Chapter Twenty Eight — Jamie
I watched from the backseat of Moses's armored Suburban, my forehead pressed against the cool glass, counting mile markers like rosary beads. My eyes were locked on the black asphalt as it bled into the gray sky. The Suburban reeked of gun oil, stale coffee, and the cheap cologne Moses bathed in.
One hundred and thirty-two miles to Tampa.
One hundred and thirty-one.
Moses sat up front, his massive frame spilling over the edges of the driver's seat.
Two similar SUVs flanked us—manned by Ant and Rico.
They were the type of men who were down for absolutely anything if you offered enough green.
Luckily, I had enough hidden away to buy their loyalty for a few hours.
One hundred and twenty-eight.
"You've been quiet since we left," Moses said, keeping his eyes glued to the road. "That ain't like you, Brownie."
I didn't answer.
"Something happen with that pretty boy back at the cabin?"
My jaw tightened. "Don't."
"Don't what? Don't ask why you look like somebody killed your dog?" He caught my gaze in the rearview mirror. "You left without him knowing, right? That's why you called me at five in the morning like the devil was snapping at your heels."
"Change the subject. I called you because I needed bodies and bullets, not a therapist."
Moses chuckled, the deep sound vibrating through the front seats. "Same thing, sweetheart. Same thing."
"There are several distinct differences."
"Nah." He waved a dismissive hand. "Both listen to you complain. Both help you solve problems. And both cost a whole hell of a lot of money."
I rolled my eyes and turned back to the window, watching the Florida brush blur past.
One hundred and twenty-five miles.
The truth was simple, but I didn't want to voice it. I left Vinny because staying would have gotten us both killed. And out of the two of us, he actually deserved to live.
You deserve to be happy.
I meant it when I wrote it on that scrap of paper. Every single word. He deserved a woman who didn't just carry Sophia’s face like a curse. He needed someone who could bring more than strife and a body count into his life.
One hundred and twenty-two.
"You thinking about him or the plan?" Moses asked.
"Both," I replied honestly.
"Which one's got you making that face?"
I didn't know what face he was talking about. But I could feel a suffocating tightness in my throat and a hollow ache right behind my ribs. I'd spent eight years running from my family, surviving on spite and a sheer refusal to die. I'd never once looked back.
Until now.
Was I doing the right thing? I could just tell Moses to turn the car around. I could run again.
One hundred and twenty.
"The plan first," I said, forcing my voice into something cold and unyielding. "Walk me through it again."
Moses sucked his teeth, the humor dropping from his expression.
"Spread the boys out, make sure your fine ass doesn't catch a bullet, and clean up whatever mess you leave behind.
" He paused, his tone turning serious. "You sure about this, Jamie?
Calling all them snakes into one room? That's not a plan.
That's a suicide pact with extra steps."
"It's the only way."
"It's the stupid way," he rebutted.
A faint, bitter smile touched my lips. "Same thing, sweetheart. Same thing."
Moses shook his head, letting out a rough laugh. He'd known me too long to pretend he was surprised. I made stupid decisions when my back was against the wall.
One hundred and seventeen.
"Tell me about the players again," he said, checking his side mirrors.
"Lady of Rage knows I witnessed her and her crew killing a whole lot of dangerous people. She knows I'm alive, and she wants me dead. Simple."
"And your brother, Draeon," Moses continued for me.
"He's the wild card. He doesn't want you dead—yet.
He wants you breathing so he can drag you back to Daddy and trade you off to the Colombians.
But if he thinks he can't take you alive.
.." Moses made a gun with his fingers and pressed it to his temple. "Pop."
"He won't kill me."
"You sure?"
"No." I swallowed hard, the dryness in my throat scraping like sandpaper. "But he won't let Rage kill me either. I’m his sister, and letting a rival family put me down would look weak. It would ruin his reputation. That's the whole point of calling him out. They cancel each other out."
Moses grunted. "And the third one? Delilah's brother?"
"Marcus Beaumont. Deep South crime royalty.
Territorial, heavily armed, and violent.
He loves his siblings like breathing. He's the kind of man who'd burn an entire city to the ground if someone touched his blood.
I sent him the recording this morning. He was already in Florida looking for his sister.
By the time we hit Tampa, he'll be ready to paint the walls with Rage's insides. "
"You told him where to find her?"
"Yes and I told him where we'd all be meeting. Rage killed his sister and buried her in a backyard like a stray dog. She's as good as dead."
One hundred and thirteen.
"What about the Colombians?"
I shook my head. "They weren't invited. They don't matter to me. Let my brother and Daddy clean up that fallout later."
"And what about the pretty boy?"
I looked away, staring back out at the gray, bleeding horizon. "Nothing about him."
The car went silent for a long stretch, the only sound the heavy hum of the tires against the blacktop.
"And when this is all done, Jamie? Then what?"
I shrugged, "Shit, Moses. I don't know."