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“Predictable,” I say with a shrug.
“Yeah. It is. Only the offer was addressed to my birth name.” He grinds his jaw before continuing. “The lawyer who sent the contract knows who my mother is, Dig. Which means somebody told Terry. There are only five people who know the truth aside from me and her, and two of them are dead.”
“Mom and Dad.”
He nods. “The other three are you, Charlene, and Marco.”
“You think he betrayed you.” I frown, gaze fixed on a speck of gum stuck to the lip of the table. "Does it matter if Terry knows?”
"Of course, it fucking matters!" he roars, slamming a fist on the tabletop. “That shit goes public, it’d put us in the spotlight. Make us the media’s darlings while they drag our corpses across the headlines for shock value. I’d lose the respect of the men, and the club would lose its sway in the fuckin’ area.”
The frat house goes silent for a second before continuing their revelry.
I lift both hands, palms out. “Okay. Okay. I get it.”
He slumps back against the seat with a huff. “All I can assume is it’s Terry’s motivation for us to sign over Plymouth Street.”
I rub my forefinger and thumb across my chin, pinching the stubble that comes in. "So, we sit on it."
"What?"
I shrug. "If they can't say exactly what they want, what do they expect you to do?"
“Sign the deal?” Tyke closes his eyes, head tipped back on the seat. “That's what's been fuckin' me up these past weeks. I can't figure it out, Dig." He drops his chin, squaring me with his gaze. "Why the fuck send me a note with my goddamn lineage spelled out in fancy letters? Why now?" He shrugs. “They want to make a threat, fine. Take someone fuckin' hostage for cryin’ out loud. But a fucking family tree?"
I mull the problem over a while, thumb tracing the edge of the table before me. “He wants you to feel threatened.” I cant my head his way. “And I’d say right now, he’s winning.” I continue when Tyke just frowns at me. “You’ve always had an even footing with the fucker, right?”
He nods.
“I’d say Terry wants you to feel like the underdog, and what better way to do that than to show you can’t keep a secret without him findin’ out about it.”
“He’s always had eyes on us,” Tyke laments. “Bein’ in our business ain’t anything new.”
“Nope.” I spread my arms wide, palms on the seat either side of me. “But he’s always had eyes on ourpublicbusiness. The fucker wants you to know he’s got past your walls, brother. He wants you vulnerable enough to do somethin’ stupid like sell the one piece of land that stops his fuckin’ enterprise from ringing us in.”
“Fucker.” He punches the vinyl backrest with his elbow. “Still doesn’t tell me who fuckin’ squawked.”
“No. It doesn’t.” A detail that concerns me the most as well. “Marco had nothin’ to say on this?"
"He rightly pointed out that if he spilled the beans, then it'd make him look like an idiot for takin’ the witch off my hands. He also had an interesting take on it, though."
I lift an eyebrow to coax him to continue.
Tyke leans in. "What if the rat is onherside of the fence?"
"You think one of her staff got wind?"
"Or one of the opposition's office."
I lift my chin a little, brow pinched while I mull this angle over. "She's up for re-election next year. You think somebody wants her out?"
He shrugs. "She never was a people-pleaser."
We both turn our heads at the sound of the pledge evicting the contents of his stomach over the bar floor. The frat boys erupt in cheers as Sampson hollers at them to get out, waving his dish towel around like one would when trying to startle a stray dog.
"Fuckin' feels like a lifetime ago that was us," I muse.
Tyke laughs. "We were never in college.”
