Shit. I really do care for her. Even after all these years, even after everything that got ugly...
“Oh, there was one thing I forgot,” Lane said.
I snapped out of my thoughts on Rose. But even if I hadn’t, what Lane said next would have been enough to grab my attention.
“Jerome got word of what happened last night. Said he wanted to make sure everything was good and that you were good.”
“Jerome? As in, the Hovas' Jerome?”
Lane nodded. I became suspicious.
Just because we had a good relationship didn’t mean we shared everything that happened. In fact, more often than not, it was more about sharing only the bare minimum to sustain our partnership. I began to believe our spy was someone who had informed Jerome, perhaps somehow hoping that his insertion into everything would wedge me out or just create an obnoxious distraction for the Reapers.
“Strange,” I said.
“Why?”
I explained my entire thoughts to Lane, talking about how I believed that it was the work of the spy.
“You know, when we last met, Jerome pitched me on the idea of going back to the Hovas. I told him that wasn’t going to happen. But I wonder if he let that slip to the spy, and the spy is trying to use that to his or the Saints’ advantage.”
“Maybe,” Lane said, but his mind was obviously racing far farther than he was showing here. “Are you going to say anything to him?”
“Might as well, not like I’d be going to meet a Saint or someone I need to keep my guard up around. He’ll continue to tell me I need to be with my people, but you don’t have anything to worry about. I’m more likely to move to Mexico than leave this group for another club.”
Lane chuckled. We didn’t have much more to say, so after some pleasantries, we both stood up and left.
But I was far from leaving behind the topic of discussion. In fact, as soon as I was out of range, I called Jerome.
* * *
It was late at night when I pulled up to his house—and this time, it really was his house and not some abandoned warehouse that had functioned as their headquarters.
“Right on time,” Jerome said.
“As if my past training would ever let me late,” I said.
Jerome didn’t react, instead taking a step to the side and holding his hand out, as if gesturing for me to make a grand entrance into his house. I walked inside, taking in the decor of the place, which felt surprisingly...
Plain.
Make no mistake about it, Jerome lived comfortably. He had bookcases, nice couches, a large TV, and some nice lighting fixtures. But it was by no means extravagant, and the Jerome I had known that used to wear gold chains and other large jewelry had seemingly traded it in for something more akin to an upper-middle-class lifestyle.
“I wasn’t kidding when I said we ain’t like we were years ago, man,” he said, clasping my shoulder. “We get older. Hopefully, the shit in our heads gets a little smarter.”
I nodded, genuinely impressed.
“I can’t keep you all night, though,” he said. “The lady’s going to be home at some point.”
“You’re married?”
Jerome chuckled.
“What, a brother’s not allowed to settle down?” he said. “I told you, we’re all growing up.”
Fuck, man. I really underestimated things with the Hovas.
“I heard about what happened to your clubhouse,” he said. “What the hell went down?”
