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“Hurry it along if you can, Jack. But I appreciate your help.”
I sit there after hanging up, conflicted about what to do. Where to go. My first instinct is to find Tony the Pony, knock him the hell out, and drag him in front of Bricker. I know where his apartment is, and I bet he’s skulking around there feeling mighty pleased with himself.
But Pony’s an Esposito. And the taboo against getting into it with another made man without higher permission is one of the things holding me back…
The other thing is Bricker.
He’s Capo. It’s his call to make, not mine.
But Bricker sure won’t pick up a phone call from me, so that leaves me one option.
* * *
As soon as I pull into Bricker’s street, I see Pony’s car parked outside his house and a cold, unfamiliar wave of fear washes over me. I don’t scare easy, but the implications run wild through my head, so that I’m already leaning over to grab my gun from the glove compartment before I even come to a hard stop.
Then I’m out, running low and quiet to the door.
It’s open, thank God, and I swing it open carefully and silently. But the moment I step inside, the darkness envelops me, the unnatural darkness of Bricker’s house when he commands it to turn off, the blinds all down, the lights all out.
But then I hear it—the sound of struggles coming from upstairs. No shouts, no screams, but there’s definitely something going on, and I sprint upstairs, gun in hand. I want to scream out for Bricker, but I keep my jaw clamped shut.
I might need the element of surprise on my side.
As I reach the top of the stairs, the sounds of the scuffle grow louder—grunts of pain, a muffled curse, a crash that sounds like something’s been knocked over.
I come through the broken-open bedroom door to see Pony straddling Bricker, his fingers digging mercilessly into a fresh wound in Bricker’s arm. Bricker’s face is contorted with pain, but he manages to land a glancing blow with his other hand on Pony’s chin.
“Get the fuck off him!” I roar, and without hesitation, I fire. The bulletjustmisses as Pony ducks, embedding itself in the wall opposite, and Pony scrambles away from Bricker like a cockroach fleeing the light.
I’m already heading for Bricker when Pony dives for the door, stumbling down the stairs. I hear his footsteps, then his goddamn muscle car starting up, driving away. And I let him go.
Bricker needs me more.
“Are you okay?” I’m already helping him up from the floor, and I feel the warm wet blood still seeping through his shirt sleeve.
Bricker says nothing, only sucking in air as I try to clamp my hand over his wound, staunch the bleeding. “Max,” he says at last. “It was Pony.”
“Yeah. Can you turn on the lights for me?
“I’m home,” he says loudly, and the house starts up all over, giving me a clearer view of his arm. “It’s fine,” he tells me, but he gives in to my insistence, and I carefully slip off his blood-soaked shirt. The wound is ugly, an angry red rip across his arm, surrounded by mottled bruises already showing where Pony cruelly pressed his fingers into it. But it hit nothing vital, and it’s not all that deep. He’ll need stitches, but in the meantime—
“First aid kit?”
“Uh. Bathroom.”
I grab the kit and begin to clean the wound with an antiseptic wipe, while Bricker stifles a pained groan. This isn’t the time for heart-to-heart conversations, but I can’t let this moment pass without addressing the thing that’s been on my mind since I last saw Bricker.
“I should’ve told you about Fabi. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” I can’t look up at him, focusing instead on the task at hand. “You were right, I could have chosen to disobey the Maestra, tell you who I was. It was easier not to, and it was the coward’s way out.” I finish up with the wipe and pull out a few bandages, checking the widths. “But I swear, Bricker, I never meant to hurt you.”
The silence that follows is only broken only by our breathing as he processes my words. Then Bricker puts a hand on my wrist, making me pause in my actions. “Not even your enemies could call you a coward. You just can’t seem to stop saving my damn life.”
I shake my head. “I’m no hero.”
He takes a breath. “Did—did you really care about me? Or was I just a job for you?”
“You wereneverjust a job to me. I…I tried to fight it, to keep my distance, but I couldn’t deny the connection between us. And now…well, hell, I screwed it all up, but Idocare about you. Deeply. And I’m sorry I caused you more pain.”
For a moment, Bricker just stares at me. Then, slowly, he nods, as if making a decision. “We need to call Van,” he says. “Get the word out about Pony to the crew. And then I guess, since we’ll have a little time to wait, and you can tell me everything. I need to know the whole story about you and my dad.”
