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My brother borrowing cash from the register and never paying it back.
My brother taking product from the shelves for friends.
All the little things that would’ve added up to something if I could’ve seen it.
Instead, I was so sure that he’d gotten better.
Maybe I wasn’t so innocent in all this. If he hadn’t brought money in, I would’ve said something sooner. But because he kept finding more checks, I was happy to let him screw around and be a dick.
All I cared about was the store. I never asked him where the money came from and I never questioned his own mental health or what kind of trouble he was getting himself into.
I couldn’t step back from my own problems and my own world long enough to see that he was suffering.
I failed him in a lot of ways. So when he turned to a guy like Owain for money for the store, I couldn’t even begin to see what was right in front of me.
I turned away from him and stared down at the floor. I was angry, so angry, and I knew I had no outlet. I wanted to rage and scream and fight, but it wouldn’t do any good. It wouldn’t bring Jason back to life. It wouldn’t absolve me of all the guilt I felt.
Instead, I walked to the stairs and disappeared back into my room.
Back into my cage.
But at least I was alone and didn’t have to squirm under Owain’s intense gaze.
I could stew in my own self hated and self-pity as much as I wanted.9OwainI almost felt bad for the girl.
She was still in mourning. That much was clear. The next day she moped around the house and tried to pretend like she didn’t have a hangover from a single glass of whisky. I hadn’t even filled it to the brim. She didn’t meet my eye and didn’t speak, and I didn’t bother trying to pry words from her pretty lips.
She hated me, wanted me gone. So I left for the afternoon.
Rolan and Viktor stood in her shop, sweating through their t-shirts. The place still stank like melted rubber and smoke. I leaned inside the door and watched as Rolan ripped out some dry wall and wiped his brow with his sleeve.
“You guys good?”
He looked over. “What’s up, boss?”
Viktor stopped worked, took a cigarette from his pocket, and lit up. “When I joined this merry band, I didn’t know I’d be doing this sort of fucking work.”
“You do whatever you got to do,” I said. “That’s how this goes.”
He shrugged and took a long drag.
“I hope you got a backup plan.” Rolan kicked at some crumbled drywall on the floor. “I can’t imagine this place is ever gonna be the same.”
“We’ll manage. Anyone stop by asking questions?”
“Couple guys, actually, but I think they were just curious tourists.”
“I’m surprised the fire marshal hasn’t been here yet.”
Viktor grunted. “You know how it goes around here. You don’t talk to cops or fire marshals.”
I laughed. That wasn’t strictly true. South Street was an affluent area and wasn’t exactly the hardcore Cosa Nostra controlled parts of deep south Philly. But the silence still held, I guessed, and that was good enough.
“I want this place finished in a month. Whatever it takes.”
Rolan snorted. “It’s gonna take a lot more than the two of us.”
“Hire guys. It’ll come out my pocket.”
“And materials?”
“Same deal.” I hesitated, eyes scanning the space. The floors were scorched, the walls barren and half-ripped to shreds. “The girl wants a say in how it all comes out in the end.”
Viktor laughed. “You letting her be your interior designer now?”
“It’s her shop.” I gave him a look. “You want to do the design instead? You got some bright ideas in that stupid fucking head?”
“I got ideas.” He took a drag. “They’re all shit, though.”
Rolan laughed. “Whatever the girl wants, we can do, within reason. Just get us some ideas and I’ll take care of it.”
“Fine. Hire guys. Buy materials. Keep good records though, damn it. I’m not paying some random fucking number. I want receipts.”
“Got it, boss.”
I lingered and looked at them before taking a deep breath. “We’re hitting the Jackals back.”
That got Viktor interested. The sick fuck. Rolan turned away and got back to work, but Viktor drifted over.
“What’s the plan?”
“Girl’s going to be bait. We’re setting her up in that bodega over in Fishtown.”
He grunted. “Not a bad idea.”
“Stick her in the back. Make it look like she’s dealing. Then when they come for the stash—”
“We hit them and cut some throats.”
“Exactly.”
Viktor nodded slow. He finished his cigarette then flicked it onto the ground.
I walked over, stomped it out, and picked it up. “Keep this shit outside, you asshole.”
He shrugged, took it, and tossed it out the door. “How many guys we going to have on her?”
