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Ocean rocks back on his heels, hands in his pockets. “He’ll be here.”
Will he? Our old man doesn’t seem to be in a hurry to meet us. We’re standing around in the fading light, with snow swirling down from the sky, and there’s that awful bad feeling in my gut, the same I got every time Jason got hurt.
But Jason is fine, at home. He doesn’t even know about this. No need to. It’s supposed to be a quick meeting, meant to calm dear old Dad down, assure him he’ll get what he wants or scare him into leaving us alone, and possibly find out who his contact with the Club is.
“Nobody’s here,” Riot says, walking back out of the alley with his two burly friends in tow. He flicks snowflakes off his shoulders. “You sure about the place and time?”
“I’m calling him,” I say, but Ocean beats me to it, pulling his cell phone out and searching for the number. “Something’s off. Why would he set us up?”
“You guys can go,” I tell Riot and his friends. “This isn’t your fight.”
“You don’t get it,” Riot replies, narrowing his gray eyes at me. “This is my fight all right. It’s personal.”
“Why?”
“This Simon Gomez your dad’s chumming up to has a thing for prostitutes. And I worked as an escort. So there’s that, and there’s the whole mafia thing, and I’m not going until this is set to rights.”
Whoa, okay. I nod and watch him wander back to his friends. Interesting.
As Ocean calls our old man, I pull out my phone and call home. No idea why I feel I need to check on Jason, but there it is.
And when it rings and rings and he doesn’t pick up, my stomach twists.
“Hey, Shun.” I glance at my brother who’s glaring at his phone. He redials and lifts a brow at me. “Does Dad know where I live?”
He frowns. “I guess. Yeah. Why?”
Of course he does. My apartment used to be Ocean’s, after all, and not so long ago he trusted them.
My throat’s dry. “He threatened to hurt the people I care about if I don’t pay up. And I didn’t pay up. Neither did you.”
“What are you saying?” Zane asks, stepping closer, his Mohawk a black shadow in the faint streetlamp lights.
“Our dad is a petty crook,” Ocean says, lowering his phone. “Are you saying that, what, he’d kidnap Jason and ask for ransom? This isn’t the movies, R. He wouldn’t have the guts for it, no matter his threats.”
Wouldn’t he?
I call home again. “Jason isn’t answering the phone.”
“He’s probably in the shower. Or you know, taking a dump. Why are you so worried all of a sudden?”
“I don’t know. Dad not showing up, Jason not answering… It’s a gut feeling. A fucking bad gut feeling.” Cold sweat’s pouring down my back. “Something’s wrong, man. I just know it.”
Riot and his friends exchange looks, but Zane just nods.
“Always trust your gut,” he says. “It tells the truth when your brain doesn’t want to accept it. Let’s go.”
There’s a beat of silence with his words still echoing on the air. The other guys gather around us, looking thoughtful. Or maybe thinking I’ve gone around the bend and off the deep end.
Who cares? “Look, I’m gonna head home, check on Jason.” Even if it proves I’m nuts. I don’t fucking care.
Then Asher says, “Nothing to do here anyway. Come on, let’s go make sure Jason is okay.”
And we’re off.
Maybe I’m sick. Maybe what I took for a gut feeling is food poisoning. I thought those mini burritos we had today at Collateral might be dodgy. As I park across from my building, I start to feel really fucking stupid for dragging everyone here.
Ocean climbs out of his car and comes over as I slam the door of my pick-up shut. “I called Kayla. She’s fine.”
