“Just cutting out the middle man,” he says. “You gotta know—everything that’s gone down wasn’t personal. Not even this. You’ve made my life damn difficult, woman. Your dad would be proud.”
“Thanks for the endorsement. After I put a bullet in your head, you’ll have to tell him yourself.” Fuck. What is his game plan? Why is he calling me? I avoid Diesel’s eyes like they’re toxic or something, because I can’t have him getting up in my shit right now. Admitting to my new—I don’t even know what to call him—that I’ve been all up in club business isn’t really the way I want us to start out. It’s not easy because every time I move or dodge his gaze, he moves to get right back in my line of sight. Forsaken men don’t know the meaning of personal space. This is something I might have wanted to consider before falling all over myself today. In normal social circles, a woman can kiss a man, flirt with him, and then move on. In Forsaken’s world, when a woman acts like that with an available brother—and he wants her for keeps—she doesn’t get to just take it back. I’m sure he’d eventually leave me alone if I made it clear I wasn’t up for anything with him, but that would require me convincingly telling myself and him that I don’t want him for weeks, if not months, before he would finally leave me alone.
“Work,” I mouth to Diesel, flashing him a lame smile, and then turn around.
Rig chuckles in my ear, but it sounds less jovial and more hateful.
“You get close enough to put one between my eyes and your nephew will already be dead.”
Diesel comes around, putting himself in my line of sight again. He pulls me against his chest, and even though I should move away, where he can’t hear anything, I can’t. I can’t move or protest, so I just place my head on his pec. If it weren’t for him holding me against his chest, I might fall to the ground.
When Amber called about Zander being missing, I didn’t think twice about it. He’s gone MIA a dozen times before. His cell being off was a little abnormal, but he’s older now, and he’s been wising up the last few months. When he first started his magic act, he really sucked at it. Either Amber or I could always find him within an hour or two. Slowly but surely he’s gotten really ace at not being found, so I figured this was just the next step. The little fuck wised up and realized that if he could deal with not tweeting or whatever for a few hours, he could stay out later doing whatever the hell it is he stays out doing. But that wasn’t it at all.
I was afraid of this. I should have said something to Amber about my fears, but she’s been dealing with so much that I couldn’t bring myself to worry her any more. So I just never let myself believe my fears were warranted.
“I need proof,” I say.
“You’ll get your proof in just a minute, but first we need to talk shop. Tell your girl I need thirty grand to start fresh. Since you have every bounty hunter from California to New York looking for me, I can’t really go home, now can I? I’ll let her know when and where we’re going to make the exchange. Amber will bring my money and I’ll give her her son back when I say, and nobody else better fucking be there with her. Until then, work on getting the cash and don’t be stupid. Zander thinks we’re on vacation, but if you tip him off that anything is wrong, I won’t hesitate to drop him.”
“Put him on the phone.” My voice is ice cold, and there’s no hiding that my supposed call from work isn’t very friendly, nor is it very businesslike. Diesel pulls the phone from my ear and puts it on speaker phone so he can hear what’s going on. There’s rustling on the other end and then exasperated teenage bitching in the background.
“This camping shit is fucking lame, Uncle Rig,” Zander says.
“Watch your mouth. Your aunt’s on the phone,” Rig says.
“Hey, Aunt Elle. You coming to take my ass someplace with fewer fucking trees and maybe a few more TVs?”
I don’t look at Diesel. I can’t. Instead I just focus on the task at hand.
“I wish, bud. Just try to enjoy your time with your uncle, okay?”
“There ain’t shit to do here,” Zander whines. In moments like this it’s easy to forget that he’s not a little boy anymore. At fourteen, Zander is already as tall as I am. Amber says he’s almost lost that little boy lankiness the guys in the club always teased him for. If there was any doubt that he’s his father’s son, his recent growth spurt completely squashed it. Not that anyone who knows the both of them could ever doubt who his dad is—he looks just like him.
“Be safe, Z.” He sounds fine. Grouchy, but fine. That doesn’t mean much, though. Rig’s unpredictable, and things could turn at any time.