I turn around, tossing back the rest of my scotch. “Yeah, I figured we could use a reminder of where we came from. Also, there might be a little bit of comfort in a cheeseburger for Sarah.” I remember that back when she worked on set, she’d have a cheeseburger almost every day for her on-set lunch. I’m sure her dietician had a coronary over it, but she loved eating those fucking things.
“Sarah?” Marcus asks, surprised. “Didn’t think you’d be calling her by name, at least not so quickly. What’s going on, Ryker?”
“Just a moment,” I reply, taking the bags of food from Marcus and putting a Big Mac, fries, Coke, and an apple pie in one of the bags, leaving the rest behind on the counter. “Let me take this to her. Fries fucking suck when they’re cold.”
Sarah’s underneath the blanket when I come in, her dark eyes widening for a moment in panic before she remembers who I am. Maybe she was napping. I wouldn’t be surprised after today’s stress. “I have some dinner for you.”
“And the clothes?” Sarah asks, and I see the balled-up ruin of her dress on the handcuff chain. “You said you’d bring me something.”
“You’re right. In all the stuff going on that’s slipped my mind. Eat, and then after dinner, I’ll bring you something,” I reply evenly, while on the inside, I’m kicking myself for forgetting. Most of the stuff I have won’t fit her, but I’ve got an old pair of sweatpants that has a drawstring, and I can figure out something with one of my old undershirts. It’ll be better than nothing. I hand her the bag and step back, letting her look inside. “Since we didn’t know if you’d like our normal diet of filet mignon and caviar, we decided to go with burgers and fries. How’s that sound?”
“Better than the filet,” Sarah says honestly. “Jacob likes to eat that high-class shit. I’d rather eat a couple of sliders and . . . oh, my God.”
“What?” I ask, and Sarah looks up, what looks like maybe gratitude in her eyes.
“Apple pie?” she says. “Haven’t had one in so long. Jacob tends to control what I eat. He says . . . the last time I had a dessert outside of a restaurant, he didn’t let me eat for two days.”
I shake my head, more and more convinced that I’m doing the world a favor by killing this bastard. No one in the world should be deprived of apple pie. It’s simple—Jacob Waters isn’t human. Not that I needed any more motivation. “Then enjoy, because I’m nothing at all like him.”
I close the door and go back out to the kitchen, where Marcus has already spread out our meals on the bar top, pulling up a couple of stools while he munches on a fry himself. “So…?”
“First, tell me how the boys are doing and the fallout so far,” I order, setting his questions aside until after I have some food in my stomach. I really should have eaten earlier. A double scotch on an empty stomach is a bad idea, and my head feels a little swimmy after seeing Sarah’s reaction to the apple pie. A fucking apple pie, and she was just this side of crying like a poor kid at Christmas getting their heart’s deepest desire. What sort of monster is Jacob Waters anyway?
“We sent a runner to Waters’s house. I sent along the anklet as proof we actually have her,” Marcus says, making me nod. In all the chaos, that idea had slipped my mind. My brother makes me proud, he ad-libbed it perfectly. “The message was dropped off with the maid, which gave our boy a chance to get away. As for the crew that hit the funeral, we got our wounded man out of there, but the other two had to be left behind.”
“They were good men,” I reply, biting into my burger, but I’m unable to relish the taste. I can’t help but feel responsible. I’m their leader. Sure, every man in today’s crew was willing to die to get their licks in on Jacob Waters, but that doesn’t mean I wanted to waste their lives like pawns in a chess game. I should have had a better plan. We shouldn’t have lost anyone. “What about the streets?”
“Got them on lock,” Marcus says. “The word is out—nobody moves and not a damn thing gets done. The crackheads are going to be feenin’ for a hit by tomorrow.”
“That’s their fucking problem,” I reply, trying a fry. It helps, the grease and salt and crispy texture helping lift my mood a little. “And the johns are just going to have to jack off for a night.”
Marcus nods, sipping his Coke. “I got Big George downstairs in the lobby, perimeter security, but he can’t stay there all night. And Kendra is ready to come in if we need her.”
I smile at the mention of Kendra. She might be small, but that’s one badass bitch. Miss five feet of fury herself, I’ve seen her take on guys a foot taller than her and knock them out. I’m more than happy with her covering my ass. “Call her in. Tell her and George to split the night. They can crash in the one spare bedroom we’ve got left up here when they’re not on shift. Tomorrow, we can set up a regular security screen.”
Marcus nods, chewing his fries. “So . . . Sarah?”
That’s Marcus. He never forgets anything about me. I sigh, finishing off my burger before I look at my half a box of fries, setting them down for now. “You remember her? From years ago?”
“Remember her?” Marcus says, chuckling. “How the fuck wouldn’t I? She was my teenage dream girl. Why?”
I shake my head, trying to calm myself. “You wouldn’t believe what he did to her.”
“What who did to her, Ryker?”
“Jacob. It… we’ve done a lot of shit that might not be good, but we’re not evil, Marcus. That prick though, deserves everything he’s gonna get.”
Marcus sits quietly, shocked as I tell him about the scars, setting his Coke down when I tell him about the deepest. “I mean, the fucking thing has shadows, Marcus! Shadows! Who the fuck does that to any woman, let alone their own fucking wife?”
“So, that’s how she surprised you at the funeral,” Marcus finally says, another gift of his where he often sets aside difficult conversation to come back to later. He doesn’t forget. He just comes back later when the emotions aren’t so strong. “She wasn’t running from you because she knew who you were. She was running from him.”
“Yeah. I bet she thought I was one of her husband’s boys, trying to drag her back to him. Speaking of which . . .” I glance at the clock. It’s getting late enough that I know exactly where Jacob Waters is going to be, the same place he is every night at this time. “Pass me the phone.”
I don’t have Jacob’s personal cell phone, and I know his home line is going to be tapped by the boys in blue if he’s called them in, but I doubt he has the brass to have the cops put a tracer on the phone line at The Waters Front, the restaurant and nightclub that makes up one of his supposedly legitimate businesses. There are four of them in the city, and they’ve been written up in Food & Wine magazine. He’s very proud of them.
The phone rings three times, and when it’s picked up, I can hear the strain in the voice on the other end. “The Waters Front. We’re sorry, but due to unforeseen events—”
“Give me Jacob Waters,” I interrupt the staffer. “Now.”
“I’m sorry sir, but Mr. Waters—”
“Tell him that Ryker Johns is calling. And tell him that I have something of his that he wants very much.”
The staffer stops, and when he speaks again his voice sounds slightly strained. “Hold just a minute, please, sir.”
I’m put on hold, subjected to the annoyance of Kenny G, and I pull the phone away from my ear a little. “I’m on hold.”
“You sure about this, Ryker?” Marcus asks. “I mean, wouldn’t a burner phone be better?”
“This way, he’ll know for—” I start, but stop when the phone is picked up. “Hello, Jacob.”
“You’re a dead man,” Jacob growls, and I’m at least partially reassured. He probably still thinks that I’m the same hoodlum my father was, street smarts, big balls, and not a lot more. “Dead, you hear me?”
“I could have killed you today,” I reply, and Marcus sits back, listening in. “I was ten feet from you, and there was no way those three linebackers you had as your goon s
quad could have stopped me from putting one in your head. But I didn’t. I want something else.”
Here’s the big lie, the part that I hope is going to keep Jacob a step behind until it’s too late. The bait’s out there . . .
“How much do you want for her? A million? Five?” Jacob asks, and I know I have him hooked. I can hear it in his voice. He might be a sadistic fuck of a husband, but he wants Sarah back. Badly. If for no other reason than to keep up appearances and for his own ego. There’s no way he’d be tossing around money amounts so quickly otherwise.
“I wasn’t even sure I was going to get her away from you, but now that I’ve got her, let’s see. I got it. You know her last movie, Jacob? The one she filmed about six years ago, here in town?”
“Of course, I do. It’s how I met her,” Jacob grunts. “Why?”
“Tears of The Young grossed thirty-two million dollars. Not too bad, for a first time leading actress. Tell you what, you give me exactly thirty-two million dollars, and you can have your wife back. I won’t even worry about inflation or any small change that Wikipedia doesn’t report.”
“Thirty-two . . . are you fucking insane, Ryker? Or did you just get drunk off your ass before you called me?” Jacob asks, and I wonder for a second if I pushed my hand too far.
“Well, I can always keep her around for a while. She’s not as fresh as she was ten years ago mind you, but hey, she’s still Sarah D. I can find a schoolgirl skirt like she used to wear,” I tell him, even though the words make my hamburger turn in my stomach. Yeah, I want her, but it hurts to talk about her like that. I can’t let Waters know though. “My brother and I wouldn’t mind keeping her and sharing her. We’ll remind her what it’s like to be with a couple of studs.”
“Wait!” Jacob screams, so loudly that even Marcus hears it. Someone who didn’t know any better might think he actually cares about Sarah. “Listen . . . I just don’t have that sitting around. I mean, even you gotta recognize that thirty-two million is a lot of fucking money. You don’t just keep that sitting on your nightstand.”
“We’ll give you a few days to pull things together. Now, I know you probably don’t exactly have all your shit saved down at the local Wells Fargo, so let’s say a week. I’ll call you then, and if you don’t get it to me . . . she’s mine.”
I hang up before Waters can reply, then look at Marcus. “What do you think?”
“I think you should get the goddamn Academy Award,” Marcus says with a look of admiration. “I’ve known you my whole life. I know how nobly you treat women. You sounded pretty fucking serious.”
I chuckle, shaking my head. “Thanks, but you’re right. Make sure everyone knows she is not to be abused. Nobody talks shit either. I was wrong about her. If I hear one motherfucker even make a dirty knock-knock joke with her, I’ll send them off the balcony headfirst.”
Marcus nods, not laughing at all. “Gotcha. Don’t worry, that’ll be passed on. So…?”
I sit back, looking at my now cold fries and pushing them away, picking up my Coke to finish it off. “So, Jacob Waters might be an abusive, shitty excuse for a husband, but he’s obviously willing to play ball. That, or he’s just buying time. I’d bet on the latter. So tomorrow, we start making our next moves. In the meantime, I’ve got something else to do.”
“What’s that?” Marcus asks, and I get up, going toward my bedroom. “Where are you going?”
“First, I’m going to take a piss,” I reply, pausing at my bedroom suite’s door. “Next, I’m going to get our guest some clothes like I promised her, and maybe a book.”
Marcus laughs, shaking his head. “She always struck me as the paperback type. Got any Jackie Collins?”
I laugh, turning back toward Marcus, who’s smiling broadly. He’s always had the ability to help me laugh, even in the dark times. “Not quite my style. She might have to settle for Cormac McCarthy.”
I’m picking through my old t-shirts when Marcus comes to my bedroom door, holding my phone. “Hey, Ryker?”
“Yeah?”
“The Narrows is on the phone. There’s an issue that you need to take care of.”
I look up, cursing under my breath. “What?”
“Small crew from Jacob Waters’s group wanting to cross over to our side,” Marcus says. “But they want to talk to the man.”
I stifle my curse. I knew this is what I wanted, even if the timing absolutely sucks. “Okay. Listen, grab my old sweats, the gray pair I used to wear, and one of my old t-shirts. Make sure Sarah’s taken care of while I’m gone. Remember what I said.”
Marcus nods while I reach for the drawstring on my casual pants, looking around for my jeans. They’ll work with a sport coat and t-shirt for this. Hopefully, it won’t take too long.
The house looks like it should have been torn down years ago, and in probably any other city, it would have been. In this town though, neighborhoods like the Narrows get nothing but delays and more crackhouses.
This house used to be one of those crackhouses too until it was chosen by the Narrows Niners as their headquarters. It still looks like it should be burned down, but that’s beside the point tonight.
“You sure you want to go in there unarmed?” my escort, Skee-High, asks me. “I mean, the Niners are-”
“Are looking for reassurance they won’t get cut down if shit kicks off,” I reply. “They know the geography. They’re surrounded by crews and sets that are part of our organization. That applies now too. They fuck up one hair on my head, and they know they won’t see sunrise. Chill.”
Skee still looks uncertain, but follows as I approach the front door of the corner house. A light on the porch turns on, and before I can walk up the rickety steps, the door opens and the leader of the Niners, Nick Colvin, steps out. “Took you long enough, Ryker.”
“Wanted to make sure your boys behaved themselves,” I reply. “They’ve had eyes on us for blocks now.”
“They do,” Nick says. “The Niners can hold their own.”
“True, but we both want the same thing… no more bloodshed for our people,” I tell him. “So what do you say?”
I can see the pride in Nick’s face. He’s held out against me for a long time. And he’s loyal too, he stayed with Waters because his gang’s always been with Waters. Still, he’s no idiot. Finally, Nick nods, and steps away from the door. “Come on in… my friend.”
Chapter 8
Sarah
I shake at my handcuff, trying to figure out what to do. It’s been a few hours since Ryker left, and while my left shoulder doesn’t ache too much, I don’t think I’m going to enjoy trying to go to sleep with my arm this way.
More than that, though, I just don’t like being alone. I thought, after the way that I craved solitude in Jacob’s house, that I was used to it. That I enjoyed being alone. Now, what I realize is that what I craved was safety, and the only way I was safe in that house was when I was alone. But now, with someone who may or may not be dangerous, I’m wanting company again.
There’s a knock on the door, and before I can say anything it opens. At first in the backlight, I think it’s Ryker coming back, but then I see that the hair is a little bit shorter and styled differently. They’re similar, but not quite the same. This man doesn’t have quite as much force of personality in his movements as Ryker. Still, when he smiles, he looks friendly enough. “Hello.”
“Hi,” I say uncertainly. Hello? Not what I expect a street gangster to say… but what do gangsters say the first time they meet people? “Who are you?”
“The name’s Marcus,” the man says, bringing in a bucket. He sets it down before pulling out a pair of light sweatpants and a white undershirt. “Ryker was called away. He asked me to help you out with some things. So . . . let me help you with your sweats.”
“I can do it,” I reply defensively, not wanting him to touch me. Instead of arguing he shrugs, handing me the sweats. It takes a little bit of fussing, I’m still handcuffed. Also, I’ve never put a pair of pants
on one-handed before, but I don’t give up, and Marcus is polite enough to turn his back the whole time. “Okay, now the shirt.”
“You might be able to get it started, but I did a little life-hacking on the thing, so you might need help later,” Marcus says, handing me the shirt. I see what he means. The entire left side and sleeve have been slit down the seam to let me pull it on one-handed without undoing the handcuff. Pretty ingenious, I gotta say, and I wonder about Marcus. Maybe he’s the nice brother? Although Ryker wasn’t that bad either. And Ryker is a lot more… magnetic than Marcus. There’s something about Ryker that pulls at me, even as his brother’s the one helping me out right now.
“Thank you,” I finally say. “I can manage though.”
Marcus smiles for a moment before it fades. “Okay, well, here’s a bucket if you need it, and if you want a drink before I go to sleep, holler. I’ll sleep out on the sofa. I’m a pretty light sleeper.”
“Wait,” I call as he goes to open the door. “Please . . . do you mind just staying to talk?”
Marcus turns and looks me over, and I get the same sense that I had when Ryker locked me up that there’s something they’re not telling me, like for some reason I should know more about them than I do. Finally, though, he goes over and sits down on the small footlocker against the wall, looking me over. “What do you want to talk about?”
“Well, your brother told me a little about why you guys took me, but I don’t understand why. I mean, why are you guys doing this, trying to take down Jacob?”
Marcus leans forward, his face a little shocked. “You really don’t know, do you?”
“Know what? Last time I said something about it, your brother damn near ripped my dress off. I’m kinda hoping to get some answers without repeating that.”
Marcus sighs, sitting back and crossing his arms over his chest. It’s only then that I see the gun at his waist, and I’m reminded that he’s a criminal as well. “You first came to this city about six years ago to film a movie, right?”
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