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“Fuck you.” She has mean eyes. “Get your motherfucking hands off me.”
“Your daughter is in hospital,” I say.
She gives me a blank look. “So?”
I grit my teeth.
I should’ve let her fall on her face.
“You don’t want to know? Or you don’t care?” I ask.
“I lost that kid years ago. She was a daddy’s girl. She didn’t like me, and I didn’t much like her. Last I heard, she was shaking her moneymaker for men in some seedy club. Girl is probably better off dead.”
I hate this woman.
Her words set off a violent storm in my head, and I struggle to contain it.
She goes to say something more, but Jack sears her mouth shut with a threatening look.
He holds up the gun. “You’ll put your goddamn manners back in and show us some respect. Let’s talk in the living room.” He points to Ariana. “You, Calamity Jane, lead the way.”
The house looks like it used to be nice, but years of neglect have made it shabby. Yellow nicotine stains crawl up the walls, and dust motes dance in the hazy light.
Jack points at the faded couch for them to sit while I look around. The house stinks of cigarette smoke and stale beer. Behind me, bone China knickknacks clutter the alabaster mantelpiece.
“What the fuck do you want?” The fat ginger asks.
Jack gives him a searing look. “I’m here to offer you a warning. Now, I don’t offer warnings, usually I just shoot people. But Rory means something to the Kings of Mayhem, so out of respect for her, I’m here offering you a get-out-of-jail card, so you both keep your trap holes closed until I say you can open them again. Got it?”
The two pieces of shit glance at each other and then nod.
“The hit you put on Ares, it ends right now. No more talk about revenge. No more crying about past deeds, and I don’t know… all the shit you two like to stir up. It stops right now. I’m a busy man, and I have bigger fish to fucking fry than having to deal with two deadbeat wannabe gangsters, so don’t make me come back here and kick your damn asses. Because I will. And I promise you, I won’t be as friendly as I am being now.”
Fat Ginger looks like he’s about to burst.
“Speak,” Jack drawls.
“You think you can come in here and make demands?”
“I’m doing it, aren’t I?”
“Who the hell do you think you are?”
“Okay, I’m getting bored.” Jack sighs wearily. “So here it is, loud and clear for all the dumb fucks in the room. Stay away from Tennessee, call off any assassination attempts, and I won’t burn your fucking world to the ground.” He issues his warning with a coldness that could freeze a raging inferno. “I don’t care who you think you are or what you think you can do. Whatever it is, we’ll do it bigger and better than you.”
Despite looking like he’s about to shit his pants, Connor scoffs. “So you say.”
Jack doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t move. Just keeps his blazing stare on the frightened man. “Do you really want to find out?” He pauses, his eyes sharp. By the look on Connor’s face, he doesn’t. “You make a move on any of my brothers or me, and it will be considered an act of war.”
I remove an envelope from my cut and throw it onto the cluttered coffee table. Inside is the money from every one of my fights.
Ariana stares at it like it’s lost treasure. Her mean eyes light up, and she licks her thin lips. “What is that?”
“Ten thousand dollars.”
“We don’t want your blood money,” the fat ginger says.
But Ariana looks at him like he’s just told her perms are no longer in fashion. “Shut up, Connor.”
