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Slinging his arm around Tariq’s shoulders, Darius lets out a menacing laugh. “You’re lucky it wasn’t you.”
I wonder what the story is there?
Tariq shakes him off and stomps into the house, and Darius catches me looking.
“A story for another day,” is all he says.
Shrugging it off, I toss my gun into the back of the van and light a cigarette while watching Zachery gag and tie up our wounded prize.
“Thanks for tonight, boys. It couldn’t have gone better.”
Leo grunts, “It’s not always as smooth as tonight.”
“Do you need help getting rid of these bodies?” Luca asks.
“Nah. We’ve got it covered.”
“Good, ’cause we should get back. You know our number if you need us. You can keep hold of the guns, they’re clean. If you get word this is gonna go down again, think wisely. Keep your boys on lookout. We’ll need you when we move in, and it’ll be nice if you’re not all dead.”
“Hey, I don’t plan on dying anytime soon.”
“Your Lamb may kill you if you don’t get home tonight.” Jermaine’s words cause Darius to lose his smile.
We all shake hands, and his boys move a body so we can drive out without rolling over a human speed bump.
I feel like I’ve gotta know. “What’s with his girl being called Lamb all the time?”
“I have no idea,” Leo replies from the front passenger seat. “But I heard she’s from the rich side, so I’d say she’s like a lost lamb on this side of town.”
“How do you think that works between them, then? Her coming from money and him from nothing?” Angel puzzles.
Leo shakes his head. “Fuck knows, and I don’t particularly care.”
“If you lot are finished gossiping like women,” Luca interjects, “I’ve got a call to make.”
I hear Cas’s voice when he answers, and listen to Luca replay the events of tonight. Leaning my head back against the side of the van, I close my eyes and think of Harper lying in bed, and how warm and soft she’ll be when I climb in beside her.
“We’ll take him down to the basement when we get home and deal with him in the morning.”
Without opening my eyes, I nod. I’m just glad I’ll be getting some sleep tonight.
Chapter Thirteen
Cas
Pope is sitting over in the corner—where you can always find him—staring off into space, anger brewing in his eyes. While it’s quiet, and before I call for the brothers to meet down in the basement, I head over and pull out a chair at his table. An old paperback and a half cup of coffee sits in front of him. He doesn’t notice me approach, and I take that as a bad sign. Pope notices everything. If the club had eyes, they’d belong to him.
“You good, brother?” At my question, he flinches, an uncharacteristic trait for him.
“Far from it.”
“What’s going on?”
“I’m fucking frustrated.”
This can’t be good.
“Why so?”
