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“Come on, let’s go,” Tyler says, standing by the open door. “Let’s get this over with. I want to swing by the hospital afterward, see how Audrey is doing.”
“Just…” Meg’s delicate brows draw together. “You sure this is safe?”
“I’m sure,” I tell her, to erase that crease in her smooth brow.
“We’re just gonna talk to this Armin guy,” Tyler mutters. “There won’t be any ass kicking, not if I can help it.”
She doesn’t seem to hear him. She looks into my eyes, strokes my cheek. “I’ll wait for you. Told you, if you need anything, you only have to call me. Don’t…” She swallows. “Don’t hurt yourself.”
My heart hammers. I know exactly what she’s telling me and what she’s asking. “I promise.”
Her smile this time is big and bright. “Good.”
She waves at us as we go down the stairs, a beautiful shadow, and yet she burns, branded in the back of my eyelids like an afterimage of the sun.
Mine. I’m coming back, because I have her to come back to. The thought clears my mind, focuses it. I’m getting Damage Control back, forget about the man with the hand tattoo who may or may not be my family’s killer—what would be the odds, anyway?—and set my life back on course.
Soon.
***
We pile up in Zane’s old pick-up truck, silent and moody. I sit in the back with Dylan. He claps me on the shoulder, and I hide a wince.
Tyler who’s riding shotgun is staring out of the window, humming a tune, and Zane shoots me a half-grin through the rearview mirror.
“We’ll get Damage back,” he says. “Don’t you worry, man.”
Yeah, right. I grunt and try to unclench my hands from the fists they’ve curled into. This is too big a thing not to obsess over. If Armin doesn’t see reason, we’re in for the long haul, and that would suck balls—for us and for the Damage Boyz.
The responsibility for them weighs on my shoulders. I’m the one making sure they have a place to stay, a place to work or learn, enough money for food and medicine. The money comes from Damage Control. Who will take care of them if it closes down, even for a year?
I’ll have to convince fucking Armin to back off.
My cell vibrates in my pocket, then starts ringing. I take it out and connect the call, gazing absently out of the car window. “Yeah?”
“Rafe Vestri?”
“Yes.” I frown. The voice is familiar. “Who is this?”
“Colt. Colt Manson.”
Colt. I jerk upright in my seat. “Hey, man. Didn’t think I’d hear from you again.”
“Surprise.” He chuckles. “Wasn’t sure you’d hear from me, either, after our last convo. But the thing is…” His voice rises and falls as if he’s walking. “You’re in. One of the fighters is out with a broken leg and arm. You’ll replace him.”
I shake my head, then realize what I’m doing and force myself to stop. “What?”
“You heard me. Be here tomorrow night. Unless you’ve changed your mind.”
“I haven’t.” Have I? “I’ll be there.”
“Good.”
Dylan is staring at me, his forehead creased, and I change the cell to my other ear.
“Where will I find you?” I ask.
“I’ll find you. Just be there tomorrow night at nine.”
