Chapter 6 THE STẠTUS QUO
She bolts out like she’s fleeing the apocalypse, and the smile slips off my face.
But before I face the men, I breathe her in—intoxicating roses. Sweet and unforgettable, just like that rainy day a lifetime ago when I was someone else.
One second. One small moment of indulgence. I’ll deduct this from my twenty-eight-minute quota tomorrow.
“So, what do you think?” Maxwell asks, his tone sharp. “Is this SUV a credible threat? There’s not much to go on.”
Slowly, I turn back to the brothers who’ve become my good friends over the years, even if they don’t know they’ve invited a fox into the henhouse. This friendship will end when I join The Association, the very people they hate. Invisible ropes cinch around my lungs. I shove the feeling down.
The papers rustle in my grip. I scan the letter and images. Illinois plates. Tinted windows. The SUV kept showing up where she was. My jaw tightens, red misting my vision. How did I miss this?
Coincidences don’t exist in my world. If they’re circling her, she’s on a list, and they want something from her. And The Association’s lists only end one way.
Any other assumptions will get you killed sooner.
Dread coils low in my gut.
“Illinois,” I murmur. Chicago is the headquarters of The Association, but they don’t know that. “Out-of-state plates. Sticking out like a sore thumb. It’s—”
“A warning,” Rex finishes. “They want us to know she’s being tracked.”
He straightens, all traces of humor gone. He, like his brothers, has experienced The Association’s brutality. Last year in Monaco, their bullet almost ended him.
“They don’t take ‘no’ for an answer.” Maxwell paces in front of the fireplace. “I’m tired of being threatened. It’s time to do something.”
“Legally, Maxwell? Or my methods?”
The eldest Anderson levels his icy gray stare at me. His jaw tics. “Who am I to stop a certain mobster from protecting his friends? A favor for a favor, right, as you say?”
The intelligent asshole, wording his request with plausible deniability.
I stride to the wet bar and pour us a drink. Top-shelf whiskey in hand—pricier than our family’s monthly grocery budget when I was a kid—I return and hand him a glass.
“You saved me in the alley ten years ago. I never forget.”
A ghost of a smile curves his lips. He understands that’s a yes from me. I’ll look into this, exact violence, and he doesn’t have to worry about a thing.
He clinks his glass with mine and takes a sip. “You’re a good man and a loyal friend, Elias. We both know real criminals hide in plain sight—the very people in this club. I’m glad Ryland and I found you that day.”
The hollow spot beneath my rib cage aches, but I ignore it because guilt has no place in my life. That day in the alley—they have no idea what happened.
It’s all a game of chess, and I’ve been several moves ahead.
“Mister brooding mobster likes to think he’s the big bad shit, but we see you, Eli.” Rex grins, winking at me.
“Call me Eli again and I’ll share photos of you with your wife. The Rose floors vintage.”
“Dude, not cool. That was before I met her. And where do you think the nickname ‘Rex-a-Million’ came from? Had to earn those million orgasms somewhere.”
I snort, turning away before a smile betrays me.
“You love us, Eli. Eli. Eli,” Rex needles and slaps my shoulder.
“You’d think marriage and fatherhood would make you grow up.” Maxwell shakes his head. Rex and Olivia gave birth to twins recently.
“And becoming boring farts like you all? No, thanks.”
The brothers bicker and laugh. Such warmth and love. Things that don’t belong in my life.
A weight presses down on me as I slip toward the door. Before I can leave, it suddenly swings open and in barrels Belle, Maxwell’s wife, balancing their preschooler, Levi, on her hip.
“Elias!” She beams and squeezes my arm. “You’re a hard man to find. Dinner next week at our place, okay? Don’t be a loner.”
The invisible chasm throbs behind my sternum. “I don’t do family dinners, Belle. Last I checked, I’m not an Anderson.”
“Nonsense. You’re one of us now, especially after helping us so many times.” She winks, then turns to her son, who Lana claims is her favorite nephew. The beguiling woman has stars in her eyes whenever she’s around her nieces and nephews. She’d be a wonderful mother someday.
And a wife to a lucky bastard. Never you. Of course not. You hate her.
Belle asks, “Levi, we want Uncle Elias at the dinner, right?”
Levi gives me a toothy grin and nods.
“We shall see.” A lump forms in my throat.
My phone buzzes, and I glance at it.
Bishop Seb
Case closed. Gas leak from busted pipe. You’re clear. The chessboard is ready. Time for step two?
Step two—join The Association, the dark side. I bite my cheek, relishing the lash of pain, and type a response.
Rook Elias
Yes.
“Just give it up, Eli, step into the light, come to the dinner,” Rex hollers.
Without answering him, I nod at Belle, barely mustering a smile. She stares at me expectantly, her gaze trusting. Levi hands me the piece of paper he has in his hand.
It’s a crayon drawing of a T-Rex holding a lighter and a little boy. The words “Unkle E” are scrawled on top.
Red crayon. His favorite.
“Maxwell said he was meeting you here. Levi insisted he wanted to draw you something.” Belle kisses her son’s face.
I ruffle his hair, my chest on fire.
For a moment, I’m reminded of my childhood, my parents smiling at each other—their love steadfast and unshakable—Dad playing peekaboo with little Beatrice.
Before The Association burned it all down.
Sliding my hand into my pocket, I grip my lighter and leave the room.
I glance at my watch to see how much time has elapsed.
Twenty-eight minutes of lies. In another life, this might’ve been my future. Family. Kids. Light.
Just not this one.