The kid’s face goes white. Yeah, now he gets it.
Just called royalty a bitch.
Not that I’ve ever been a part of this family business. Still, this guard is low in the scheme of things, so I doubt he knows the politics.
“S-sorry. Yeah. I’ll go tell him you’re here.” He scurries from the room.
As the clomp of his footsteps fade, I meander over to the chair he was sitting in, flipping it so the legs stick up in the air. As I wait for the criminal-in-training to retrieve my uncle, I pull out a pocketknife and methodically loosen the screws holding the seat together.
A stutteredsorryis not a good enough apology.
For all I know, Uncle Mike will tell the kid that I’m not part of the organization and to throw me out on my ass. Meaning the boy will saunter back in here like the shit-for-brains he was just a moment ago.
Not that I want to be thought of as a member of the Lamont chop shop. I’ve hated the family business since I was old enough to understand what was going on with all the different cars my dad drove around in. Bill Lamont never cared what I thought, of course. I was his daughter; therefore, I should automatically trust him and keep my mouth shut. I could never manage the first, but I did try with the second, if only for me and my brothers’ safety.
Screws loose and my little revenge complete, I right the chair before returning to my lean against the opposite wall. Soon, footsteps sound on the other side of the closed door. I bracemyself for the shitty guard to burst back in the room, spitting foul curses while dragging me out on my uncle’s orders.
Not that I’d let him put his hands on me.
But when the door swings wide, a familiar figure looms in the entrance.
“Hey, Uncle Mike.”
“Little Luna.” The big white man gives me a grin that could charm weaker souls. I learned long ago how easy his good mood could vanish. “What brings you here?” Cold calculation sparks in his eyes as he tries to decipher the answer before I give it.
“Mind if we talk alone?” My gaze flits over to the guard and then back.
“Of course. Stay here, Troy.” Mike waves the young man back to his post, then gestures for me to follow deeper into the building.
We walk down a long hall, illuminated by fluorescent lights. Halfway down, I hear a crash behind us and barely suppress my smile. Uncle Mike’s brows lower, and he makes to move back the way we came, but Troy sticks his head through the door. The boy’s face is creased in pain.
“Chair fell over. Nothing to worry about, boss. Sorry for the noise.”
Uncle Mike’s jaw tenses, but he moves back in front of me, leading the way. One of the shut doors we pass no doubt opens to the garage, where my uncle’s crew dismantles stolen cars and readies the parts to be sold. I wonder if Leo is there now, working a job that slowly eats away at his soul and risks his freedom.
Mike finally opens a door at the end of the hall, revealing a staircase. We climb to the second floor, stepping into an open space with cubicles and offices. He points me into the first and settles behind the desk.
“Sit.” He waves to the chair across from him.
I’d rather stand, but I can see this turning into some type of power battle that’ll have to end with me in a chair because Uncle Mike has something I want and no real reason to give it up.
I sit.
“How are things?” he grunts. “You been by to see your folks?”
“You mean, you don’t know?” Legitimate curiosity colors my question. I thought my father reported everything back to his big brother. But maybe not.
Mike’s brows dip, the only indication that he’s in the dark. A place he does not like to be.
“I went by yesterday. My grandmother died, and I was the messenger.”
“Ah. And you’re here because you missed your family? Want to be close to us all again?” He smirks, knowing my answer.
The cocky statement still came out a second too late. I saw the burn in the man’s eyes, anger that he was the last to know information about people under his rule, which includes my parents.
I’ll have to remember that.
“I came here because I want to know something.”
