23. Safety First
Safety First
"Keep her out of it!" Jesse barks as I approach his office with a burger in hand. He's been cooped up in the clubhouse all morning. Given his furious tone, the man desperately needs some brain food. Or a stress ball. "Promise me, Jo."
"Why don't you worry about the visit up north and leave this mess to the adults ?" Jo replies, chair scraping. "I understand that you're not happy with this plan, but it's not your call to make, JP. We've got to explore all options right now, and this is one of them."
"What if you're wrong?" he asks. "What if?—"
"Then it won't matter, will it?" Footsteps approach the door and I back away, gripping the ceramic plate. "We gotta trust people's characters sometimes, JP. Despite your resignation, I know you're a smart man. We took a chance before, didn't we? And look how beneficial that's been."
"Beneficial?" Jesse asks with contempt. "We pay?—"
"It doesn't matter in the short term, JP!" Jo hisses. "We need to think long term. And this? This is a long-term solution. If this works, then we've stoned two birds at once." Her tone softens. "What are you really worried about, huh? You worried?—"
"I'm done with this conversation now," Jesse grumbles. "Go."
"Have a safe trip." As the door handle twists, I backtrack a few feet down the hallway to avoid looking like an eavesdropper. Jo steps through the threshold, head snapping in my direction. She gives me a welcoming smile, eyeing the food in my hands. "You working today, hun?"
"Just a half day," I reply nervously. "I figured I'd bring Jesse some food before I clock out."
"I'm sure he'll appreciate it." Jo walks toward me, fishing a pack of smokes from her breast pocket. She pats me on the shoulder, whispering softly in my ear, "He's a bit testy right now. I'd tread lightly if I were you."
"Thanks for the heads up," I say, peering down the hall to his office. "Did something happen?"
"Something's always happening," Jo chuckles before ducking into the lounge.
Being around The Sons reminds me of my foreign languages class in high school. The teacher would only speak to us in Spanish, and as hard as I tried to learn, I couldn't grasp it. I knew a couple of words and phrases, but I never understood whole conversations.
Shaking my head, I brush off Jo's vague comment and make my way into Jesse's office. "Knock knock," I say, turning the doorknob and poking inside. Jesse's head springs up from his palms, dark bags under his eyes. Poor man. Has he slept at all? "You hungry? "
"Not really," he says, sighing as he reclines into his chair and closes his eyes. "Could go for a drink, though."
"I'll tell Marlow to bring you a beer in a bit," I say, clearing away some random pieces of paper sprawled on his desk and setting down the burger. "But first, you eat."
He opens one eye as I plop down in front of him. "Did you eat today?"
"I had the kitchen whip me up a little omelet when we got in," I say, handing him a ketchup packet. "They finally figured out how to perfectly extract the yolks from the whites."
"Only took five weeks, huh?" Jesse snorts, popping a fry into his mouth. "Damn, that's good." He picks up a fry and holds it over his desk. "Try one."
"I'm good," I say, adjusting the t-shirt I borrowed from Marlow. "I've got to meet Miguel for that yoga lesson in an hour."
"Right..." Jesse checks the date on the hanging wall calendar. "It's Wednesday, isn't it?"
"Yup," I mutter, flicking at my fingernails. "Sure is."
"Where are you meeting him?" Jesse asks, clearing his throat. "Nearby?"
"I told him Rosenfeld Park. Beau took me there a couple of weeks ago. It's close enough that I can walk there."
"I could give you a ride if you want?" he offers, shifting in his seat.
"It's fine." My gaze sweeps across the stacks of documents on his desk. "You seem pretty swamped today."
"Yeah." He sighs. "The boys and I gotta ride up north tonight for a few days. Some idiots in San Fran got pinched for—" He bites his tongue. "Doesn't matter. They just need our help."
My face falls. "Are you going to be back before Saturday? I thought we were all going to the Children's Hospital together."
Jesse winces briefly. "Yeah, we'll be back to distribute the toys, don't worry."
"Who's um...who's going with you tomorrow?"
"The usual," Jesse says. "Dad, Jim, Rocco, Tiny, Ryder, and your brother's coming too."
"And it's just a short little thing?" I ask. "Or should I expect more bullet wounds upon return?"
Jesse snorts. "I think it'll be a fairly friendly visit."
"You wouldn't lie to me now, would you, darlin'?" I ask, giving him a cheeky grin.
Jesse stiffens. "You don't trust me?"
"Not as far as I can throw you," I joke, but it doesn't land.
The joke hovers in the air growing heavy between our bodies, and I regret my words.
Tentatively, I reach out and place my hand on top of his.
It's colder than usual and more strained.
Like he's gripping something hard to hold.
"Of course, I trust you, Jesse. And you know why?
" A honeysuckle smile spreads on my face as I stroke his fingers. "Cause you trust me...right?"
Jesse swallows, his conflicted gaze dancing around my hopeful features. He opens his mouth, but nothing slips from his guarded tongue except a breath of exhaustion.
"I've got some things I need to finish up here," he says, clearing his throat and pulling his hand away from mine. "Thanks for the food. "
"Anytime," I say, slowly standing up, my tummy dull from his dismissal. "Will you uh—will you be here when I get back?"
"Don't think so," he says, checking his phone. "Boys wanna leave within the hour."
"Oh, okay," I hum, dragging my feet toward the door.
His tone, his body language, the way he's looking at me, everything is setting off red flags.
Alarms. Stop. Turn around. Danger. Hurt up ahead .
Do I listen? Do I proceed with caution? "I'll umm.
.." Or do I be brave? Be hopeful? Be the version of myself that I like the most? "I'll miss you."
For a split second, Jesse's eyes shine like the highest carat diamonds, every twinkle a profession of his innermost thoughts. But just like that, as if they've shown too much, they revert back to lumps of coal, awaiting the day to become something priceless.
"I'll miss you too, princess," he says in a tone meant for acquaintances and store clerks. He manages a tiny smile; whether it's genuine or not, I cannot say. "Be safe, okay?"
From who? You? Or Miguel?
"Always am."
As I enter Rosenfeld Park, a humid gust of August wind blows through my hair.
Shoes in hand, my bare feet bounce against the blades of green grass as I notice Miguel pacing in the middle of the activity lawn.
It's odd seeing him wearing shorts and an athletic t-shirt.
I was half expecting him to do the Sun Salutation draped in Armani.
With a couple of families having picnics and children climbing around the playground, my fear of imminent death or kidnapping dissipates enough for me to call out his name.
"Miguel!" I holler, throwing my hand up in the air. "Hi! Sorry, I'm late." I adjust the tote bag Pippa lent me, one of the yoga mats poking out and jabbing me in the ear. "Had to make a quick stop on my way."
"It's not a problem," Miguel says, removing his sunglasses. He looks down the path I came from. "Anyone else joining us?"
Remember, there are people around. Act normal. Be cool.
"Nope.” I drop the bag on the ground and kneel. "Which color do you want?" I hold up two yoga mats. "Pink or..." I double-check the color, cringing. "Hot pink?"
"Hot pink. Why not?" Miguel chuckles, taking the hot pink mat from my hand and rolling it out on the grass as I set up my own. "So? What now?"
"Well, I think it's best if we first start off with some stretches," I say, taking a couple of steps back. "Just follow my lead, and we'll loosen up them muscles." I begin with my stretch routine, Miguel following along. "You ever done yoga before?"
"I'm more of weights and cardio type of guy," Miguel says. "But I've heard yoga has many benefits."
"It does." I beam, twisting my torso. "Not only is it a great body workout, but it helps with the mind too. Not that I'm an expert or anything, I've got no formal training, but I've probably taken a hundred classes in my life, so I think semi-qualified for this little lesson here."
Miguel chuckles. "Sometimes experience is better than education."
"Right?" I bend down and touch my toes, swaying from side to side. "One of my friends back home is getting a degree in social media marketing, and I told her that given the amount of time she spends online, she probably doesn't even need a degree to get a job."
"So you're in school?" Miguel asks as we work on our hamstrings.
"Almost done," I say. "I've got one semester left. Starts in September."
"What are you taking?" he asks.
I roll my eyes. “General Arts. I know, right? Everyone says it’s a useless degree. But my momma said it doesn't matter what I major in 'cause I'm never gonna have to work, so why choose a hard one."
Miguel frowns. "Why won't you need to work?"
I snort. "Cause us Kingsley women aren't workers, Miguel. We're potential wives . At least that's what I've been told since I was five."
"You don't seem happy with that," he notes, sitting down on the mat.
"Happiness isn't a choice in my household." I shrug, facing my feet together and stretching out my inner thighs. "But it is what it is."
"Hmm..." Miguel pauses for a moment. "Is that why your brother ran away from home, then?"
I frown. "You know about that?"
"I know a lot of things, Miss Kingsley," Miguel says, tone professional. Miss Kingsley?! "For one, I know the troubles you went through to locate your brother."
"I—"
What is happening right now?
"I know you've recently gotten very close to The Sons of Sorrow." Miguel shifts his position on the mat, his voice dropping to a quieter level. "And I know they've told you that I'm member of the cartel."
"I'm—" A shiver spiders down my spine as I blink at Miguel. "What?—"
"I know a lot about you, Miss Kingsley," Miguel says. "But you?" He shakes his head. "You know nothing about me."
"What—" I clear my throat, scanning the park for potential escape routes. "What do you mean?"
"You think that I am a member of El Cartel de Los Caballero," he notes quietly.
"And while that may be true, it is not all I am.
" Fear rips through my veins as he reaches into his pocket and hands me a business card.
With a thumping heart, I take the card, my vision blurring as I stare at the logo for the Department of Justice. "I work for the DEA, Miss Kingsley."
"DEA..." This can't be happening. He's a federal agent? An undercover federal agent? "Mr."—I swallow, throat drying as I read the card—"Ramos...I don't?—"
"It's okay, Miss Kingsley," he says gently. "You're not in any trouble, but"—he forces my frightened gaze—"your brother will be...unless..."
"Unless what?" I whisper, hands shaking.
"Your new... acquaintances ," Miguel begins, "they're not good people, Savannah. Their partnership with Los Caballero has resulted in the deaths of many people, and my team is on the precipice of shutting down The Sons for good."
"Shutting them down?" My voice falters. "As in jail?"
"As in life sentences," Miguel clarifies, verbally punching my gut.
"I know you care about your brother, Miss Kingsley, and from what I've seen and heard, he's not a bad kid.
He simply got mixed up with the wrong crowd.
A very wrong crowd." He reaches over, covering my hand with his. "But I'm willing to make you a deal."
"A deal?" I ask, picturing my baby brother behind bars with grey hair and lifeless eyes. "I don't understand..."
"It's simple," he explains. "I need you to find and send me a document. A list."
I blink at him, unable to focus on his demands as my world crashes. "A list?"
"Yes, of all the stash houses The Sons currently hold," he states.
"It's probably a page long, most likely handwritten.
" He pauses as I catch my unsteady breath.
"You do that, Miss Kingsley, you find me that list and send it to me, and I will guarantee that your brother will serve a minimal sentence. "
My head spins. This ain’t a situation I can mentally erase or run away from. Jail. He’s talking about jail.
"You have a week." Miguel gives me a knowing smile. "His future is in your hands, Miss Kingsley." He nods down at the business card. "What will you do with it?"