Chapter 18 Zoey
ZOEY
“You okay?”
I don’t look at Whiz at his question, even though I can feel him watching me. Instead, I keep my eyes on the casket at the far end of the room, on the line of people filing in, on the way the energy intensifies with each new arrival.
This funeral is nothing like Undertaker’s was.
“I’m fine.”
He chuckles humorlessly, not calling me out on my bullshit but not buying it either. “Yeah,” he mutters. “That’s not what it looks like.”
I finally glance at him. “This is… different.”
Everything about today feels volatile, like each person carries a danger that simmers just beneath the surface.
The grief is there, but it’s not the dominant emotion filling the room.
Tattoos are exposed as if hiding them goes against some unspoken rule.
Eyes scan, measure, and watch everything and everyone.
Including me.
“I told you what this place is,” Whiz whispers. “You’re gonna see shit like this here.”
“I know,” I reply, lowering my voice to match his. “That doesn’t mean I have to be comfortable with it right away.”
“Fair,” he says. Then, as if it’s an afterthought, he adds, “You’re safe.” When I don’t say anything, he continues. “You don’t look convinced.”
“I don’t know these people, don’t know what they’re capable of.”
“I do,” he says.
That pulls my attention back to him fully.
“And?” I prompt.
“And you’re still safe,” he says reassuringly. “Because they know what this place is and who it belongs to.”
My gaze flicks briefly around the room, taking in the men stationed near the walls, whose subtle positions I hadn’t noticed until right now. They’re not just standing around. They’re placed intentionally so they can watch with a keener eye.
I also take in their cuts, the ones that match Whiz’s.
“I didn’t realize there were so many of you here,” I say.
“We expected trouble,” he answers simply.
“And that doesn’t concern you?”
“It does,” he says. “Which is why we’re ready for it.”
I don’t know why, but I trust him, trust the people he trusts.
“Okay.”
“Stay close,” he adds, and it’s not a suggestion.
Several minutes pass, and the service begins. It’s loud and unrestrained as people speak without waiting their turn while others laugh at what I would deem inappropriate moments. The disorganization is over as quickly as it began, dissolving into back slapping hugs.
That’s when it hits me… This is grief, just expressed differently than what I’m used to. The realization relaxes me, and I’m able to focus on my job rather than any potential threats.
My training and experience take over, and I manage to keep everything on track. I do all of this without straying too far from Whiz, his earlier ‘stay close’ subconsciously remaining at the forefront of my thoughts.
At one point, things get louder than they should as two men step too close to each other, voices raised and agitation spiking just enough to garner attention.
My muscles tighten, a reflex I can’t quite control, but before anything can escalate, a couple of Whiz’s brothers step in.
They aren’t aggressive, but they’re firm enough to deescalate the situation without incident.
Air whooshes from my lungs in relief.
“See?” Whiz says, leaning toward me. “Handled.”
I shoot him a look. “That was close.”
“It always feels like that,” he says. “Doesn’t mean it is.”
The rest of the service is a more manageable affair.
It’s definitely not quiet, but it is predictable, falling within a structure that’s familiar, one that I can work with.
It ends with the same fanfare with which it began, and only when the casket is being lifted from its perch at the front of the room do I allow myself to fully relax.
I move alongside it as the doors open, the outside air cool against my skin. The shiny black hearse idles just beyond the steps.
“Watch your footing,” I say to no one in particular as they bring the casket down.
My warning is second nature, routine, something I can control. As the pall bearers clear the final step, a loud pop fills the air.
The world seems to drop out from under me as gunshots come, one after another. Around me, chaos ensues. People scatter, bumping into me from all directions, and still, I don’t move.
I’m frozen, paralyzed with fear as I try to make sense of what’s happening. The problem is, there is no sense to it. Whiz tried to tell me that something could happen, and even though I listened and stuck close, part of me didn’t quite believe it.
I believe it now.