JAMIE
C’s placehas turrets and a stone facade, so it’s nicknamed The Castle. After ringing the bell, I wait, glancing at the circle drive where an SUV withCrue 1stamped on its license plate sits front and center.
The door opens, and C fills the doorway. At an inch or two under six feet, he’s not short, but he’s so muscular he doesn’t look as tall as he is.
“Good,” he says, pushing the storm door open. He’s recently buzzed his hair close to the scalp, revealing a barbed-wire C tattoo on his head. Marked for life. It’s a Crue edict.
I notice C doesn’t offer his hand for me to shake. That’s a breach of protocol and hints at where things stand.
Following him in, I remain silent. From the entry, we’re heading past the living room when C stops next to a side table.
“Any electronics you’ve got on you, leave here. Coat, too.”
I empty my pockets of my phone and key ring and lay my coat over the back of a couch. C drops his phone onto a cushion as well, then strides to a metal door with a keypad. He places his left thumb on the scan pad and then types in a code. The sounds of locks clicking can be heard just before he opens the door.
“Go down.”
I precede him down the steps, glancing back when I’m halfway to the bottom. C slides a metal crossbar into a slot in the wall. If anyone wants to get downstairs before it’s removed, they’ll need a medieval ram capable of breaching an actual castle stronghold.
The basement isn’t what I expect. For some reason, I’d been picturing a waterboarding set up, bare cement floor, and milk crates as seating. Instead, the floor’s sealed dove gray concrete and the furnishings could do as well upstairs as down. There’s a table whose top looks like a mixed media art project, with shellacked overlapping pieces of black and burgundy leather. The chairs are carved wood with red leather padded seats.
There’s a dark gray couch with burgundy pillows and a heavy mahogany coffee table. Plus, a wood-and-marble bar cabinet that Napoleon might’ve gone to war for. C grabs ice from a black chest and mixes himself a whiskey and Coke.
He tilts his head toward the booze, but I shake mine. For this conversation, a clear head is critical. So, while a few swallows of Guinness are medicinal, I wouldn’t touch whiskey on a million-dollar dare.
C sits at the table, and I take the seat across from him. “I heard about why Robert Allendale had to die. And that you knew you’d kill him before you came to work for us.” Hazel eyes always seem the warmest to me, until now that is. “To me that means you were never a part of this Crue. So, every penny you were paid will come back to the organization. If you weren’t who you are, you’d be in the ground, but your cousins have covered your debt and then some to keep you alive and out of the hospital.”
My brows draw together. I think I heard anson the end of the wordcousin. Is he talking about Ashling, in addition to Trick? And if so, why?
“Are you saying?—?”
“Don’t interrupt.” C’s voice is low, but there’s an unmistakable edge.
He’s armed, and we’re barricaded in an underground bunker. C has been a gangster for most of his life. I know better than to give him an excuse to ventilate my chest when that’s precisely what he would like to do.
After a swig of whiskey, he sets his glass on the table. “To understand the extent of the potential damage, I need information. Anytime you lie to me, you lose something you care about. Like your ability to ever row again. Or the pretty young girl you made a witness to a murder we covered up for you.”
I tense, watching him warily.
C leans forward. “Why did the son have to die?”
My mouth goes dry as I stare back at him. “To destroy the father. And because he was hurting the girl.”
“Who pulled the trigger? You or War?”
“Me.”
“War was what? Lookout? Getaway driver?”
“No, I never said that.”
“We already know he was there. We’ve taken inventory. The gun and burn phones you stole from the Foxgrove house and ultimately destroyed are on the tab. Who unlocked the closet and took those out? You or him?”
“Me. Everything that was done, I did.”
“The only reason you needed two burn phones was so you could communicate with each other. And his personal phone traveled with yours as far as the Carolinas. And then the burn phones traveled together the rest of the way.”
My grimace is so fierce it makes my entire head hurt.
