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I swear to God, he looked down at me with more love than I’d ever seen on his face before.
He held my face in his hands and kissed me hard, then pulled back to look at me.
“Thank you,” he said.
I smiled sadly. “Just promise me one thing.”
“What?”
“Come back to me,” I whispered, and kissed him one more time, softly.
157
Jack
Ifelt like I was flying as I roared down the highway towards Richards – and not just because of the brand-new ride Fordham had lent me.
God damn, what a woman. I felt luckier than I had in just about forever. Which was ironic, considering what I had in store for me over the next 24 hours.
But with Fiona by my side, I felt like we could take on Lou, Dan Peters, the Richards PD, the Santa Muertes, the DEA – fuck, we could take on the whole world.
Yeah, we’d been through the meat grinder over the last three weeks – but we’d come out of it on the other side. Not to mention she got me, more than any other woman I’d ever been with. A hell of a lot more than Sloane ever did. Fiona knew why I had to go do this.
I couldn’t wait to get back to her. But before that happened, I had some shit I had to attend to on my own.
I got into Richards about 10AM. Headed right for Tex’s house, which was in a shitty neighborhood full of gangbangers and meth heads. Figured his place was the best bet for what I wanted to do.
I parked the bike a street over and snuck through his neighbor’s place to Tex’s backyard. As I entered the rear gate, his Rottweiler Bowser started barking up a storm – but he quieted right down when he recognized me. I’d played with that dog since he was a pup. I tossed him a couple cheeseburgers I’d picked up from McDonald’s especially for the occasion, and he let me pass right on through.
Tex never locked his doors. Even with tweakers living down the street, nobody was stupid enough to fuck with a Midnight Rider with a Rottweiler.
I pulled my .45 as I walked inside the house, just in case. No need: Tex was passed out on the sofa, a litter of crushed beer cans and a half-empty bottle of Old Thompson whiskey on the stained rug.
“Tex,” I said, nudging him with my boot as I holstered the gun in the back of my jeans. “Wake the fuck up.”
He blearily opened his eyes.
“…Jack? …” he mumbled. A second later, he sat bolt upright like he’d seen a ghost. “Jack?! What the fuck?!” he blurted, now wide awake.
“Good to see you, too.”
“I said ‘what the fuck,’ not ‘good to see you,’” he said crossly.
“I decided to interpret it in the best possible light,” I said as I sat in the threadbare recliner opposite him.
Tex whipped his head towards the back of the house.
“What the hell – why didn’t Bowser – ”
Then he closed his eyes in pain. The hangover and the realization of what had happened both hit at the same time.
“You fed him somethin’, didn’t you,” he groaned as he held his forehead.
“Couple of cheeseburgers.”
“Great, now he’ll have the farts all day.”
“You’re welcome.”
