Ben ceases his mission for a clean coffee cup. He looks at me with narrowed eyes. Finally, a faint look of apprehension is forming on his features. “His sister told you that?”
“She did. And she said they were looking for you next. Hasn’t anybody been over here looking for you?”
“Maybe once or twice. I’ve been pretty drunk. And busy. Very, very busy. I didn’t exactly want to be disturbed.”
Fuck. I’m surprised they didn’t kick his damn door down. I place a hand on Ben’s bare shoulder, trying not to think about the last time he showered and how long ago that probably was. “I have a million fires to put out right now, B. I do not have time to stand here debating whether you’re about to get murdered and chopped into little pieces by some very angry men, because I have a bunch of guys who want to chop me into little pieces, too. So can you please just find a bag, pack some shit into it, and let me drive you to the goddamn airport?”
Mac’s in the hospital. I called earlier, pretending to be his son, and the nurse on duty at the desk told me he’s unconscious at the moment, but that the doctors think he has a good chance of recovering. As long as the fucker’s out cold, I’m okay. He can’t order his guys, the guys I used to work with, to come find me and tear me to shreds. This is the only reason I’m here, dealing with Ben, instead of dealing with my own problems. I’ll have to face them sooner or later, but for the moment getting my friend out of dodge is my only priority.
Ben looks blankly around his apartment, like he’s at a loss for words. “I thought I was gonna have a little bit more time to make this transition, Mase. I mean, I need to tell my landlord—”
“Trust me, your landlord isn’t gonna give a shit about you breaking your lease. I’ll make sure your stuff goes into storage. But you gotta go. Now.”
So he packs a bag. He throws clothes and fight gear into the biggest duffel he can find, and then he opens up a coffee jar on top of his busted up TV and takes out a huge wad of cash. Must be his earnings from the fight with Rayne. That goes into the bag, too.
We don’t speak as I drive us to the airport. There’s nothing left to say. He’s been my friend for so long. We’ll still be friends in many years, I’m sure. I’m itching to tell him all about Mac. About Lowell. About Zeth. I wish I could spill everything, every single last gory detail, but if I do that the bastard won’t be going anywhere, he’ll insist on staying so he can help me iron out this entire mess. That won’t be a help to anyone. It’ll only make things even more complicated.
It’s surprisingly easy to get Ben on a flight. I hug him goodbye, begging him to keep his head down for a while, and he swears he will. I know the man, though. It’s almost impossible for him to keep his head down. He’ll be getting himself into all sorts of shit in California as soon as the plane’s wheels touch down. Fingers crossed he knows better than to get involved with anything as stupid as match fixing out there. As he jogs up the stairs and disappears through the entrance to security, a bolt of jealousy hits me. If I didn’t have Millie to care for, it would be all too easy to disappear through those gates with Ben and never come back to Seattle again. I’ve never resented my lot in life—even now I don’t—but sometimes it’s real fucking nice to imagine what could be. To be free. To be reckless. To act like a stupid kid sometimes and please myself.
These thoughts are still running through my mind thirty minutes later, when I shoot a text to Kaya, thanking her for the heads up and letting her know that Ben is long gone. She replies almost immediately.
Kaya: Come over. You can thank me in person.
It’s late. Wanda’s got Millie—I’ve been checking every hour on the hour to make sure she’s okay, and apparently she’s been sleeping a lot. That’s a good sign. Means she’s recharging her batteries. I make a quick call to check in on her again—she’s just fine—and then I make another call to the hospital. Mac’s still unconscious. They’re a little more concerned about him this time; he should have woken up by now. They’re planning on taking him for a second CT scan to check if his brain is swelling. This news doesn’t hit me as hard as it should. I put Mac in the hospital after all. I’m responsible for the fact that it sounds like he might not be waking up any time soon. I can’t bring myself to feel bad, though. The guy’s a total psychopath, and there’s no doubting his intentions for me this morning. He wasn’t going to give me a stern talking to and send me on my way. He was planning on something a little more permanent, and I reacted in kind.
Kill or be killed. That’s how life is going to be from here on out.