• Sixteen •
· Sixteen ·
“I’d bet my left nut he’s dead, and the songbird killed him, just like she said.”
Storm
The blood on my hands wasn’t mine. It rarely was. King tossed a towel toward me as I reached the Escalade. Catching it, I wiped myself clean.
Tonight was King’s first time back doing the dirty work since his little girl had been born. He’d been different. There had been more caution in his actions when he’d once thought second, acted first. If Thatcher hadn’t arrived with his reckless insanity, things could have gone bad.
“We weren’t supposed to kill. Just warn,” King said as Thatcher jerked open the passenger door to climb inside.
“You prefer I let them shoot your ass?” he asked in a sardonic tone.
He wasn’t wrong.
This was supposed to have been a regular debt-collecting run. The Morse brothers owned a chain of service stations across Georgia and Alabama. They’d gotten in a bind financially, and one of their sons had gotten mixed up with a gang in Atlanta. When Joe Morse came to ask Stellan for help with both things, we stepped in for the price of four hundred grand. That money was due yesterday. They were given their warning by a call from Stellan. The twenty-four hours were up, and we came for the next step of the process. It was a more intense warning.
However, Joe Morse’s two security men were flanking each side of the desk where he sat and pointed a gun at me and King. I was weighing the options, but my hand was on the butt of my Glock when Thatcher walked in, a pistol in each hand, taking out both men, then going straight up to Joe, not stopping until he had both barrels against his forehead.
Joe Morse was alive, but he’d cried, pissed his pants, and when we’d walked away, I’d heard him retching in his office.
The money was in a leather bag in the back of the Escalade, and our job was done, but there were two dead bodies left inside. I’d taken their guns from them and checked them for any wires, hence the blood on my hands.
“They weren’t going to kill us. That would have been a deadly move on Morse’s part, and he knew it,” King argued. “Then, you came walking in like fucking Doc Holliday, both guns blazing, putting bullets between their eyes. Jesus, Thatch,” he said angrily as he headed to the driver’s seat.
“We got the money. Job done,” Thatcher said, leaning back in his seat. “And since we’re making comparisons, I thought it was more of a Wyatt Earp move than Doc.”
“Doc Holliday was the psycho,” King replied.
I kept my mouth shut.
King and Wilder Jones had grown up with Thatcher. They were as close as you could be to Thatcher, and they were the only two who talked to him like that. Sebastian did at times, but even his brother didn’t push too hard. Seeing as how Wells, Sebastian, and I were the younger group, we had grown up tight, looking up to the older three, but not really in their circle of trust. Until we all took our place in the family. Still didn’t make me or Wells comfortable with Thatcher.
Once I was settled in the back seat, I dropped the bloodstained towel in the black trash bag we kept in the back for things like this.
“You were supposed to stay outside and keep watch,” King told him as he started the engine.
Thatcher let out an amused laugh. “You’ve gone soft, King. Got to toughen up, fucker, if you want to stay alive for that baby and wife of yours.”
“I’ve not gone soft,” King snarled.
“Shiiit,” Thatcher drawled. “Until tonight, I can’t think of a time a man pointed a gun at your head and you didn’t take him out yourself.”
“I was giving them time to back down,” he argued.
“I gave them fucking time. I counted to ten,” Thatcher replied.
King shook his head and pulled out onto the street, and we drove down the long drive that led to the Morse mansion.
“Storm was the only one going for his gun,” Thatcher pointed out. “You didn’t even move to go in that direction. Storm couldn’t take them both out at the same time, so I did what I needed to.”
King lifted his eyes to the rearview mirror to look at me.
I shrugged. “Gun was pointed at my head,” I replied.
He let out a sigh and looked back at the road.
Thatcher stretched in his seat, then turned his head toward King. “Heard our murderous little songbird asked for a fake identity. She needs birth certificate, Social, school records, all kinds of shit.”
What the fuck? I leaned forward and noticed King stiffen.
“Briar Landry is asking for this? Who did she ask?” King demanded.
“She talked to Abe’s sister. Seems the sister called her brother in for a favor, and Abe contacted Walsh, who went to Blaise. Boss called Wilder today with the order.”
“Blaise told him to do this?” King asked, sounded pissed.
“Yep.”
“I knew she was fucking lying!” he roared, hitting the steering wheel.
“Easy,” Thatcher said with a chuckle. “It’s not for her. It’s for some teenager. Briar can’t fucking pass for a fifteen-year-old kid, no matter what paperwork she has. She’s helping someone, it would seem.”
The teenage girl that had been in her car? What the fuck was Briar up to? Had she kidnapped someone? Would she do that?
“You’re quiet back there,” Thatcher said. “Thought you’d be interested in this little turn of events.”
I leaned back as my mind ran through every scenario I could. None of them looking good. “Why is Blaise helping a criminal?” I finally asked.
Thatcher turned to look back at me with a smirk twisting his lips. “Criminal? You’re mighty judgmental. Fucking men over for money isn’t a crime. It’s brilliant.”
“If this isn’t about Roger Ball, it doesn’t affect me,” King finally said. “But I want to know who the identity is for. If it’s connected to him, it could lead to him.”
“If he’s alive,” Thatcher added.
“Yeah, that,” King muttered.
“I’d bet my left nut he’s dead, and the songbird killed him, just like she said,” Thatcher said. “Regardless, Wilder couldn’t give us details. He isn’t authorized. He said he was just relaying the message and King could do with it what he wanted.”
“Why didn’t he call me, and why are you just now telling me?” King snapped.
Thatcher rolled down the window as he lit up a cigarette. “Because he didn’t trust you not to go running to Miami, and I knew we had a job to handle tonight. So, I waited.” He took a long draw, then glanced back at King. “Now, you know. Go south if you must, but it’s a waste of fucking time.”
King sighed heavily. “Cosette has a doctor’s appointment tomorrow. The last time they had to give her shots, Rumor cried more than Cosi. I have to be there. Besides, if what’s her name, Melissa or whatever, runs, I’ll know. The tracker is on her car.”
“Briar,” I corrected before I could stop myself.
Hearing him call her Melissa annoyed me. Sure, she’d been born with the name, but she’d escaped that life and tried to wipe it clean. Least he could do was respect her name change.
King looked up at me in the rearview mirror again. “Whatever. Does it matter what I call her?”
“Oh, to him it most certainly does,” Thatcher replied with his cigarette clamped between his teeth.
“You got a thing for her?” King asked.
“No,” I said firmly.
“He just wants to fuck the hell out of her,” Thatcher added. “But then so do I. I’m just not moody as fuck about it.”
My hands fisted at the thought of Thatcher touching her.
King rolled his eyes and looked back at the road. He reached for the radio and turned the music up.
I had some time. While King was dealing with his baby girl and wife, I could make a little visit to Miami first. What I was going to do when I got there, I wasn’t sure, but I needed to find out what she was up to. I wished I could forget Briar but if she was about to get herself into trouble, I … I just needed to know what kind of trouble and why. Maybe then I could let it fucking go.
I’d fought going back for over a week now, and it was getting more difficult. There was a real good chance she’d pull her pistol out the moment she set eyes on me. I was prepared for her to hate me. I’d asked for it with the way I treated her last time. That had been more for my benefit than hers, and at the time, I’d thought her ego could take it. But the hurt look in her eyes was still replaying in my head. Damn if it wasn’t fucking me up. I didn’t want to give a shit about her, but Thatcher was right. I did want to fuck her. I knew if I did, it wouldn’t fix anything. That wasn’t the kind of woman you got out of your system. She was the kind that took your soul.