Page 547 of Devil’s Disciples

With her face wearing a playful scowl, she pushed the dish toward me. “They don’t keep.”

“They sure do.”

She smiled. “The refrigerator’s full. There are two left. Eat them. Show me you love me.”

I rolled my eyes. Arguing with her was impossible. Reluctantly, I placed the remaining food on my plate.

She smiled. “Your appetite makes me happy.”

“Your cooking makes me happy,” I replied.

She picked up the dish. “Thank you.”

While I stuffed my face, Gina washed the dishes. Carma sipped her coffee and gazed into the living room. Sam, as always, sat in his room and sulked.

It had been ten days since her father’s arrest. Each one brought with it a different level of tension—concern that today might be the day that the family was forced to move from the place they called home.

I carried my plate to the sink. “It was great, Gina.” I kissed her on the cheek. “Thank you.”

With her hands submerged in the soapy water, she kissed my check and smiled. “Your friends are coming.”

They came every day. Each time, she heard them long before I did. My hearing wasn’t as good as it should be, a product of a decade of gunfire and bomb blasts. Nevertheless, Gina’s hearing was astonishing.

“I’ll let them in,” I said.

By the time I got to the door, they were in the driveway. Sorry that I hadn’t saved Bama a tamale, I pulled open the door.

My knees went weak.

None of the fellas needed to say a word. I could see it on their faces. I knew.

My heart stopped.

I swallowed a massive lump that had risen in my throat and wiped a tear away from my right eye. I looked at Bama, Goose, Cash, Ally, and then at Tito.

I opened my mouth, but all my parting lips could do was quiver in anticipation. Incapable of asking the question, I simply stared.

Tito stepped off his bike. Our eyes met. He nodded.

Oh. My. God.

My eyes welled with tears. With my mouth incapable of uttering a single word, I stood in the doorway and shook.

A familiar thunder in the distance caused me to shift my teary eyes away from the men. Hearing problems or not, I’d recognize the sound from a mile away until the day I died.

I glanced toward the rumble.

Ghost’s Eleanor GT500 Mustang cleared the hill.

“What’s going on?” Carma asked.

I faced her.

“Oh my gosh,” she gasped. “What happened?”

I waved for everyone to come inside.

“What’s wrong, Reno?” Carma asked. “You’re crying.”