“Is that what your president told you?” Leo asks. All trace of humor is now gone, and in its place is a solemnness that I don’t expect. “I suppose he left out the part about his kidnapped wife and children who are to be sold overseas should he fail?”
If ever there were a reason to betray the brotherhood, I suppose that would be it. Not that I agree with Rig’s actions, but I don’t envy the choice he had to make. I knew that if Rig was working with Mancuso, there had to be a reason for it. Brothers don’t turn on the patch just because they get tired of the old regime.
“It’s unfortunate that you committed yourself to a cause that doesn’t exist and that you’ll lose your life for a crime you no doubt had little choice but to commit,” Leo says. Daniel’s eyes flutter for a moment before it registers what Leo’s words mean.
He’s a dead man.
Daniel redirects his gun to Leo, who takes a step back from me and moves to point his own at Daniel. It worked last time, so I try again. Pulling the gun from the back of my jeans and clicking the safety off, I direct it at Daniel. I distract him just enough for his eyes to slide to mine, ignoring Leo’s movements.
Just moments ago I wanted this man dead, but now that I know Leo’s going to do it for me, I feel a small amount of pity for him. Daniel closes his eyes and drops the gun on the porch. I force the words from my mouth, though they come quietly.
“I’m sorry.”
Leo’s bullet shoots from the gun and wedges itself in Daniels chest. He tumbles backward, nearly falling over a metal folding chair in his path. Once he’s down, he doesn’t move. Leo steps in front of me, turns the knob on the front door, and swings it open before redirecting his gun to clear the room. He tugs me inside after him and continues to lead us farther into the house.
“Don’t pity him.”
“I don’t,” I say, “I haven’t forgotten his betrayal. It just sucks knowing another person has died because they were lied to.”
The fear that crept up on me as Daniel had his gun directed at my brain doesn’t dissipate. I’m eighteen. I’m not trained for this, nor do I want to be. For the first time since Jeremy back down from my father, I consider that maybe it was a good thing. Because now, having nearly died a few times at the hands of different men, I want nothing more than to get the hell away from this life. I want to go to school, and I want to see the world—or at least other parts of California. I want to be a teenager, not a murderer. I guess I’m not cut out to be an old lady after all.
“Where is he?” Leo asks.
“I don’t know. There’s no basement, no attic, and no torture chamber.”
“Okay then, I guess we’re going to wing it.”
Leo leads us out of the living area—it’s smaller than I remember—to the kitchen and then around to Ian’s bedroom. I try to recall the layout of the house and think where they would stash somebody they wanted to keep control of. Every room has a window, including the bathroom. The cabin has only one bedroom and no extra spaces like an office or anything. Decades before I was born, Jim’s dad, Rage, built this place as a getaway for him and his wife, Sylvia. I force myself to remember the story Ruby told me about the cabin, thinking it might be somehow significant.
Rage and Sylvia had a place in town where they raised Jim until the day a social worker showed up at the house with a three-month-old baby claiming Jim was the father. According to Ruby, Jim was barely nineteen and hadn’t yet started prospecting for the club. He was more interested in racing his bike in the undeveloped dirt track behind the high school and drinking himself stupid than he was in doing something to better himself. Ruby said Sylvia had told her once that Jim didn’t want under his father’s thumb any more than he already was. So Rage had this house built small enough to avoid people making themselves at home. The only indulgence Sylvia had asked for was her closet—she wanted a closet the size of a small bedroom.
“The closet!” I say loudly, and without thinking, I reach up to smack Leo’s arm. He ignores my enthusiasm and strides across Ian’s bedroom to the closed door.
“Michael?” Leo says with a shout.
From the other side of the door, muffled curse words sound. Leo moves to stand in front of me and swings the door open, keeping his gun drawn and ready just in case. When Leo’s stance relaxes, he steps into the closet and allows me to see what he’s dealing with. Michael is gagged and bound to a metal folding chair. His face has been pounded, and he’s struggling against his restraints. “Hold still.”