Page 44 of Gang of Roses: Dice

As soon as we counted up and did the split, I would be headed to them. I would have to bury my money at the safehouse, drive out to safety, and catch a flight. My Bessie was at the airport waiting for me to coast her back to the mountains.

Chapter 7

Ritz “Radar” Monroe

The GPS broke the silence inside the SUV.

“Your destination is coming up on the right.”

I sat in the back with a pair of six-thousand-dollar Brunello Cucinelli Goldcraft 1978 sunglasses shielding my eyes inside Oats' already blacked-out Rolls-Royce. The noise around me didn't bother me, and if you asked what music was playing the whole ride, I couldn't tell you.

I was on autopilot, and for once, my homie respected that.

When the Royce rolled into the driveway, a red Jeep Wrangler sat parked out front.

“Shawty rolling like that, or you think it's a nigga's?” Oats asked.

“Ion know, but we 'bout to see,” I said, pulling my sunglasses off and putting them in their case.

I didn't know what awaited me on the other side of that door, but I wanted to be ready for whatever. I knew she had some bread—or whoever she was fucking had it—judging by how she gambled and what she wore at the casino. Whether that Jeep belonged to her or some nigga inside didn't make me a damn bit of difference. He could sit there and listen or get the fuck out. I came for answers, and I wasn't leaving until somebody gave me some.

“You damn right we 'bout to see,” Oats muttered, killing the engine.

This dude.

Oats wasn't about to let me make this trip alone, even though he knew I could handle my own. I didn't need the crew, but he wasn't hearing that shit. The nigga showed up at my house bright and early like I needed a damn babysitter. I didn't even have the energy to argue with him. I went through my morning routine, handled a few business calls, checked in with the casino manager, and got dressed. By the time I came back downstairs, this fool had made himself at home, but that wasn't anything new.

All night, I stared at the information Tom had sent, trying to make sense of it.

Two years.

Charlottesville, Virginia.

UVA Health University Medical Center... Labor and Delivery.

No wonder it took his ass so long to track her down. She'd gone out of state and completely off-grid.

“We gettin’ out?

I didn’t answer. I opened the door and stepped out, and Oats followed.

Walking toward the cabin, I took in the scenery. The place was nice. I’d thought about buying something in the mountains before, but I knew I wouldn’t use it enough. It’d just become another damn bill. Hell, I could already hear Bronco claiming the place like I’d bought it for him.

“What we doin’? Knockin’ or kickin’ the muthafucka in?”

“Nigga, what?”

“Well, yo’ ass ain’t said shit. I don’t know what’s behind this damn door. You just done went mute, ain’t give a hint or nuffin’. We all know when you get quiet, it’s some bullshit.” We continued to walk up while he ranted. “Wanna know something, the crew wanted to nickname you Radio back in the day, but I couldn’t let you rock out like that.”

“Oats, shut the hell up.”

“I’m just sayin’.”

He just shrugged while I pressed the doorbell.

A few seconds later, the door swung open.

My eyes immediately narrowed.