Unshaken

Prologue

SOUTHERN OHIO TUESDAY, MARCH 5

Today was the day. After weeks of hanging around the Broken Arrows, learning the way they did things, and earning their trust, Timothy Jones was finally going to get initiated.

Kane, his best friend in the gang and his appointed handler, had told him the news when Timothy had arrived to clean the clubhouse. After watching him pick up trash, clean toilets, and sweep the floors, Kane said that all he had to do was meet the dealer on the side of a junky-looking dollar store, inform him that the Broken Arrows wanted their money, and be just menacing enough for the guy to take him seriously. As soon as he got the money and the guy was out of sight, he would walk out to the parking lot, where Kane and several other members were going to be watching.

As soon as he handed off the two grand, he’d be in.

“This is the guy.” Kane tapped his phone’s screen a couple of times and then held it up for Timothy to see. The pic was of a guy about five foot ten, skinny. Wearing loose green Army pants and a faded T-shirt. When Timothy upped the magnification, he got a pretty good look at his expression. He knew that blank, stoned look well.

Timothy felt a wave of distaste course through him. He hated drug addicts. “He looks strung out.”

Kane snickered. “He likely is. Which is why he owes us so much cash.”

Unease snaked down his spine. The addicts he knew didn’t carry much money, if any. Any cash on hand quickly became their drug of choice. “What if he doesn’t have the money? What do I do then?” The dealer might be skinny, but he was still bigger than Timothy. Even though he was eighteen, his height had stalled out at five foot seven. Was he supposed to beat him up in the parking lot?

Kane clasped his shoulder. “Buddy, of course he’s not going to hand it over without incentive. That’s why you’re going to have this.”

“This” was a gun. It was on the small side—nothing like the Glock Kane carried around. Timothy reached out and held it. It was solid and had a good weight to it.

His shoulders eased. He could handle this. At least, he thought so. A couple of the guys had taken him out to target practice two weeks ago. It had been the first time he’d ever handled a gun, but after an hour, they’d said he’d done okay.

Kane was studying him. His expression was hard. “What do you think? You good?”

There was only one answer. “Yeah. Sure.”

Kane’s stance relaxed. “Good. Good.” Grinning, he said, “Just think, tonight we’re gonna have a party using some of that money you bring in. We’ll make you official and get you your own bottle of tequila. Maybe even find you a girl. It’ll be great.”

“Yeah,” he said again. After Kane slapped him on the back, Timothy walked outside, lit a cigarette, and tried not to think about what he needed to do. Because the honest truth was that he didn’t care about tequila or girls. The only thing that mattered to him was that after today, he’d finally belong somewhere. After years of living in foster care and only getting a plastic trash bag to move his things, he’d be surrounded by people who cared.

Plus, once he was a member of the Broken Arrows, he’d have some money. Maybe then Audrey would change her mind and give him the time of day again. She might not have wanted him in a gang, but he hoped she’d change her mind after seeing how much better he was as a full-fledged gang member.

That’s what he needed to think about.

Because if he messed this up?

It would likely be bad. Really, really bad. He’d have nothing.

Exhaling a ring of smoke, he leaned back his head and closed his eyes. And hoped no one was around to see that his hand was shaking like a leaf.