The words hit like a punch to the gut. One day I’d get out of here. One day I hoped to be back in her bed—in their bed. One day I’d prove I belonged to the brotherhood, and I’d have Heller ink.One day. But that day could be years from now.
“We need to talk about what happens if I don’t get out. I’m only staying in county until I see the judge. If he revokes my probation, I’ll be transferred to the state penitentiary.”
Three hours from here. Visitation would be a challenge. Six months from now, they’ll have moved on. That was why I’d have to let them go. They’d be together, living their lives, and I’d still be marking spots on the calendar, counting down the years, becoming institutionalized. I’d been down this path. Back then it was foster care, and I was counting down the days to my eighteenth birthday.
Most of the time being in the system felt like a detention center with locks on the food cabinets, needing permission to use the bathroom, and bracing for the next beat down. Because there was always a next one.
Now, I’d count down the days to freedom.
“That’s not going to happen.” Cruz leaned forward. “Want to know how I know?” His knee pressed against mine. “Because, for you and me, our shit days are behind us. I’m not comparing us. I can’t imagine what you’ve been through. There’s no prize when it comes to who had the shittiest parents. You want another story time?”
McKelle’s fingers tightened on mine. She dropped her other hand under the table. I had no doubt her palm rested on Cruz’s thigh. I remember her telling me that Cruz had a warped view of family and relationships.
“I’ve got a mom who tossed me out like trash, and somewhere out there is a hookup who doesn’t know I exist.” He rubbed a deep scratch on the table with his thumb. His gaze shifted between me and McKelle. She smiled, and he continued.
“My stepdad is a cop. A total prick. He took advantage of every opportunity to make my life hell. All I had was my mom. I was just a kid, but I hated his guts. He turned her against me, claimed I’d be a bad influence on my little brother and sister, and scared her into fearing me. My own fucking mother.”
His throat rippled with a hard swallow. “You lived in houses with locked cupboards, and I lived in a shed in the backyard because she couldn’t legally kick me out of the house, a house I didn’t have a key to, and the doors were always locked. I had to leave the day I turned eighteen. Just once, I wanted her to choose me. She never did.”
Cruz looked me in the eyes. “Who are you choosing, Rizz? I’m always going to choose McKelle. I’m here because I’m choosing you, too. I know you want McKelle, but you can’t have her without me.”
“I know.” Somewhere along the way, I’d acknowledged that I was attracted to Cruz. I felt safe when he was around. Just having his knee connected with mine under the table had heat simmering low in my groin.
If we were anywhere else, my cock wouldn’t just be hard for McKelle. The way his gaze skimmed over my body exposed a fissure of darker needs. “I choose us.”
I chose them, even if it meant I’d have to let them go.
Chapter Thirteen
Cruz
“Are you about ready?” Tank shoved a cigarette between his lips.
“Yeah.” We needed to make a last round on the property before the end of our shift. The warehouse in the industrial park had offices in the front and activities I didn’t need to know about in the back.
Sometimes, ignorance was bliss. If I was a betting man, and I wasn’t because I always lost, I had a good idea that my bosses dealt in more than fine wine and diamonds.
I’d signed an NDA and was basically told they’d gut me like a fish if I talked about the work I did for them. They hadn’t given me a lot of choice, but I’d accepted what I was getting into. I worked for the fucking mafia.
My job wasn’t to ask questions but to stay out of sight and monitor the grounds. I wasn’t allowed in the building unless I needed to take a leak. There was a restroom in the lobby, along with a coffeepot and a water cooler.
Doors had biometric locks, and there were more surveillance cameras than the craps tables in Vegas.
“Final check.”
The command came through my earpiece. The first fingers of dawn crawled along the distant horizon. Night shift sucked, but the money was good. I stuck to the shadows. Gravel crunched beneath my boots as I walked the perimeter of the building.
Loading bays lined the west side of the structure. One truck bumped the dock a couple hours ago. Where the fuck was Kodiak? He’d been assigned to watch the bay door while cargo was unloaded.
I circled the truck twice, checked around the side of the building, and scanned the distance. I pulled my weapon and dropped my arm to my side. I wasn’t a gangster. Pulling a gun still hadn’t become second nature to me.
Since day one on the job, I’d figured I’d lucked into the easiest job on the planet. Carry a gun, stay awake, walk the perimeter, and talk shit with Tank and Kodiak all night.
For the first time, an uneasy feeling snaked along my spine. Hair on the back of my neck prickled. There should be at least one mafia suit with the truck, and Kodiak should have the loading dock secure.
I weaved around the side of the truck. Fuck this. I could see into the warehouse. There were unloaded crates, empty space, and dark corners.
No bosses, no Kodiak, and no guy from the truck. I leapt onto the dock and peered into the building without stepping a toe inside. Rules were fucking rules. Unless I had permission to enter, my ass was staying on the dock.
