Chapter Fifteen
James
Both prospects do well on the ride, especially Lee, or “Guardrail,” as his former chapter called him.
Even Amado surprised me with how well he stayed in formation, though I don’t love how quickly he bonded with Nico, who has been riding fine despite the fractured ulna in his left arm.
I sense mischief on the horizon with those two.
Back at the Iron Cage, Theo disappears, dragging June with him to the office. It’s early afternoon, so the place is nowhere close to busy. Only the Saints and the typical hang-arounds mingle. Still, the music is turned on and drinks are soon being passed around.
I head to the second office, which is further back and smaller than Theo’s. It’s also far less organized, since Kip and I are the only ones who really use the space, and neither one of us is as clean and meticulous as Theo.
For the next couple of hours, I study our files on influential people in the city, focusing on the ones we know for sure are connected to the South Five.
We’re in the process of taking care of three of the dirty cops that have helped them in the past. Thanks to the jobs Theo, Luna, Kip, and I have completed over the years, coming up with creative ways to sabotage people is almost second nature.
I set aside files on two accountants and a judge to look into further.
Then I stop on the one for their main lawyer.
Everyone in the city knows the guy is corrupt, but he’s also great at his job, so there’s no evidence of criminal activity or malpractice.
We attempted to get him promoted, like we did for one of the dirty cops.
That guy now has a cushy desk job and is out of reach of the Five.
But the strategy didn’t work with the lawyer.
Exposing him would be ideal. We have plenty of information on the guy but not enough to make a move against him or to blackmail him yet. Perhaps that’ll be a job for Ace. Or, better yet, Maple.
Thinking about the hacker has me absentmindedly pulling out my phone and navigating to the text thread with Sadie. In her last message, she promised to call Maple soon, but I haven’t heard anything since.
God, when did I become the guy who checks his phone every five minutes?
This is ridiculous. Just as stupid as convincing myself I needed to ask Sadie to contact Maple on our behalf, when I already have her number.
I’m not naive enough to see that as anything other than what it was: a flimsy excuse to see her.
My fingers start itching and the back of my throat aches.
I fight to ignore the sensation, but it grows more insistent until it’s all I can think about.
Finally, I snatch a pack of cigarettes from the desk drawer and head outside.
I light the end and suck in a long pull, a mix of relief and shame filling my lungs.
I made it twenty hours without smoking, which is the longest I’ve lasted in a while but still seems pathetic.
“Care to share?”
I turn, finding a young woman leaning against the side of the building.
She has dark skin and long, shapely legs wrapped in fishnet stockings.
Her black dress has a corset top that lifts her breasts, so they’re the first thing you notice.
Once upon a time, she would’ve caught my attention for the rest of the night with that sultry look and raspy voice.
“Sure,” I say, holding out the pack of cigarettes. She grins at me before plucking one free and setting it between her lips. I flick on the lighter, and she leans forward, holding the end in the flames and sucking until a bright red cherry glows.
“You’re James, aren’t you? I’m Kelli.”
“Nice to meet you, Kelli.”
She steps closer, blowing out a cloud of smoke before biting her bottom lip. “I’ve seen you around before. My friend, Bella, is in the Saints of Purgatory.”
“Oh, right.”
Kelli runs her fingers up my arm. “Do you ever take people with you on your bike?”
“No.”
She blinks, hand pausing on my bicep. “Oh. Would you like to?”
“Not really,” I say, shrugging away from her touch.
She doesn’t seem discouraged, though. With another step forward, she lowers her voice and says, “You seem stressed. Is everything okay?”
Her words trigger a memory of another woman’s voice. It was gentle then, but now, years later, it feels sharp as daggers in my mind.
“Let me take care of you tonight.” I flinch and take a long drag of the cigarette, hoping to dull the sound. But it just repeats, as if determined to drag me fully back in time and force me to relive the entire thing.
“James?”
I’m not sure if the voice is from Kelli or from back then, but it fills my gut with nausea all the same. Taking a large step backward, I clear my throat. “You can go.”
“What?” Hurt fills her voice, and maybe I’m an asshole, but I don’t care.
Instead of repeating myself, I turn around and walk away, tossing the butt to the ground.
Climbing onto my bike, I secure my helmet and pull the kickstand up with my heel.
Flashbacks like that used to plague me night and day.
Recent years have been… not easier but more bearable, with far fewer instances of unexpected assaults from those memories.
I found ways to suffocate her voice in my mind and the guilt it always drags with it.
But lately, as with the insomnia, they’ve come back with a vengeance.
It’s not fair, but part of me blames Sadie. There’s no logical reason why, but having any reason helps. It’s something I can point to and say, “See, my brain hasn’t randomly decided to sabotage me.”
I should go back to therapy. Although, thanks to my idiot brother, I’ll always be slightly worried that my therapist is a murderer on the side.
I’m not surprised when I end up at the gym.
Using my key, I let myself in and have the presence of mind to at least put on some gloves before attacking the punching bag.
Time seems to levitate, letting me slip into a vortex of thoughtless emotion.
Anger, grief, shame, guilt, everything I try not to feel on a daily basis swirl together.
There’s only me and the bag that absorbs each hit.
Occasionally, a memory slips in, which is always followed by a particularly harsh punch or kick.
“You could stay. Leave in the morning.”
The pain in my knuckles is a distant feeling that disappears almost immediately.
Shrill ringing wakes me up from a deep sleep. A soft body curls into my side when I roll over to grab the phone. “Not yet,” she whispers.
I kick hard, then let loose a flurry of jabs.
“You didn’t do anything wrong.”
But I did. Of course I did. And I wish someone else would be as angry at me as I am at myself.
It doesn’t matter what anyone says. I know the truth. I know what I did. And that knowledge has been an infectious rot intent on turning me into a monster.
Finally, the vortex relaxes its hold and I deflate, slumping against the punching bag. My forehead rests against the cool leather, and I let out a shaky breath.
If I’m going to be a monster, then I may as well be a useful one.
~
Matthew climbs into my Jeep’s passenger seat, wiping sweat from his forehead. He lets out a puff of air and says, “Fuck, it’s bleak in there.”
“So? What did he say?” I ask, looking back at the prison ahead. The Fivers inside have an iron grip on the other inmates, largely thanks to the warden, Hector Barnes, who is highly compensated for turning a blind eye to any Fiver activity inside.
“He’s good,” Matthew says. “Brutal enough to gain the respect of the correctional officers but not so brutal that he catches the attention of higher ups. There have been riots, but Levi doesn’t think they’ll escalate enough to be an issue.
And no one cares about his obvious favoritism if the prison is making money and the mortality rate isn’t rising. ”
“The Fivers don’t kill their enemies?”
“Levi is still alive isn’t he?” Matthew asks. Levi, his brother, has been in prison for nearly four years.
“Levi isn’t a Saint,” I say.
“No, but his brother is. Anyway, no, the Fivers don’t generally kill other inmates. Their beatings are enough to keep everyone in line.”
“So, turning the warden into a liability won’t work.” It was a long shot, but managing to make Barnes too dangerous for the South Five to keep would’ve been ideal. They’d cut him loose just to avoid any heat he brought. It would be their decision, meaning our hand in the process would be invisible.
Unfortunately, it doesn't seem like that’ll be possible.
“Levi did say the warden is the backbone of the Fivers’ control. If he was gone, the Fivers wouldn’t be protected. And they’re outnumbered in there. Plenty of inmates would get revenge if they could.”
“I know. But this was our last non-violent option for doing so,” I say.
Matthew doesn't reply immediately. When he does, there’s a very clear suggestion in his voice. “He gets off work in three hours. No wife or kids to miss him.”
It’s tempting. Our previous surveillance of Barnes suggests he’ll go to a bar tonight. It’ll be in Fiver territory but not a Fiver bar.
“T wouldn’t like it.”
“Are you sure?” Matthew asks. “He wants the Five dealt with. Every day, June is in more danger.”
I silently admit to myself that he’s not wrong.
Theo isn’t against violence or murder. He just wants to avoid it as much as possible when it comes to the South Five.
Provoking them would put us too much on the defensive.
We’d have to call in the other Saints chapters to come help us, and neither of us wants that.
It would put more Saints in danger. Plus, I don’t think he wants the other chapters to know how serious this war with the Five is until absolutely necessary.
Because then we’d have to explain why we’re in this predicament.
And it would be incredibly difficult to do so without mentioning June’s part in this.
We want the warden out of the picture. But would the risks of killing him be worth it?