  “A warehouse downtown.” His jowls jiggle when I shake him again. “Jesus, okay. I’ll give you the address, just let go.”

  I release him, and he stumbles backward, straightening his shirt. “I’m all ears.”

  “You all wanna get killed, don’t you?” He sighs. “Fine by me. At least we’ll get some fucking quiet in here.”

  When I climb out of the cab, I’m disoriented for a few long minutes in the dark. The place looks abandoned, no cars or trucks parked in the lot, just some junk piled up in the corners. The warehouses loom in a long row, like dark, sleeping dogs.

  Okay, I’m here, so what do I do? Is the job going down now, is it over, is it still to come?

  And who’s their watchman now that I’m not around? Jorge probably. Or maybe Elena. Or Shem, if he’s still around.

  I text Seb.

  ‘Seb, leave before it’s too late. Get out of there.’ I hesitate, then type, ‘I can’t lose you, too.’

  Not after Mom passing. He’s an ass, but he’s my brother.

  Of course I get no reply. I pace in the yard, the phone clutched in my hand. It’s too cold to just sit and wait, an icy wind howling down the yard and whistling between the warehouses.

  My phone pings. A message from Seb.

  It just says, ‘Trap. Don’t come.’

  What the fuck? I stare at the words until my brain can process them. Shit.

  ‘Where are you?’ I type, my fingers uncoordinated, so that I have to fucking delete and rewrite everything twice.

  But nothing more comes back from Seb. I stand in the cold wind, gazing at the fucking warehouses, my heart hammering.

  Of course I’m not staying away. I have to find him, get him out.

  Move it, Jarett.

  So I start searching, try the warehouses doors one by one, circling them and looking for ways in. One is locked up. One opens, but only rats scuttle around. Another is locked, but I look through a broken window and see only darkness inside.

  I’m making progress, though. I can do this. I’ll find him.

  And then several bangs make me jump. Gunshots? The rat-tat-tat that follows sounds more like machine guns.

  No fucking way. It has to be something else, I tell myself, as I run from warehouse to warehouse, my heartbeat thundering in my ears. I’ll find him. I can still get him out.

  More machine gun fire. Windows smash. Someone screams, not far from where I’m standing.

  Jesus fucking Christ.

  A figure runs in the dark, almost crashing into me. Pumped with adrenaline, I charge him and tackle him to the ground, sit on top of him.

  “Get off me, fuck, get off me,” he babbles, “God fuck…”

  It’s Jorge. “Where are the others? Where’s Seb?”

  “Always with Seb, Jesus, let me up, I have to go…”

  “Go where? Where are the others?”

  “It was a goddamn trap. They had a vendetta with Mav, wanted us out of their way. Gunned us down—”

  “Where?” My breath is frozen in my chest. “Where’s Seb? Jorge, where’s Seb?”

  “You go in there, you die.”

  I don’t wanna be here. I wanna be with Gigi, in her arms, in her bed.

  But I can’t just leave my brother behind.

  I grab Jorge’s hair, lift his head. “Just tell me where!”

  He points with a shaky finger. I let go of his hair, and his head flops down to the concrete. Getting up, my knee so stiff it’s a miracle it holds me, I limp over to the warehouse he indicated, drawing my Glock from the back of my jeans as I go, and point it down as I push the back door open and enter.

  The smell assaults me the moment I step foot inside. Something real fucking bad. Blood, and urine, and shit.

  Christ. Where the hell are they? What do I hope to do? Would I kill for Seb?

  Could I do it?

  Cold sweat runs down my back, sticking my T-shirt to my skin under my jacket. My knee twinges. My shoulders ache. The gun is heavy in my hand.

  I inch inside two more steps, and then I hear the wailing of sirens.

  Holy fucking shit, the police.

  The cars skid into the yard outside before I even have the chance to step back out. Cops pour inside, guns trained on me.

  “Put the gun down. On your knees! Hands in the air!”

  Shit. I comply, placing the Glock carefully down, holding my hands up. “I have to find my brother,” I tell him. “There was a shoot-out.”

  A cop come to stand over me, a dark shadow. “We will check that out. You stay here.”

  “No fucking way. I’m going to find Seb—”

  The cop aims his gun down, right at my head. “Don’t fucking move. Hands behind your head.”

  Fuck, fuck, fuck…

  I lace my hands behind my head as more cops pour inside.

  Time slows down, stretching like molasses, crisscrossing the night. I’m caught like a fly in a web, unable to move, unable to think. I barely feel the cold, or the hard concrete under my knees.

  Seb will be fine. Yeah, he’ll be fine. They�
�ll escort him here, we’ll talk, and I’ll convince him to walk away. Leave the gang. Turn over a new leaf.

  Paramedics pushing gurneys go past us, and I stare at them. Of course. Shooting. Bullets. Blood. The wounded have to be taken to the hospital.

  “Don’t move,” the cop says. “What’s your name?”

  “Jarett.” My teeth are chattering. I clench my jaw. “Jarett Fenris.”

  “And your brother’s name?”

  “Sebastian Lowe.”

  He doesn’t comment on the different family name. “Stay put.”

  Seems like an eternity and a half has passed before there’s movement behind me. I twist my head to see, and my vision blurs.

  The paramedics are returning, pushing the gurneys. Loads of gurneys, the bodies on them bloody and still.

  I start to get up, but the cop beside me barks at me to stay down, his gun still trained on my head. My breathing rattles in my chest, in my ears, like I’m the one dying.

  More gurneys pass by.

  Another cop approaches, grabs my arm and hauls me to my feet. “Come on,” he says, grabbing my wrists, clapping cuffs on them, and pulling me toward a car.

  I jerk away from him. “No. Where’s Seb?”

  “Who?”

  “Sebastian Lowe. Where—?”

  And then I see him. On a gurney. His eyes are open and unblinking.

  My knee gives way, and I drop back down to the concrete as they roll him by.

  “No,” I whisper. “No. Dammit, no.”

  Someone shouts something over my head. I can’t make out the words. It’s all white noise. I shiver. Suddenly I’m so damn cold I can’t feel my legs, my body.

  “Hey, come along now. On your feet.”

  He drags me up, hauls me along. It’s hard to breathe, like trying to breathe underwater. I’m sinking deeper.

  A trap. Seb tried to warn me. Is that why he didn’t return my calls earlier? Did he try to save me?

  “Get him to the station,” the cop says to someone I don’t bother looking up to see, and I’m shoved into the back of a police car.

  I don’t fucking care. Where we’re going. What they’ll do with me. What happens next.

  Fuck this shit. Fuck everything. My heart hurts like a splinter in my chest.

  Am I destined to lose everyone?

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Gigi

  The phone doesn’t ring all night. I text Jarett before I fall asleep, and again the moment I wake up, asking him if he found Sebastian.

  Then, when he still doesn’t reply, I call him.

  It goes to voicemail.

  I’m starting to get really worried all over again, remembering the blankness of his expression, the stiffness of his body, all the pain he was obviously keeping inside.

  What happened last night? I hope he hasn’t done anything stupid, anything irreversible.

  Throwing on clothes, I hurry downstairs, thinking to head out and find him.

  But where? He has no reason to be at the nursing home anymore. When is his mom’s funeral? Who might know?

  “Morning, sis.” Merc is slathering a thick slice of bread with peanut butter and jelly, his eyes on the TV that’s showing the news, the volume on low. He glances at me. “What’s jumping?”

  “I’m worried about Jarett.”

  “You’re always worried about him.” He puts down the knife and takes a huge bite out of the bread. He frowns as he chews, looking like an oversized blond squirrel. “Wait, you’re really worried this time. Did something happen?”

  “I don’t know.” I perch on the edge of the table. “He left last night to find Sebastian, his sort of adopted brother?”

  “The douchebag, you mean?”

  “That’s the one. To tell him about his mom passing, and the funeral. It’s today, and I haven’t heard back from Rett yet.”

  “So?”

  “So I have a bad feeling.”

  “Practicing voodoo lately?”

  “Very funny.” My stomach is all twisted up. “I just do.”

  “Okay.” He puts down the bread. “And you don’t know where he’s supposed to be?”

  He’s supposed to be here, with me.

  “No idea. I don’t know where he’d find Sebastian. Where the gang meets? Another place? A bar or—”

  “Stop. Look at this.” He grabs the remote and jacks up the TV volume. “Jesus Christ…”

  Breaking news. Gang members arrested, big drug deal stopped. Shoot-out between two opposing gangs. Many people killed.

  “That’s nothing to do with Jarett,” I say, my voice shaky. “It can’t.”

  But my stomach twists again. I think I’m going to be sick.

  When my phone rings, I jump.

  “Jesus,” Merc whispers.

  It’s Jarett. I connect the call, relieved. “Rett!”

  “Gigi.” He sounds distant, his voice empty and exhausted. “They said I could call. You’re the only person… I’m sorry.”

  “What for?” I bend over, my head spinning. “What do you mean? Where are you?”

  I’m vaguely aware of Merc coming to stand in front of me, a frown on his face.

  “Police station. They’re holding me for interrogation about the… about the shooting.” His voice dips so I hardly make out the words. “Last night. Seb’s dead, Gigi.”

  “Oh shit, no. No.” I glance at the TV where the news is still playing, with images of a warehouse and yellow police tape. “I’m so sorry. Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

  He doesn’t reply for a long moment, and I’m getting scared the line was cut, until I hear him breathing.

  “I’m okay,” he says eventually. “I didn’t go in until after it was all over. Seb texted me. Said it was a trap. And I failed. Failed him.”

  “No. Stop.” I want to shake him. I want to hug him. And I can’t wrap my head around the fact that Seb, who was such an asshole, saved Jarett from death. Nothing is ever black and white, is it? “What Seb was involved in wasn’t your fault.”

  “I told him not to go. I told him to get out. I fucking tried.”

  “Yes, you did.” I close my eyes, tell myself not to fall apart now. “You were the best brother to him, Rett. He couldn’t have asked for a better one.”

  He says nothing.

  “You’re alive, Rett. And life goes on. You’ll be out in no time. They don’t have anything on you, do they? I’ll come find you the moment they let you go.”

  “You don’t have to. Nobody has to do that for me.”

  “I’ll be there because I want to.” I swallow hard. “You’re my family, too.”

  “No, Gigi,” he whispers. “You can’t. Everyone who takes me in dies.”

  “I don’t want to adopt you, Jarett. I want to be with you.”

  His breath hitches. “Why the hell would you still want that?”

  “That’s easy. Because I know you were looking after your brother. That you didn’t sell drugs, or kill anyone. Because I trust you. Because I love you.”

  And as I speak the words, I know that no matter what, they’re true.

  Finding out from the nursing home where Becky Lowe’s funeral is being held is easy. We attend the service and then stand at her grave, me, Merc, Mom and her boyfriend, all of us dressed in somber black, silent.

  It’s the least we could do. After all, Becky was Mom’s friend, and she was Jarett’s mom in all but name.

  I tell him that the next time we talk on the phone and listen to him try not to cry. He’s still in jail. I’d been hoping they’d find nothing on him, but as it turns out, they have.

  He had a Glock on him that night of the shooting, an illegal piece with the serial numbers filed down. Jarett says that Angel, one of the now dead heads of the gang, gave it to him. And that was enough, it seems, to get him on federal gun and conspiracy charges. To avoid trial, to avoid going to prison for a decade, they pushed him to plead guilty.

  So he did, took the plea bargain and got twelve months instead. />
  Still. A year. A frigging year.

  And I still haven’t been allowed to go in and see him, although I went and dropped off some of his clothes.

  “How can they leave him in jail when his mom and brother just died?” I mutter, rocking Bean in my arms. We’re at Matt and Octavia’s house, visiting. The baby makes gurgling noises, and I smile in spite of the sadness that’s been riding me ever since Jarett was arrested. “That’s inhuman.”

  My sister puts down her mug of tea. “Gigi. He was involved in bad shit. They can’t ignore that.”

  I inhale the baby’s scent, baby powder and sugar, letting it soothe me. “I have to see him.”

  “But you can’t. Not while he’s in jail.”

  “I know!” There’s a lump in my throat. “I know. But it’s not fair. He was only trying to keep his brother alive.”

  The baby shakes his tiny fists at me and whimpers.

  “Gigi…” Matt gets up from the carpet where he’s been helping his kids build a complicated toy railway, complete with trees and stations and small towns, and comes to me, opening his arms.

  Half-blinded by tears, I pass the baby over to him and turn away, wiping furiously at my eyes.

  “Oh, Gigi,” my sister, whispers, getting up too. “I know you love that boy. Be patient. Come here.”

  I turn into her arms and hold on tightly. “You believe him. You believe he didn’t do anything wrong.”

  “He did plenty wrong. But maybe not the really bad stuff. And he had good intentions. But even the best intentions don’t erase the fact he was in that gang, he was there when they robbed stores and dealt drugs.”

  “He looked out for me. For Sydney. For everyone.”

  “He’s a good guy. Okay? I know.” She rubs my back. “This isn’t the end of the world, sis. He isn’t dead, which is more than can be said for his gang. He’s alive, and he’ll be out of prison one day soon.”

  But I miss him, so badly. And not being there to comfort him is killing me. How would I feel if I’d been through everything he has? How would I have reacted, what would I have done to protect my family?

  He’s the strongest person I know, but I’m so scared he’ll give up—on me, on himself, on life. He’s just a number in the system now, a mistake to be corrected.