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I couldn’t do this. It went against everything I stood for.
What I could do was cut a deal for my freedom with Diesel. He didn’t want me anywhere near his sons; he’d made that clear as crystal. But he also couldn’t risk losing his son’s devotion by killing me without just cause or provocation. Hell, I’d bet the bastard would even pay me to leave, rendering Aunt Humphrey’s inflated bank account completely useless to me.
I could even negotiate for Becca’s life.
It would be a win-win-win.
Even if it felt more like losing everything right now.
“Do you really believe that?” Officer Vick asked, incredulous at my admission. “That the world wouldn’t be better off without men like them in it?”
“Men like them…” I trailed off, sticking a hand down a tattered hole in my dress to retrieve my cell phone from where it was pressed hard into my hip bone. “Other gang members? Maybe.”
Officer Vick eyed my phone, unable to hide his lusting after it. He was practically drooling, the dog.
He watched as I pried off the back, the metal warm to the touch from my body heat, and popped out the sim card.
“But other gang members aren’t like them. No one is.”
I snapped the sim. Vick’s mouth opened in a silent, horrified gasp. I pressed the busted pieces into my fist with the phone and reeled my arm back.
Vick lurched forward, but he was too late. The phone whistled through the air, dropping, dropping, until it plunked into the soft waves of the lake and a weight the size of fucking Texas took its boot off my chest.
I sighed.
“I’m sorry,” I told Vick as he clutched the railing, scanning the little white-capped waves for any sign of the device. “I can’t help you. And Vick?”
I waited for him to look at me, the skin between his almost unibrow pinching.
“Don’t ever contact me again. If you do, I’ll tell the Crows all about you. Where you live.”
His mouth pressed into a thin line.
“What kind of car you drive.”
“How—”
I lifted my hand to stop him. I wasn’t finished. Anyone with half a brain could use a name to search for an address. And anyone worth their salt could have a pleasant little run past said address to scope it out, thus finding a personal vehicle, plate number, and a hot-rod red tricycle in the driveway.
“Don’t approach me again and you have nothing to worry about.”
Vick took a moment to compose himself, his gaze drifting to the open doorway at my back like he couldn’t wait to leave.
“I understand,” he replied.
A loud clap echoed within the warehouse at my back, and I whirled, dropping to the ground to snatch up the bottle and roll back, putting distance between myself and the doorway and even more space between Vick and me.
The clap came again, louder this time, followed by another, and another as the shadowy form inside the warehouse came closer, their steps awkward and stilted, until eventually he stepped into the light.
Diesel St. Crow emerged from the bowels of the Docks, inhaling deeply through his nose as a breeze brushed over us from the lake. He continued his slow clapping as he turned to face me, seeming to be completely unperturbed by the police officer at his back.
The police officer who seemed wholly unsurprised to see Diesel there. No, not just unsurprised, but like he’d been expecting him. Like he knew him.
My mind reeled at the scene before me, trying to read between lines I’d somehow missed entirely.
“Thanks, Colin,” Diesel said, jerking his head to Vick who gave a quiet nod before departing with one last glance in my direction, something like a smirk playing on his lips.
He removed his jacket as he left, revealing arms covered from shoulder to wrist in tattoos. The sharpened fleur-de-lis sign of the Saints in solid black on the back of his left biceps.
