It’s a cover I’ll take, but I won’t deny seeing my ex with the Pistol Posse shoots an adrenaline rush of anxiety through me.
The doors pop open, revealing Rod first, then Juice, and I wait on bated breath for Pretty Boy to show his annoying-ass face.
“Incoming,” one of The Nameless chimes, creating a succession of guns racking and locking in bullets.
Thank fuck, Wallace picks low-traffic roads, or we’d have another problem on this road.
“He doesn’t move an inch forward,” I command to no one in particular. “No one makes a move until I say?—”
“Wildfire.”
My focus immediately snaps to the deep sound of Pretty Boy’s voice. He’s already striding toward me with an easy demeanor that screams how used to shit like this he is.
I’m beginning to.
“I need you to stop listening tohimall the damn time,” he lightly chides me, stopping when he’s within reaching distance. I don’t miss the fact he didn’t say Levi’s name on purpose. That he’s keeping my secret. “This little South Shore suicide mission you’re always on is on my last fuckin’ nerve.” He’s silent for a moment before he spits out, “Go fuck yourself.”
I quirk an eyebrow, knowing he’s speaking with Levi. “You wanna hand me that?”
Torin sends me an exasperated look but doesn’t hand the earpiece over. “So you two can plan your next bullshit? Hard pass.”
Suit yourself.
Rounding Torin’s body, The Nameless mixed in with some Forsaken Crew guys Cairo dialed up, immediately follow me around Rod’s parked SUV, but Torin’s fingers catch me before I can meet the dick who wanted to chase my guys.
“Youmovean inch in his direction,” he warns with each word wrapped in steel. “I will fuck you so hard, you won’t see for a week.”
I’d love to go back and forth with him, clapping back with a shitty comment that will send him spiraling and sending one right back. However, this isn’t the time nor the place for such activities.
“C’mon, Pretty Boy,” I emit smoothly. “You’re the King of South Shore. Show him you mean business and nothing more.”
“He wants him dead.”
“Tell him he knows better.”
He glowers, and that flares out his nostrils. “He can hear you.”
“And tell him we had a plan.”
“He’s changed his mind.”
I hold out my palm. “Give me the damn?—”
“March your sweet ass over to the line,” Torin orders gruffly. “I’m not your messenger boy to your new fuck toy.”
Sheesh.
Torin doesn’t let go of my arm but gets behind me, wrapping his around my back to keep me close.
As much as I appreciate the comfort, it’s a sign of weakness. Matteo can’t know how much Pretty Boy means to me in the grand scheme of things.
“Let go of me, or he’s going to kill us both,” I say, shimmying out of his grasp, but Torin doesn’t go easily.
“No deals,” Torin replies evenly. “He goes, and I get you home.”
“Fine.”
He lets me go, giving me a bit of space until I’m up front again with the guys and find Matteo about fifty yards away with a football field full of guys.
