This is Michael. Michael. The man who almost killed me when I was growing up, the man who beat my mother, terrorized my sister. And we were his family.
The men who work for him have even worse stories. Everyone knows you don’t take anything Michael doesn’t give you and, once you work for him, he owns you forever.
My mother belonged to Michael. Joe still belongs to Michael. What would my father say if I told him Joe murdered his wife?
Two cars pass me and I stiffen, checking my rearview mirror for cops. The last thing I need is one stopping for a game of “Are you lost, little girl?”
I still can’t put the car in drive though. Obviously, Jason has his own agenda. He isn’t confirming my suspicions to be helpful. If I told my dad, Jason would benefit and I’d know.
Then again, if I told him, I could promise myself I did it for Lily. I did it for my mom. . . . Deep down though I’d know that I did it for me. Joe murdered my mother. He threatened to murder my sister and me. It’s fitting and yet . . . and yet . . .
I grab my phone and dial Stringer.
“My my,” he says upon picking up. “You need another batch of roofies, girlie? I didn’t think you were the type.”
“I need information.”
“That costs money too.”
“I’m good for it.” I take an unsteady breath, grip the phone a little harder. “I want to know what’s up with Jason Baines. Is he really taking Joe’s territories?”
There’s a soft squeaking noise from Stringer’s end. The dealer’s chewing something, thinking about my question.
“Who wants to know?” he asks finally.
“My dad.”
The chewing stops and I almost smile. In certain circles, Michael’s name is like a spell. It’s the Open Sesame command no one can resist.
“I pay your daddy like I’m supposed to,” Stringer says. “I don’t want no trouble.”
“Then tell me what I want to know.”
“Everybody from Tate’s crew reports to Jason now. Everybody. The boy wants a promotion.”
By having Joe killed. “One more thing, Stringer.” I hesitate because I haven’t decided what I’m going to do so I shouldn’t even ask . . . “Do you think you could get a cell to my dad? I may have something I need him to see.”
“All things can be accomplished with money.”
My laugh is a silent puff. “Thanks. I’ll make sure to send something your way for your time.”
“You better.” He hangs up and I spend a moment fiddling with my phone.
Michael would kill someone. True. But he wouldn’t kill someone for me or for her . . . would he?
I wrap my fingers around the steering wheel, grip until the veins look like worms beneath the skin. If Michael would kill Joe, I can’t tell him. It would be wrong, unforgivable. It makes me into someone Jason used. I’d be an accomplice.
Or I could think of it as being a weapon.
My breath hitches. If I did tell Michael, I would avenge my mother.
39
I walk in the door at three forty-five exactly and Bren is waiting for me in the front hall. For a second I panic. At first I think she knows I’ve been skipping. Then I see the suitcase at her feet.
“Oh good, Wick, you’re home.” Bren hops from foot to foot as she wiggles into a pair of heels. “I wanted to talk to you. I had an emergency meeting come up. I have to fly to Dallas for a few days.”
“Okay.”
Bren chews her lower lip, studying me. “You’re still grounded. So that means Manda’s going to check in on you.”
Lucky me. “Okay.”
“She’ll call every day to make sure you’re home and to see if you need anything. I’ve done some extra shopping so you should be good for food and there’s always that emergency credit card I gave you—” Bren cuts off, her face screwing tight as she remembers something else she’s supposed to be doing instead of lecturing me. I feel kind of sorry for her. She’s stretched so thin these days.
“It’ll be fine, Bren. Don’t worry.”
She gives me a suspicious look. “Lily’s staying with the Harrisons. She’s gotten really close to their daughter and it’ll work out better for her to get to school since she can ride in with them. I hope you don’t mind being alone for a bit.”
I shrug. Lily hasn’t spoken to me in days—since the morning I got grounded—so even when I haven’t been alone around here, it feels like I am. “No, I’ll be fine. I’m glad she’s making friends.”
Bren nods, starts to say something, stops. We’re in that place again, where things are awkward.
“When does your flight leave?” I ask.
She grimaces, checks her phone. “Next few hours. I need to go. Are you sure you’ll be okay?”
What would she do if I said I wouldn’t be? Take me with her? It’s so stupid it’s funny until I realize Bren would probably love that. It would make her feel needed and that’s not something I can offer.