Lucky for me, I know how to stay cool on the outside while I’m freaking the fuck out on the inside.
Years of practice.
Flint puts a hand up to Dice and narrows his eyes at me a little. I try to breathe. It’s not easy, and the air is so thick I could chew it. If I had an appetite, that is. When Thomas waves his lackeys off, my heart begins to slow again.
They leave us. Dice, in particular, is hesitant, but Thomas gives him a pat on the shoulder and tells him something, quietly. Dice, makes a good name for a pet, don’t ya think, does as he’s told.
Good dog.
Thomas motions for me to follow him, and I do, but I’m acutely aware of where my car is at all times. No harm in being prepared to make a quick run for it, if need be.
“You don’t want to be here, Jack.”
“Preaching to the choir, Tom, but I need some fucking answers, and I don’t exactly have the kind of time on my hands to dick around, so…”
He stops abruptly and faces me head on. He studies my eyes, my face, my stance. With a drop of his shoulders and a shake of his head, he lets out a small puff of air.
“My brother was one of them.”
No clue what he’s talking about, or why he seems to think it’s important to this conver-fucking-sation.
“You don’t have a brother.”
“Had.”
“Have, had, whichever. I’ve known you since we were kids. You never had a brother.”
“I did, though, Jack.”
He doesn’t say another word. He just holds my stare. His face is withdrawn, like he’s sick at his stomach.
Funny because it’s not unlike the way I feel every time I think about…
Mikey.
That’s when it hits me. Only it doesn’t make sense.
“Your last name is Flint. There were no Flints on the list.”
He nods as he takes a drag of his cigarette, and I’m not gonna lie, I might be salivating. A little.
“Different fathers. Different state.”
He flicks the butt out into the night air.
“Which one?”
“Robert Decker. My baby brother,” he confirms in a low voice.
“How did I not know, or anyone else for that fucking matter, that you had a brother?”
“Nobody here knew he existed. I knew he’d be a bargaining chip someday. I just didn’t plan on the police exacting that bargain, otherwise, I would’ve taken further precautions.”
“Precautions?”
“Unlike you, it didn’t take me long to figure out how this world works, Jack.” He’s talking about the wonderful world of drugs, of course. “My mother left my father for one of many extracurricular activities.”
“He cheated.”
Thomas nods. “One of these relationships resulted in my brother. I didn’t know about him until I was older. When we found each other, I was already making hand-over-fist in my current business. I had the means to give him things I never had.”
What a fucking sweet heart.
“College.”
“Precisely. He was a senior when they caught up with him.”
He starts to walk again.
I follow but I don’t like it.
The Chevelle is becoming smaller and smaller. My concern is growing larger and larger.
“Who’s they, Tom?”
He doesn’t answer me straight away. Instead, he decides it’s story time.
“Back in the day, detectives would harass my people on a daily basis.”
“That’s surprising. Police giving gangs a hard time. Go figure.”
Thomas gives me a look of warning for the sarcasm. It’s more than likely gonna get me killed someday.
Hopefully, not today.
And don’t think it escapes my attention that he specifically said detectives.
As in, Nick is a fucking detective.
I really fucking hope he doesn’t have anything to do with this shit.
“About five or so years ago, that harassment switched gears from getting drugs off the street to getting money into their pockets. It started out with two of them, then another joined in, then another. I’m not sure how many are in on it now. It’s enough, though.”
“Enough for what?”
“Enough to make sure we sell exactly what they want, when they want, and how often they want.”
I hear the words he’s saying. Hell, I’ve thought it a thousand times myself. But to face the fact that it’s truth? That’s not something I was ready to take on today.
“Didn’t you ever wonder why drugs were not a problem, Stiles?”
I lift a shoulder. “Never really my problem until recently.”
“Yes. I know.” He raises a brow to go with the grimace he flashes.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
His grimace turns to a frown. “Only that you have been a predictable piece of the puzzle for many parties involved.”
Ouch.
That kinda hurt.
Someone was actually counting on me being me.
Thomas sees that he’s made his point and moves on.
“About two or so years ago another player entered the game. Completely outside of the police department. Said he represented some very important people. People who wanted to improve the economy.”
He waits for my mind to play catch up but I’m already there. Immediately, Graham Black comes to mind.
“Go on.”
“He wanted me to hand over members of my gang, my family, to his contacts to show he was doing his job. Cleaning up the city, he called it.”
“And?”
“I told him to go fuck himself.”
Classic.
I’d laugh, except Thomas adds another tidbit of information to that enlightenment.
“When my brother’s death was announced on the news, I knew immediately what had really happened. Before long, his face was being plastered all over the area as a drug dealer and murderer.”
Jesus fucking A.
My mood just crashed and burned.
“I’m sorry, man.”
Why I’m sorry, I have no idea, because helloooooo, gangbangers. But still, a part of me wants to rip Graham Black’s head off for pulling something as low as that shit.
“The next time I was contacted by that man, I wasn’t so quick to tell him to fuck off.”
The way he says it, combined with the look of regret and purpose he’s giving me, tells me everything else I need to know.
Everything I don’t particularly want to know.
He looks away. Ashamed maybe. Air leaves me and my gut clenches.
“You gave him Donnie’s name.” I can barely fucking say it. The kid’s face flashes in front of my eyes. I think about the sincerity in his expression and how he grinned over to wish me luck the night of that drag race.
“They killed my brother.” Thomas’s rage is growing. “All the fucking work I did.” He scowls at the buildings that stand abandoned across from us. “The money I invested to protect him. To keep my brother out of this shithole. It was all for nothing.” Anger bubbles out him uncontrolled now.
I’m right there with him.
“And you fucked another kid. Right in the ass.”
He spins on me. The gun Dice brought him at his side now. I hadn’t even noticed he’d taken it.
“What would you have me do, Stiles?” He waves the gun at me. “You want me to keep saying no to him, and he kills someone else I love?”
I can’t really say I give a shit if he shoots me at this point or not.
It might just put me out of my own misery.
So I lay it on him straight.
“Donnie was getting out, Tom. He wanted something more than this shithole.” To put it in familiar terms for him.
“Yeah? Well, so did my brother.”
At this point, he doesn’t give a fuck either.
I want to choke the life out of this asshole.
“You give him Stix’s name?”<
br />
Swear to fucking God, I’ll actually do it if he says yes.
He shakes his head. “I didn’t.”
I’m relieved in a way. I also believe him. Why would he lie at this point?
Lucky for you, dickhead.
I have to remember to breathe in and out for a while after that. It’s quiet on the street with Thomas holding his gun and me with nothing on me because I left that shit in the car like a fucking idiot.
“You gonna shoot me now?” I may as well put it out there, right?
He tilts his neck to stretch it out. “I’m thinking about it.”
“So what’s the fucking verdict?”
He looks over at me. “I still don’t like you much, Stiles.”
“Feeling’s mutual.” And fuck you, by the way.
“But I think you might be growing on me.”
Wish I could say the same.
Instead of making that a known fact, I keep my mouth shut. For now.
“Then let me fucking help you.”
“We’re handling it.”
“Yeah, I see that.”
“You got the information you came for. It’s time for you to go.”
“But I─”
“Goodbye, Jack.”
He starts to leave me, but I can’t have this conversation end like this.
“Thomas. When my kid brother…” Shit, this sounded better in my fucking head. It was easier, too. I’d drop it all together except Thomas’s attention is back on me, and I’m pretty sure if he feels like I’m wasting his time here, he might just change his mind about capping a bullet into my head.
I like my head the way it is.
“When Mikey died, I wanted to crawl into a fucking hole and die myself. I blamed myself for a long time.”
Who am I kidding?
“Okay, I still blame myself. And maybe you’ll always blame yourself for Robert’s death. But you have the opportunity to do something here.”
His eyes fall for only a second but I see it.
Hell, I see it every day I look in the mirror.
“Stop feeling fucking sorry for yourself, man.”
By now, Dice is back with us, and the gun he’s holding is pointed at my chest. At the tattoo I’m sporting there, to be exact.
“Goodbye, Jack.” Thomas walks away. When he’s far enough that I can’t get to him easily, but still within earshot, I yell out to him.
“Who was it, Thomas?”
Because I need the confirmation.
I need a goddamn name.
“That I don’t know. Yet.” He calls back without a glance this time. “I never met him face-to-face.”
He calls off Dice after that bullshit comment, and they all disappear into the neighborhood buildings like rats during a flood.
I guess that’s that.
I’m on my own here. Fine by me, but other than the backstory on what Thomas has to do with this shit, I’m still at square one with finding out where the hell Stix is.
I check my watch. It’s fucking early. I need some sleep and time to prep for stalking Anonymous tonight.
On to plan B.
X X X
A couple shots of liquid courage later and I’m sitting in a dark corner of the city’s most famously kept-quiet cheaters club, watching Green. I’m slumped like most of the drunks here and the baseball cap I’m sporting will hopefully be enough to hide my face.
Emma however, is out there, plain as day, waiting for her next instructions from the king douche of this whole situation.
A random woman, wearing a cheap wig, slides up into my booth and puts her hand on my dick.
“Hi, I’m Vanessa.”
“And I’m not fucking interested.” I take her hand and move it to her own leg.
“You’re no fun.” She pouts and puts her lips up next to my fucking face. Like that’s tempting.
“Not tonight, honey.” Or any other night, for that matter. No, and thank you.
“Jackass.” She gets angry and pushes herself out of the booth.
“Good meeting you.” I wave as she stalks away, looking for another score. I shiver off the encounter because, blech.
Green giggles over by the bar. She clearly saw that shit. I give her the finger and look the other way to see if anyone here seems like they might be a visitor of the asshattery kind.
When my attention returns to where Green was, she’s gone.
I’d like to say I handle the situation with the cool ease of an experienced detective, but I’m in full on panic mode for about thirty-point-five seconds. All that changes when I feel warm, familiar lips on my neck from behind me.
My heart rate can’t take giving a fuck about someone.
That’s all I’m saying.
“You’ve got a nice, quiet corner here, Mr. Stiles.” She whispers with this Marilyn Monroe kinda voice going on.
She had to go there.
I turn to give her some of her own medicine when she says, “Kiss me.”
“Damn, Green, we just─”
“Seriously, kiss me. Someone’s headed this way.”
She licks her lips, and my eyes zero in on them like a deer in the headlights. They’re full and tasty-looking, and best of all, they’re not covered with any of that sticky ass lipstick bullshit. Just gloss. Barely any, at that. And it smells like fucking cherries.
“No problem whatsoever.”
Now, should I be more concerned with the fact that this anonymous douche might very well be here, somewhere? Maybe. On the other hand, it’s not like the guy’s going anywhere. Not yet, anyway.
So I press my lips against hers. They’re fucking delicious and soft, and they move with mine perfectly.
Her tongue teases mine. She knows that shit pisses me off. So I give a little back by moving my attentions across her jaw, below her ear. I move some hair and kiss around to the back of her neck.
“Ah. Not there,” she mumbles.
I smile against her skin. “You don’t like it?”
She breathes a little heavier. “I didn’t say that.”
“Then why stop?”
“Mmmm.” She twitches her neck and shoulder together. “Because if you keep doing that, I’m not sure I can continue focusing on what’s going on around us.”
Another kiss. A small suck. A tiny lick.
I slide a hand around her waist into the waist of her jeans.
“This is profoundly improving my day, Green. And you smell really fucking good. Don’t rain on my parade.”
She hums again. Her chest rises and falls. Rises and falls.
“Stiles.” Her brain wants her to tell me to stop. She won’t say it, though. She can’t. Not any more than I can actually stop.
Not right fucking now.
“Jackson.” It’s a whisper this time, and it makes me tense.
It makes my blood run hot.
Don’t get me wrong. Women have said my name before. First, last. Either, or. They groan. They pant. They demand I give them something they can’t find anywhere else.
There’s something about the way Green says it, though.
Something about the meaning behind the way she says it.
Like she’s promising me something.
Like she wants me to promise, too.
What scares me is I’d probably do it.
And I don’t scare fucking easily, people.
An uneasy pang settles inside my chest, and I stop with the fucking kissing.
The heat in this corner booth is making me edgy.
It’s making me a lot more than edgy, actually.
“I think we’re good.” She slides away from me. “I think that might be my contact over by the bar.”
“Why do you─” It doesn’t take a fucking rocket scientist to figure out why she came to that conclusion when I see who it is she’s referring to.
“Fucking Walker. I fucking knew it.”
“Shit. I have to go over there, Stiles.”
“I don’t like it.”
“I have to.” She’s gone before I can talk her into staying, and when I get up to follow her, I’m stopped by a waiter with a tray full of shots.
“Can I get you anything?”
One of everything. “No.”
He starts to walk away, and I grab him by the arm. “Patron Silver, straight up.”
“Right away, sir.”
While I wait, I make myself scarce in the crowd of horny people and think.
Graham Black is Anonymous. More than likely.
Walker works for Black.
Who’s working for Walker?
That’s when I see him for the second time tonight.
“Dad?” He brushes past Walker. Green doesn’t even notice, but my eyes are trained on him.
I saw everything.
The way he placed a hand on Walker’s shoulder, how he slid a piece of paper into his jacket pocket afterward. And how he is now making a decided play for the back of the bar.
Exit.
I’m pushed farther into the sea of people by a bunch of drunken sex addicts who don’t know how to fucking say excuse me. As I pass by the bar area, I notice Green and Walker.
“Shit.”
I find Dad again and make a split decision to follow him.
I need to see what the hell is on that piece of paper. ’Cause something tells me that fucker’s gonna give me some of the answers I’ve been looking for.
About the moment I’m heading off, a hand tugs at my shoulder.
“Excuse me, sir?”
I was expecting Green. What I got was tequila.
Same effect, if you ask me.
“Thanks.” I take the shot, hand him a couple twenties, and continue to stalk my father.
The farther back he goes, the darker it gets. Figuratively and literally. The people back here go in and out of curtained rooms. I pass one guy who’s naked, on all fours, and has a goddamn collar around his neck that’s chained to a door.
I don’t even wanna fucking know.
I almost lose sight of Dad but find him again as he’s opening the back exit door.
I push through the crowd of people, frantic now. I can’t let him leave without knowing what the fuck he’s up to. By the time I’m at the door and manage to get it open, I stop short.
About ten bodyguards surround a dark Mercedes. Dad’s nowhere to be seen and I slink behind a corner of the building before anyone can see me.
Jackson Stiles, Road to Redemption Page 27