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“What you need to do,” Rook says, “is take care of yourself and your girl, you hear me? Leave this to us. Everything will be fine.”
God, I want to believe them, to hope it’s over. Can’t imagine what this story will cost them, how they’ll cope if their dads are proven to be members of the Organization. What will happen to their families.
But it’s too late now for regrets. There is no other way, and I’m fucking glad to be alive, and with my girl.
When Raylin comes to me, I pull her by my side and curl my good arm around her. She smells of sweet soap and freshness.
“Thank you, guys,” I whisper. “For everything.”
RAYLIN
It all happens so fast. We’re staying at Hawk’s estate out of town, and two detectives come to talk with Hawk, Rook and Storm. I thought I’d stay away from this, but Storm looked pale and tired, his broken arm back in the sling, and I couldn’t leave the room. Then he reached for me, and it was settled.
I’m staying. I watch the proceedings from the sofa, my hand on the thick muscle of Storm’s thigh, feeling it bunch up and release as he talks about his parents, his uncle, the attempts on his life, the letter.
The tattoos and the Organization. All that ink. Phoenixes, roses and snakes biting their tails. Circles in circles.
The detectives lose their color a little as they listen. One of them excuses himself to make a phone call.
“We’ve known about the Organization for years,” the other detective says, a gray-haired man with a scar marking one cheek. “We knew about the Phoenix tattoos, but not about the leaders. We don’t have evidence about the attacks on you, and no direct link between your father,” he turns to Hawk, “and the death of the Jordans.”
“So now what?” Storm’s blue eyes are dark. “They get away with it?”
“My father and I,” Hawk mutters, the first words he has spoken since the arrival of the police. He taps the armrest, gray eyes flickering with thought. “We always got along well.” There’s bitterness in his voice, and I wish I could give him a hug. “I went and paid him a visit last night. It was interesting.”
“What did you do?” Storm is frowning. “Dammit, Hawk.”
“I confronted him.” Hawk shrugs his broad shoulders, stretching the material of the blue shirt he’s wearing. “Told him I knew everything. He confessed.”
“But your word isn’t enough, sir,” the detective says. “He can deny it.”
“Not if I managed to record everything.”
Storm opens his mouth to say something, when Rook cuts in.
“Make that two confessions.” He lifts his cell phone, face set in angry lines. “My father confessed, too, when I told him I wanted in. He was proud of me. Proud.” He spits out the last word. “He confessed to offing Tony Jordan, Storm’s uncle. Hope that’s enough to land him in jail.”
“Should. Should be,” the detective stammers. “Hey, Wilson.” He gestures at the other detective who’s still on the phone. “Come here and call this in. We need back up. About to do a couple of arrests.”
“Will the evidence hold?” Rook asks. “Even if they didn’t know they
were being recorded? Or does that only work in the movies?”
“We’ll make it work,” the detective says grimly. “We’ll take the Organization down. Oh boy, this is like Christmas.”
I’d laugh at his eagerness, but the expressions on Storm, Hawk and Rook’s faces are dark. I expected them to be sad, but they look worried, instead.
I wait until the detectives are gone to ask why.
“I understand that it’s hard,” I say to Storm as I lead him to the bedroom Hawk has given us. “No matter how angry I am at my dad, I wouldn’t want him going to jail.”
“That’s not it,” he says, voice laced with exhaustion as he sits down on the bed.
“Then what?”
“Something as big and powerful as the Organization won’t shut down because two of its leaders are arrested. It won’t fucking happen.”
“But now you know about it. About the Organization, about the murder of your parents and uncle. You know everything. No reason to try and kill you anymore.”
