“He knew,” Uncle Roy said. “He knew from the start.”
Dean pressed his gun against Uncle Roy’s head and pulled the trigger.
Brains splattered on the wall in a wild blood-splatter pattern. It was almost pretty.
The room was dead quiet. My ears rang from the explosive shots and I felt sick to my stomach.
I knew my father sold me out already. I knew he was fine with me getting murdered. But hearing it confirmed by Uncle Roy finally broke whatever was left in me. I collapsed onto the floor and sat there, staring off into the middle distance, and felt like my world crumbled around me.
My mother’s face, pale and drawn, blood splattered on the sidewalk. The memory still burned as I squeezed my eyes closed. Screaming from somewhere, from my own throat. Car alarms blaring and my father, running into the street, chasing after the car.
All this blood around me, all this death, and it always came back to my mother, how when I lost her all those years ago, I really lost a part of myself.
I lost a possible future, a life I’d never have back.
Several feet from where I sat, Gian and Trent executed three of Uncle Roy’s men. The rest were allowed to rejoin the family.
The dead men’s blood leaked across the floor and pressed up against my sneakers.
Dean crouched down next to me. “It’s okay,” he whispered through the ringing in my ears. “It’s going to be okay. We’re all finished now.”
“Yeah, we’re finished,” I said, and he helped me to my feet.
The room smelled like copper and death. My footprints were red and sticky as Dean guided me to the door.
“Torch it all,” Dean said, and his men started smashing alcohol bottles. Trent poured a red cannister on the ground, and the reek of gas fumes hit me in the face.
Dean helped me out onto the sidewalk. The light felt blinding. He kept an arm around me as he led me back down toward the car.
“Is he really dead?” I asked.
“Dead and gone,” Dean said. “We’ll loot his office before we burn the place.”
“What are you going to do now?”
He stopped me before I reached the car and pulled me against him. He touched my cheek, brushing my hair from my face.
“Whatever I want,” he said, and kissed my neck, then my lips.
I let him help me down into the car. He left me there for a while, and I stared up at the blue sky.
My uncle was dead. My father was gone. I was alone in the world now, truly all alone.
And it felt good. I felt untethered and free, like the final chains holding me to that old existence were broken for good.
I could walk. I could run. I could fly, if I wanted.
And all because Dean took a chance on me.
How I’d survive what was to come, how I’d figure out what it meant to be me in this new world, I couldn’t begin to guess.
But I wanted to find out.
21
Dean
I rolled through West Philly at a creeping pace. People were out in crowds, wearing shorts and tank tops. A few young guys skated in the street and I didn’t mind going slow for them.
Roy was dead. Half his crew went with him. But the other half stuck around, and we got a big influx of cash from Roy’s safes upstairs, along with the deeds to multiple different properties all over the city. His lawyer wouldn’t be a problem, since his lawyer happened to be Hector.
The bar burned fast. All that wood. It was fun to watch, but we didn’t stick around. Mags seemed sleepy, like she was only half there. She slept for the rest of the day and into the next morning when I dragged her ass out of bed and made her get into the car with me.
She didn’t argue. I was surprised. Part of me figured she’d get away as soon as her uncle was gone. No reason to stick around anymore, though I’d still pay her, if that was what she wanted.
“The place is right up here,” I said, nodding toward a house a little further up. Big white awning, bars on the windows.
“Who lives there?” she asked.
I parked the car and killed the engine. “Your uncle was just the start,” I said softly. “I’m still at war, you know.”
Mags stared at me, then looked at the house. “Dean, what are we doing here?”
“Just watch.” I reached out and grabbed her hand.
I wanted her to see this. I needed her to understand, after all this, what sort of man I am and what sort of life she’d have if she decided to stay.
Because I wanted her to stay more than anything else.
Two cars pulled up, both black vans. The doors rolled open and guys jumped out wearing black masks and bulletproof vests. They used a small, military-grade battering ram to bash open the door and piled into the house like a fucking SWAT team.