Hawke’s brow quirks in the rearview mirror. “Talked. Right.”
Ford scoffs beside him. “So fucked. Got it.”
“I didn’t fuck her,” I argue.
“Semantics.” Ford groans. “Come on, man. I’m sure she’s great, all right? But that’s not the point?—”
“The point is, this has nothing to do with you,” I interject.
“If that was the case, you’d be buried inside her right now,” Roman declares.
And that’s the kicker, isn’t it? He’s right. I would be.
“You promised three weeks,” Hawke murmurs. “It hasn’t even been two.”
He’s right. I know he is. Doesn’t make staying away from Violet any easier, though.
Turning onto the main road, I say, “Saturday night. Drag race at the old airfield. We’ll see if Ethan tries anything, or if he’ll stick to sports betting.”
“You want to test him?” Roman asks.
“Yeah. Let’s see how well Gus knows his nephew.”
Ford rubs his hands together. “I’ll get it done.”
Roman nods his agreement, the wheels already turning. “What are your thoughts on?—”
When my cell blares through the bluetooth speaker, my father’s name flashes on the dashboard’s screen.
“Well, shit,” Ford mutters. “Since when does Daddy Dearest call?”
I glance at my brothers in the rearview mirror again, confident their confusion matches my own. “At least three months.”
The reminder doesn’t ease the pit in my stomach. Why is he calling now?
“You gonna answer?” Roman asks.
I reject the call and flick on my blinker. It rings again, but I ignore it. I’m not in the mood. Not tonight. When his call comes in a third time, I clench my jaw but hit answer despite myself. “Hello?”
“What the hell were you doing at The Body Shop?”
“I’m sorry, who is this?” Ford calls from the back seat.
Hawke tries to swallow his snort as he covers his face.
“So immature,” our father grits out under his breath. “Have I taught you nothing?”
“Only how to backstab those we love most, Daddy Dearest,” Ford quips.
“You’re lucky we’re speaking through the phone, Ford Walker, or I’d wipe the cocky smirk off your face with the back of my hand.”
“Been there, done that,” Ford volleys.
My knuckles tighten around the steering wheel. Ford can make light of the way my father used to wail on him, but it only stirs up memories. Ones I’d do anything to forget. “What do you want, Titas?” I demand.
“I want you to start feeling the repercussions for your actions.”
Repercussions? The man is delusional. Don’t get me wrong. We understand the risks of dealing with a person like Gus, but he’s a businessman first and kingpin second. As long as we continue providing him with his cut of our earnings, the man’s happy. If only my father was so easy to please.
