Preacher squeezed Memphis’s hand. “And I need you on this side of the living and the dead. One is much more permanent than the other.”
Memphis cupped his face. “I can’t spend the rest of my life on the run. What are we going to do? Run away to a deserted island? What kind of life would that be for Knox? For us? Looking over our shoulders forever? That’s no life.”
“You have no leverage. What are you going to offer him in exchange for your life, baby?”
“Nothing. I’m just going to ask him to let us go. I’ll tell him that Knox and I aren’t a threat to him or his operation if he just lets us go. And if he doesn’t, I’ll tell the FBI what he did to me. There’s no statute of limitations in the state of California for first degree attempted murder.”
“There is if you can’t prove intent. Believe me, I now know enough about the law to be a fucking lawyer,” Preacher said, not even believing they were having this conversation. “You can’t even prove which of them did it. They’ll try to pin it on each other.”
This time, it was Memphis who was angry. “Then I’ll lie. I don’t care anymore, Preacher. I want my life back, and whatever he wants, I’ll give it to him. And if he doesn’t want anything, I’ll threaten him and I’ll make him believe me. I will. And if that doesn’t work, then I’ll find a way to hire my own hitman. I need my life back. Like, now. I can’t do this anymore. Okay? I can’t do this anymore.” Memphis’s voice cracked, and Preacher could see he was doing his best to keep from crying again.
Preacher scooped him into his arms, placing him on his lap. It was more for his sake than Memphis’s. He needed to hold onto him. This was an impossible choice. But it wasn’t his fucking choice. No matter how much everything in his head was screaming that this was a bad idea, it was ultimately Memphis’s choice. All Preacher could do was try to keep him safe. “Okay. If this is what you want to do, then this is what we’ll do. I don’t like it, but I’ll do it. But not without putting some provisions in place first.”
Memphis relaxed against him, resting his head under Preacher’s chin. “Provisions?”
“Yes. Like we say nothing to anybody but Linc and Jackson until we’re wheels on the ground in Phoenix. It stays off the books and off Tennessee’s radar until we’re there. I’m sure Jackson can manage it. They managed it when Webster was on the inside.”
“Whatever you want. I just need to do this. The sooner the better.”
Christ. What the hell was he agreeing to?
Memphis was sure his shaking could generate enough electricity to power the entire state of Arizona. It had taken three days and a ride on a private jet, but they were there, in Arizona, on the way to confront his father. He let out a long, slow breath, squeezing Preacher’s hand from the back of the black SUV that had met them at the airport.
Memphis hadn’t changed his mind. He needed to confront his father, even if nothing came of it, even if it made things worse somehow. He’d built it up far too long, had given the man far too much power over his life. It was time to take back some control. Even if it cost him everything. This wasn’t a life.
Preacher seemed to vacillate between furious and resigned, begging Memphis to change his mind each morning, and fucking him each night like it was the last time they’d ever see each other. Memphis didn’t mind the latter. Hell, Memphis could happily spend the rest of his life as Preacher’s favorite sex toy. He just hoped the rest of his life lasted longer than the next week or so.
Memphis slumped against Preacher, resting his head on his large shoulder, smiling when Preacher reached down and kissed the top of his head. Memphis wondered if he even knew he did it or if it was just a reflex now. It was crazy how quickly his life had changed. He’d spent his whole life hating himself, and now, he had Preacher who said he loved him enough for both of them. But Memphis knew, in a way, he’d never be able to explain out loud that if he didn’t do this, didn’t go see his father face to face and acknowledge that he was done with running, it would never be over.
Preacher had almost refused to let Memphis board Jackson’s plane when they learned agents had pulled the undercover informant from the prison and tacked on a few more charges to Tennessee’s list of crimes, including a murder for hire. Preacher was sure Memphis’s father had nothing to lose as he was destined for a life behind bars now either way. There was no incentive to pull the hit, and he had too many men on the outside still willing to do his bidding and pay the ransom on his head. But Memphis had refused to relent. And now, it was too late.
It was only once they arrived at the prison that Memphis realized he’d never actually seen a penitentiary before. His father and brother had seen the inside of many a county lockup, but nothing like the maze of concrete buildings with no windows, surrounded by what seemed like miles of chain link fencing and razor wire. The yards behind those fences were empty, making the space seem vast and desolate like something out ofThe Walking Dead.
As they entered the ugly lobby, with its peeling eggshell colored paint and chipped concrete floors, Memphis felt the last of his courage slip away. A correctional officer sat behind what Memphis assumed was bulletproof glass, her unnaturally red hair piled on her head, green glasses perched at the end of her nose. She glanced up from her phone as they approached her, eyeing Preacher warily. Did she sense he was an ex-con, or was it just his overall appearance that put her off? Memphis imagined the place wasn’t filled with Disney characters.
“Name?” she snapped, aiming her question at neither of them.
“Me-Memphis Camden,” he stuttered, palms sweating.
“She means of the inmate, baby.”
The redhead’s gaze bulged at the term of endearment, her eyes flicking back and forth between them like her brain was imploding.
Memphis hated this. He spent his whole life trying not to be seen and this woman was now examining the two of them like some disgusting bug she’d found crawling up her wall.
It rattled him. “Tennessee—er, um, sorry Keith Camden.”
Her lip curled, her tone condescending. “Well, which is it?”
Preacher shifted his weight, and Memphis didn’t have to look at him to know this woman was pissing him off. He blindly reached for his hand and squeezed. “Keith. Keith Camden.”
Her long black nails clacked against the keyboard so quickly, Memphis wondered if she was just faking it. How did anybody work with nails that long? When she ceased typing, she pushed a lock of obviously dyed red hair behind her ear. She frowned, calling over another officer to look at the screen. “Uh, have a seat. Somebody will be with you in a second.” The tight smile she gave him made her skin crawl. What the fuck was happening?
Time crept by, people coming and going, yet nobody came for Memphis. Preacher kept his hand on his thigh, doing his best to stop the bouncing of his leg, glaring at anybody who dared to so much as glance in their direction. Memphis wished they’d brought the dogs. It made no sense, but he just always felt safer in their presence. It wasn’t that Preacher couldn’t protect them, or even that Memphis couldn’t protect himself, but there was something about fangs and claws that trumped fists every time.
Finally, after what seemed like hours, the doors buzzed, making Memphis jump. A large man with a high and tight haircut, tactical pants, and a polo shirt approached him. “Memphis Camden?”
“Uh, yeah?” he said, sounding like he wasn’t sure.
