John took the reins. “Besides, we need Max. He needs Max. Without my brother, operations takes a hit. Without him alive, there’s no one to hand this club to. He doesn’t have any other sons. Or children, for that matter. Dad wouldn't kill Max. And these men clearly alluded to more coming. Right?”
I nodded. “Right. They’re out to kill me. That, in and of itself, rules Dad out.”
Rupert didn’t look convinced. “I still think it’s reckless to trust a snake, regardless of whether he’s blood or not. He’s done you wrong before, Max. And apparently recently. A dozen times over in the past, too. Even you can’t deny that. So who’s to say he wouldn’t cross this line for the right price? Anyone can be bought. Your old man included.”
Damn it. Now Rupert had a point.
I ran a hand over my scruffy face and through my hair and leaned back, feeling my spine crack back into place. I closed my eyes, drinking in the sun. I stretched my body until it shuddered. Then I sat upright back in my seat.
“Feel better?” Rupert asked, chuckling.
I ran my hands down my face. “Let’s just finish our beers and order lunch. I’m about to eat my own damn foot, I’m so hungry.”
John sighed. “Why the fuck didn’t you say anything? I could’ve already had something ordered. What do you want?”
“Pizza,” Rupert and I said in unison.
John chuckled. “Fine by me. The usual?”
Rupert nodded. “Oh! But with those cinnamon whatevers this time around. Those fuckers were amazing.”
I sighed. “And extra dipping sauce.”
John scooped up his phone. “Great. Be right back.”
Rupert cupped his hands over his mouth. “And bring more beer!”
I winced. “He’s right there, you idiot.”
John barked with laughter. “Beer. Got it. Hold on.”
As John retreated back into the house, my mind began to wander. Could my own father really be behind all this? I mean, he was a master puppeteer. That man had pulled off some of the most difficult and mind-boggling things in the past to flood his pockets and line ours as well. And if that was true--if my father really was behind this--it would be hard to crack. Very hard. My father was an expert in covering his tracks and pinning shit on other people. He’d risen to the heights of the underworld he held now because of those two reasons. Getting out scot-free and being able to pin it on others when he couldn't.
“Has your father ever put on a hit on someone? That you know of?”
Rupert’s voice jogged a memory that sent a chill down my spine.
“Once,” I said.
“What happened?”
I sighed. “He succeeded.”
“Well, what was it your father wanted? Why the hit?”
My memories pulled me back. “He was making a play for a plot of land. Thousands of acres for him to sell off as he pleased, whenever it was convenient. The owner wouldn't take his offer because they had a ‘bad feeling’ about him.”
“Are you telling me your father had someone killed over land?”
“Not just any land, Rupert.”
John walked back outside with more drinks. “The land he now lives on.”
I looked up at John as he set the cooler of beers on top of the table.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Rupert asked.
I shook my head. “No. I’m not. He had someone killed in order to take that land for himself. Half of the money he has right now came from selling that land off piece by piece to the highest bidder. Our father is smart. So if there is a chance that he’s behind this, it’s because he’s making a play for something.”