30. Jasper
30
JASPER
It’s Monday night, and I’m in my room at the clubhouse, sprawled out on my bed, watching some old action flick on TV. A bunch of guys started a pool tournament, so they’re getting louder with each passing minute.
The lamp on my nightstand casts a soft glow, barely enough to light the room, but it’s enough for me.
Four carrot cake cupcakes taunt me from the nightstand. And since my girl likes to feed everyone but me, I gotta savor them. So I’ve been holding off on eating them.
Mrs. Marshall came in for an oil change today, and I spotted the Sugarplum Bakery boxes in her front seat immediately. Apparently, there’s a stomach bug going around the kids camp this week, so half of her kid’s birthday party won’t be able to make it. So she was driving around town, delivering them to some family and friends.
But I have this feeling that Mrs. Marshall has been talking to the power-walking trio in neon, because when I nonchalantly offered to take the cupcakes off her hands, she smirked. The kind of smile that says mm-hmm, I bet you’d like that.
And then she sold them to me for fifty bucks. For four cupcakes.
But whatever. I don’t regret it.
Someone knocks on my door, two wraps of their knuckles, before the door swings open. It’s a little thing we started doing as a way to signal each other, to ease that instinct to reach for a weapon.
Hawke stands in my doorway, grinning like a cat that caught the canary. He leans against the doorframe, arms crossed, giving me a pointed look.
I arch a single brow, but I don’t get up. “Hawke.”
“Jagger,” he mimics.
“Need something?”
He lifts a shoulder. “Just wondering how long you’re going to wait by your phone for your crush to call like you’re fourteen again.”
“It all makes so much sense now.” I nod a few times with a slow grin. “You speakin’ from experience, man?”
His face falls and he pushes off the doorway. “Wait, no. Don’t turn this around on me. I’m coming in here to give you shit, not the other way around.”
I laugh, dragging my hand through my hair and checking my phone for the time. “The game’s over already?”
“Yeah, Gunner got his ass kicked by Rocks so bad in this round. He’s already at Oak Barrel nursing his pride,” Hawke says, laughter thick in his voice. “The rest of us are heading out in a couple hours. You in?”
“And deal with a sullen and drunk Gunner? Nah, I’m good, man.”
Hawke raises an eyebrow, his grin widening. “You sure it has nothing to do with a certain dark-haired bombshell? I still can’t believe you snagged her again, man.” He claps his hands and rubs them together like some kind of fucked-up cartoon villain. “Don’t worry though, bro, I’ll be sure to comfort her when she eats you alive.”
In one smooth movement, I reach behind my head, snag a pillow, and whip it at him. It smacks him in the face with a less-than-satisfying muted thump.
“Don’t even fucking think about it, asshole.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Hawke catches the pillow before it hits the floor, laughing. He throws it at the end of my bed and flops down in the chair in the corner, looking way too comfortable. “Look, while I have you, I’ve got some news on those two guys hanging around Carter’s bakery.”
I sit up, my attention fully on him now. “What did you find?”
He pulls out his phone, scrolling through his messages. “Turns out they’re in with Tony Falcone. Falcone runs a group of wannabe gangsters in Avalon Falls. Low-level shit mostly, but with some surprising connections. And get this, he’s Joey Wright’s nephew.”
“The tailor?”
“The one and only,” he confirms with a nod. “The Wrights go way back in Avalon Falls. Pretty sure they ran some of the first speakeasies in the area back in the day. Fucked around with gambling and horse racing. But it seems like Joey kept his nose clean from all that. Instead, he owned about half the buildings in downtown Avalon Falls—including Carter’s.”
I rub my jaw, processing the information. “What else?”
“Found a report that said Joey Wright was found unresponsive at his residence a few weeks ago. They’re citing natural causes. Rumor is that he left everything to his nephew.”
“Including Carter’s building,” I murmur, my mind spinning.
Hawke nods. “Yeah, and Falcone and his little crew run shit differently. Petty theft, a few robberies, some assault charges. They’ve got a rap sheet a mile long.” He pauses, sighing and shaking his head. “I don’t know, man, I wouldn’t put it past him to use this opportunity as a springboard, try to level up, ya know?”
A muscle in my jaw ticks. There aren’t any clubs or dominant gangs in Avalon Falls, which sounds good in theory. But it leaves them open to shit like this.
“Alright, good work, man, thanks. I need another favor.”
“Damn, Jagger, already?” he teases, a sly grin hooking up the corner of his mouth.
“Install security around Coraline’s bakery for me, yeah? Same shit as her house.”
He gives me a mock salute, a smirk tugging at his lips. “So you can easily spy on your girl, you mean.”
I ignore his teasing. Also, he’s not fucking wrong. I do like the idea of being able to log into one app and check in on her. Well, outside her house and bakery, at least.
“It’s not like there are cameras inside her house.”
“Not yet,” Hawke deadpans.
“Appreciate it, Hawke,” I say, meaning it. I lean back on the bed, folding an arm behind my bed. “Now, can you get out of here? I’ve got a date with a cupcake and I’m not in the mood to share.”
Hawke laughs and pushes to stand. “Bro, when are you ever in the mood to share?”
I chuckle, shaking my head. “Yeah, yeah. Now, get out.”
“Later, man,” he calls, tapping the doorframe twice on his way out.
I watch him leave, the door clicking shut behind him. The room’s quiet again, just the low hum of the TV filling the space. I pick up my phone, scrolling through my socials and navigating to her profile. No colorful ring around Coraline’s profile pic—no new stories. Damn. I was hoping to catch a glimpse of my girl today.
But she’s making me work for it, and lucky for her, I’m determined as fuck.