Sara Jane will never be that same girl she once was, the one who would stand up to me when no one else would. The one who used to look at me like I hung the damn moon in the night sky just to steal a kiss beneath it. She will always know what it’s like to be treated as a pawn between father and son, to be touched in violence for revenge. To be beaten and shot for debts she knows nothing about.
How do I look her in the eyes and conceal so many truths? How did I coerce Shelly to stop being selfish and visit her friend when she is grieving the love of her life? I held Sara Jane while she cried from fear that she might have lost her best friend. And I only cared about making her smile again. How can I attend Chad’s funeral, knowing it all could have been prevented if I would have just answered my fucking phone?
“King.”
I keep my back to Cruise and move to wipe my face with my hands, but I’ve not shed any tears. What kind of monster have I become that I did all of those things without remorse or regret hanging in my heart? What have I become? My father? “What?”
“It’s okay.”
When I turn around, I’m met with a hardened stare, one that’s developed over the years the deeper we got into this mess. “Remember when your parents thought you worked in an office?”
“Yeah. They still do.”
“Maybe you should.”
My remark seems to confuse him. His head tilts as he goes to the table where his computer is set up. “Why would I do that?”
I will sound weak, but I don’t care. “I don’t want to lose another friend.”
That draws his eyes back to me. Resting his elbows on the glass top, he sighs. “I don’t know why he went.”
“Because Chad was good. Sara Jane was in trouble, and Chad knew it. He went because I didn’t.”
Turning the bill of his hat to the back, he says, “Your phone never rang. I know you want to blame yourself, but this time, you can’t. You would have answered.”
“My phone didn’t ring because I was chasing dead-end leads. We are no closer to getting answers than we were three years ago when we started this . . .” I flip some papers on his desk. As they float to the floor, I add, “Maybe it’s time to stop this search.”
“Maybe you need to grieve and get it out of your system. Stop holding back.”
“Is that how you feel about Chad? Is that what he deserves? Is that how I should feel if you’re next? Just grieve and move on?”
“Fuck you, Alex.” He shoves his hands into his pockets. “I’ve stood by you long before this fucking catastrophe, and I’ll be here when it’s blown over. There’s no going back. There’s not a time in the past where it was better. It was just different. Chad was my friend too, but if we give up the search now, then he died in vain. Fuck that. His life meant something. It will always matter. So if you need to clear your head to get back into the game, then do it. But I won’t let you discount his life by walking away.”
Impressive speech, though I won’t tell him that. He had the nerve to get personal and call me Alex. There’s no way I’m letting his ego inflate any larger. “I’m not walking away.”
He sits down and starts typing. “Johnson’s daughter will be down on the square tonight. She works the bar three nights a week.”
Sitting down on the couch, I shake my head. “I’m not messing with his kids or his wife.”
“His partner beat and shot Sara Jane.”
The image of her blurs my better judgment. I squeeze my eyes, trying to force the memory to go away. When I reopen them, I say, “No kids. Johnson pays. We’re moving forward.”
Cruise comes around and sits across from me. He smiles and holds his hand out. I fist-bump him and he says, “The King has spoken. Good to have you back.”
I’m not sure I’m really back, but he’s right. I won’t let Chad’s death mean nothing. I won’t let Sara Jane suffer for a mess I created. “It’s good to be back.”
15
Alexander
The barrel of the gun aligns with the mole on his pocked forehead. It’s almost a shame to use such an elegant gun to take out such trash. The refined barrel of a Beretta 92 is something to savor. The weight of the gun, the intricately carved handle that leaves impressions in my palm, and the custom muted gold and brown weapon almost make me want to keep it in pristine condition. But my hate for the fucker asleep in bed just beneath this beautiful barrel overrules that thought.
Connor Johnson—thief, conspirator, blackmailer, threat to me, my fortune, and the one thing he never had a right to lay eyes on—Sara Jane.
He’ll die for crimes against me.
He respected my father but refuses me the same courtesy. I made no deal with him, but he made me pay for his dirty dealings. Now he will pay.
My hand is steady. I have no doubt, no remorse, and no conscience anymore. He sleeps so deeply. But my eyes veer to the right to his wife that lies sleeping soundly facing away from him. Cruise clicks his tongue, getting my attention. Beside him is a crib.
A crib?
Fuck.
I take three silent steps and look down into the crib. A baby. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. My shoulders lower as the gun does. Catching a glimpse of Cruise, he shakes his head no. He’s right. I should walk away. But when I return to the bed, my fury returns. One shot is all it will take to take Connor Johnson out for good.
Raising my gun up again, I point it at him, right between the eyes. His wife stirs, rolling over toward him. Her arm stretches toward him and her hand rests on his stomach. I don’t have a silencer, so she’ll definitely hear the gunshot. Her scream will last longer than it takes for us to climb out the window and drive away. It will be loud enough to wake the neighbors or sound the alarm company.
Looking back at Jason, his face is calm, his gun out, aimed at our target. The baby sucks a pacifier, the sound so innocent. Our facts were wrong. He has a baby. Does that baby deserve to have a dad, even a shitty dad in his life? Did I? Would I have been better off without my dad? Probably.
When I look at his wife again, I start to wonder how she’ll survive on her own raising these kids. Fuck.
The gun is lowered, the conscience I thought I was lacking returns. It was easy to take O’Hare out. I could see the evil he committed. I thought I could do this. Glancing to his wife again, I realize I should have taken the time to clear my head and get the facts right.
If I pull the trigger, what kind of man does this make me? It puts me one step closer to my predecessor. Sara Jane deserves better.
Nodding toward the window, I call it off. We’re leaving; Connor Johnson will live another day. No promises after that. Cruise climbs out and takes off toward the car as I climb out. Just when my feet hit the grass, one singular shot sounds.
Jason flies out the window and barrel-rolls before jumping to his feet. Mrs. Johnson is screaming, and suddenly I find myself legging it to the car. We practically dive into the car, and Cruise takes off. The door is closed and chaos breaks loose with everyone yelling at once.
“What the fuck did you do?” I ask.
Jason leans back in the backseat and looks out the window. “I did what you should have.”
Turning to the side, I say, “I changed my mind.”
“No, you hesitated. There’s a difference.”
“Fuck you.”
His hands are up, a smile on his face. “Fine. Fuck me.”