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“And you came here.”
That one isn’t a question, but I give him the explanation anyway.
“I wanted to move up, but that was never gonna happen with Maddoc running the show. Even with him out of the way, why would I waste time fighting off Logan to take over the Reapers when they’re already losing territory to you every fucking day? I cut ties with the Crimson Crows once I realized that the Reapers were expanding faster, and now I see the same thing happening all over again, and I want in.” I point at the finger he’s still holding. “Not sure how to show you any clearer than that.”
McKenna still looks skeptical, as he fucking should if he had any brains to go with his overinflated ego, but he doesn’t, and I keep quiet now that I’ve made my play, knowing damn well that his arrogance, greed, and sadistically vindictive nature will win out in the end.
He doesn’t disappoint.
“See?” he says, turning to his men with a sudden grin. “I told you we wouldn’t have trouble recruiting. Everyone wants to be on the side that’s more powerful. This Reaper is only the first. Pretty soon, West Point will start absorbing all the people who defect from the other gangs who try to stand against us.”
“Does that mean I’m in, boss?” I ask as his people murmur a bunch of bullshit in response to his little speech, all of them nothing but power-hungry yes men.
McKenna turns back to me with a self-satisfied smirk. “You’re in, but you’ll still have to prove yourself, Reaper.”
I glance at the finger he’s still holding. “I thought I did.”
“This?” He sneers at it, turning it over in his hand. “This was just your ticket in the door.”
He drops it on the floor, then stomps down on it hard, sending bits of flesh and bone splattering over the carpet as he greedily watches for my reaction.
I don’t give him the one he expects. I don’t let him see what the contempt and disrespect he’s showing my brother does to me. Instead, I just glance down at the mangled finger and lift one shoulder in a shrug. “Then how about I start proving myself right now, by cleaning that mess up for you?”
He grins, slow and ugly. “Not a bad start… Dante. Get it done. And welcome to West Point.”
32
RILEY
It’slate and I’m exhausted, but I stare up at the ceiling of my bedroom in the dark, unable to close my eyes without seeing the horrifying pictures my mind keeps supplying. Dante in a body bag. Dante with a bullet hole in his head. Dante—
I shut the images down. I can’t let the worry I’m feeling eat me up inside. I love him, but the only way to survive this world is to be harder and tougher than anything it throws at me.
That doesn’t mean I manage to stop thinking about him, though.
He hasn’t checked in yet, and we all knew he might not. We talked about it. I know he has to be super careful about keeping up his lie and pretending to be on Austin’s side.
But what if Austin saw right through it from the start?
What if Dante never even made it that far? What if he got taken out the minute he crossed into West Point’s territory?
“Riley, don’t.”
I jackknife up in the bed, my heart pounding at the sound of Maddoc’s voice. I’ve done a decent job of keeping my emotions in check since Dante walked out the door, but something about Maddoc’s gravelly tone and the way he used my actual name instead of one of his usual endearments breaks something open inside of me.
“Don’t what?”
It’s a reflexive question. I don’t know how long he’s been standing there, leaning in my doorway, nothing more than a silhouette backlit by the light out in the hallway, but I’m sure he can read every worry I have on my face.
I’m sure he has his own too.
But it’s not concern over Dante that makes my stomach twist into an even tighter knot when I look at him. Even in the dim lighting, the bandage on his hand is obvious.
And what it covers is… horrible.
There’s no denying that shit has gotten serious now. That this situation is dangerous to everyone who matters to me. I guess it always has been, but now it feels like we’re all standing at the edge of a cliff, looking into an abyss of darkness, one slip away from total ruin.
“Don’t do this to yourself,” he says, finally pushing off the doorjamb and coming closer. “Don’t torture yourself with what ifs.”
