“Do I want in on your plans?” My garage flashes through my mind. “I’m not gonna lie, I’m curious as hell. And you can bet your ass I’ll be listening when you talk to your buddy, but I also got my own business to take care of. I’m not jumping ship and dumping my hard work. I busted my ass to turn enough profit that I can afford an apprentice and eat more than ramen. I’ve put too much into it to walk away.”
He shrugs. “It doesn’t have to be exclusive. Maybe we can collab, and we can consider tonight your interview. You ready?” When I nod at the front door, he slides a pin into the lock and opens it like we have a key and an invitation. “This guy’s a pussy. He has no weapons besides kitchen knives; stay out of the kitchen and you’re set. We’re going upstairs. Third room on the left.”
“I know where his room is.”
“Right, but you know because you peeped through his window like a fuckin’ perv. We aren’t coming in his window. We’re walking through like we own this motherfucker. Attitude is half the fun, so buck up, act like you were made to be here, act like you were put on this planet to protect that girl, then go get your man.”
Adrenaline slams through my veins as he closes the front door with a soft snick. The house is pitch black but for the lights on the smoke alarms. We move past a living room, where a blue light on the TV illuminates the couch. Then past his kitchen and a coffee machine on timer.
Stopping on the bottom stair, we meet eyes, and without words, he speaks to me with his hands.
Up the stairs.
To the left.
Quiet.
Get it done.
When I take a step forward, he drops a hand on my shoulder and holds up three fingers.
Confused, I frown.
He points to the stairs, then holds his fingers up again. He shows me three. Then he shows me five.
When I continue to frown, he rolls his eyes and pushes me forward.
Shrugging, I step onto the third stair and lock up when it squeaks. He steps past me with a filthy smirk, skips the fifth stair, and proves his point when he moves ahead.
Got it.
Third and fifth stairs are squeaky.
First lesson in our new brotherhood; learn how to read his hands.
I follow him to the top of the stairs and come to a stop with our backs to the wall. Lifting his left hand, he points to me, then to the bedroom. His eyes drop to the bag in my hand, then reaching back, he takes a gun from his waistband and offers it to me.
It’s the same kind of gun he handed me months ago. Not the same one, since the cops took it from me, but the same kind. I guess he was attached.
With a single nod, I move forward and take a moment to wonder his reasons for letting me go first. Either it’s because this is my show. My plan. My girl. So I get the lead.
Or it’s because he’s worried I’ll shoot him in the back.
Oddly, no matter how rough this guy is, no matter how many times he threatens to kill me, I’m not worried he’ll shoot me. I trust him, because Jess would’ve told him not to hurt me. Family is family, and she would’ve laid down the rules. So long as he doesn’t hurt her family, he’ll stay alive and in her good graces.
I trust this unstable criminal like I trust so few.
The hallway is dark but for the small window at the end. The stained glass throws a rainbow of colors onto the floor and lends enough light to navigate the strange hall without trouble.
I stick close to the wall and move toward the third door before pausing. Taking a deep inhalation and letting it out slowly, I flex my hands, allowing the weight of my tools to keep me focused.
The gun.
The bag.
My purpose.
Laine’s tear-filled eyes intrude, setting my gut on fire. It’s time he pays for what he did.