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Morgan finished his briefing and Lindsay took charge once again, detailing floor plans of the Gypsy Brothers clubhouse and the surrounding areas. No exit left uncovered. No stone left unturned. No member of the Ross family left uncuffed.
And then, after he’d finished talking, it was just a matter of waiting the morning out. This was always the hardest part. Sitting on your hands and waiting for the bad guys to be in the right place at the right time, when all you wanted to do was go in, guns blazing, and drag them out of whatever hole they were currently hiding in.
‘This’ll be good,’ Morgan remarked after the briefing had ended.
Lindsay smiled. ‘Like shooting fish in a barrel.’
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
DORNAN
It was 11:43. Church was due to start in seventeen minutes, and Viper wanted to talk?
‘It’d better be fucking urgent,’ Dornan muttered, showing Viper into the office where his father was already sitting, flicking through the newspaper. He didn’t even look up to acknowledge Viper’s presence.
‘It can’t wait,’ Viper said, and something about his expression made Dornan baulk.
‘Shit, did somebody die?’
‘Yeah,’ Viper said. ‘Somebody did die. We’ll get to that.’
Emilio looked mildly interested.
Viper pulled several folded pieces of paper from inside his leather jacket and placed them on the desk. Dornan went to reach for them, but Emilio was faster. ‘The fuck am I looking at here?’ he asked impatiently.
‘If I’m right,’ Viper said, ‘you’re looking at sixteen years’ worth of money being wired from John to Stephanie.’
Dornan felt like he’d been punched in the heart. ‘Come again?’
Viper looked deeply troubled. He was implicating the man who, until this week, had been his club president, the man he’d sworn loyalty to.
‘John knew where Stephanie was the whole time. He sent her money every single month. Plus extras. Doctors’ bills from her pregnancy. From Jason’s birth. School fees.’
Dornan snatched the papers from his father, who scowled but didn’t say anything. Heart racing, fire in his veins, Dornan swept his eyes down the columns that didn’t really mean anything – until he started to focus on the titles of each column. There were dates and times and . . . Holy shit, John had really kept Stephanie from him for the better part of two decades. John had kept his son’s existence from him.
Dornan made a growling sound in the back of his throat, charging for the door. Viper cut him off. ‘Move or I will rip your head off,’ he strained.
‘There’s more,’ Viper said, blocking Dornan’s path. ‘It’s about your wife.’
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
MARIANA
It was weird going to our weekly meeting on a Friday instead of a Sunday. Sunday was ‘church’, after all, even if the Gypsy Brothers’ church had nothing to do with God or religion. It was a tradition, one they never broke. I was betting that the new president was keen to get his hands dirty, and he sure as shit didn’t want to wait until Sunday to start throwing his weight around.
John and I had a plan: as soon as the meeting finished we were going to head back to the strip club, grab the money he’d hidden there, collect Juliette and Jason from John’s house, and get the hell out of town. John assured me he’d organised a car for us, a Chevy Tahoe. He’d arranged for it to be parked outside the clubhouse, down the block a few hundred metres, the key to be taped behind the licence plate.
Once we got out of town, there was a car switch, several states to pass through, and then a private jet that would take us the last part of our journey. Colombia beckoned with open arms and the promise of my Luis. And once we had my son safely in our custody . . . we could literally go anywhere in the world.
All we had to do was get through our respective meetings – John with his fellow club members, and me with Emilio and Dornan. We did this every week. We could do it one more time. Right?
I was on edge. Jittery. My stomach was tied in knots and I kept feeling like I might throw up. But I could act. I could poker-face my way through anything. I’d been acting my way through the last ten years of my life without ever getting caught.
We were going to make it.
Only we were screwed before we even got a chance to head into our meetings.
We arrived at the clubhouse early, as was custom. I arrived with Dornan, as usual, and John strolled in at 11:47 a.m. Thirteen excruciating minutes until we could get this over and done with and then disappear into the wind. Our new life taunted me relentlessly. I wanted it more than I’d ever wanted anything in my life.
