“You make a really cute waiter.” Thorne chuckled.
Brick went deathly pale. He licked his lips, but his father spoke first. “You win. Fine. I sent my son to gather some intel on your family. Looking for illegal goods, you know the drill.” He shrugged like we were chatting about the weather and not criminal activity. “It’s obvious we’re not happy with the current arrangement.”
One of the Deep Shots, a guy with a big, red Mohawk, shouted, “Yeah! Fuck you guys! You’re trying to keep us from making any damn cash out here! So what if you got raided?”
Brick was still staring at me. I think my silence made him the most nervous. He said, “That’s the facts. You guys are screwing us while we’re trying to make a dime. Everyone else is suffering, why shouldn’t you?”
“I’m about to suffer from some busted knuckles when I slam them into your face,” I growled. I’d heard enough—did no one get how furious I was? A cold, hard piece of metal dug into my temple. The man at the table—the one I didn’t know by name—had stood up, his pistol pressing to my head.
“Slow and steady,” he said, leaving no room for argument. “Let him go and stand down.”
Instead, I shifted my hold so that I could wrap Brick’s shirt around his neck. My veins popped; his did, too, as I started strangling him. From the corner of my eye, I saw that Costello was staring at me in disbelief. Hawthorne was copying him. They didn’t fucking get it: this piece of shit in my hands was the man who’d gone after Sammy.
He tried to hurt her. If she hadn’t fought back, who knows what could have happened to her?
“Brother, let him go,” Costello said coolly. “Getting a bullet in your skull won’t help her.”
Brick was struggling, cutting into my skin, his face going a pretty shade of purple. The gun dug harder into my temple, and I knew . . . if I kept going, more than one gun would fire on me.
Shoving Brick back into his chair, I watched him topple over in it backward. He was gasping for air, sweat making his red face shiny. People hurried to help him up; he shoved them away, scrambling to his feet.
The ashtray was stuck to his cheek—he slapped it away, leaving black smudges all over his skin. Hawthorne snorted, covering his smirk with the back of one hand.
Frock waved his hand. “Put your gun away, Rush.”
Flipping his pistol into his holster, the new guy faced me down. Rush—as he’d been called—gave me the barest hint of a smile. “Attacking the son of our gang’s leader, right in front of everyone? Now that’s ballsy.”
“People tell me mine are pretty big.” Flexing my fingers, I looked back at Frock. “Your son is bullshitting all of us, even you, but I guess it doesn’t matter. I’ll just say this: if he fucks around with the girl again—and he knows who I mean—he won’t just get a coffee cup to the head as a result.” I flicked my glare toward Brick. “Next time, I’ll kill you myself.”
Brick’s mouth twitched, his chest flaring with rapid breathing.
His father shrugged, acting as if seeing his son getting threatened was normal. It probably was. “Your family and mine, we don’t get along so well. Spilling blood will break whatever semblance of a truce that we have. My son says he’s innocent, and we all know you aren’t about to try and get the cops involved to investigate. So . . . my advice? Walk the fuck out of here, and forget about whatever your lady friend told you.”
Twisting on a heel, I stormed for the exit. Only then did I notice the bar patrons were all standing, their hands resting on their weapons. It was a cold reminder that I was in Deep Shots’ territory; as notorious as we were, any one of them would happily pull their triggers in respect for Frock and his gang.
Keeping my hand by my gun, I walked the slow march out, then up to the street. The sun felt refreshing on my skin after being soaked in the ash below.
I’ll tear his fucking throat out.
“Kain!” Hawthorne’s hand clasped my shoulder from behind. Spinning, I broke his contact and backed up. Costello was beside him, they both watched me as if I was some rabid animal. “Calm down, Kain.”
“How can I calm down? That asshole down there is lying! He went after her!”
Thorne started to move forward, but Costello beat him. Rounding on me, my scarred brother ignored whatever fury was boiling in my eyes. One strong shove and he had me backed against Hawthorne’s car. “Listen to me,” he whispered. “Don’t you dare do anything rash. Understand?”
Faced with the jagged cut that marred his face, I hesitated. Costello would always be a cold reminder of what could happen if you tried to take a serious situation into your own hands.
Ever so slightly, I relaxed. His pale irises warmed. Deliberately, he let me go and backed up. “It’s obvious that Brick is lying. His father is right, though. We can’t do anything about what happened. Unless you want to go to war?”
My chuckle was sour. “Might be fun.”
Hawthorne sighed, his keys tossing up and down in his fingers. “Kain, don’t be stupider than usual. Let’s just go tell Dad what we learned. He might have a solution.”
“He’ll just tell us to keep everyone on lockdown until he’s sure they won’t try anything again.”
“Then let that happen.” Costello climbed into his own car, the door wide open as he talked to us. “You want her to be safe. Let her be safe with us.”
As I settled into the car, I ran the situation through my head. I was positive that Brick had been posing as a waiter at our party. But why he’d targeted Sammy after the raid, I had no damn clue.
After all of this, I didn’t feel an inch closer to an answer.
- CHAPTER THIRTEEN -
SAMMY
The rosebushes blocked out most of the sky. Lifting my arm, I spread my fingers, pretending to grab one of the pink flowers. The world around me cascaded with birdsong, and the air smelled divine.
No one would have guessed how miserable I was.
I have to get out of this place. I’d already tried once; right after the morning meeting about my mystery attacker, I’d kicked the front door open and looked for an escape.
It was very dramatic, and I like to think I looked like a badass. But then I’d ended up wandering around like a lost puppy. The cars parked on the large, round driveway were all locked. Everything in the garage was no better.
Flustered, I’d stomped back into the front yard, ignoring how everyone was watching me through the windows. Their stares burned on my neck, reminding me that of course I was being watched.
Kain had come to the front doors, standing on the landing. “Sammy,” he’d called to me. “Come inside, let me talk to you.”