Oh, this motherfucker.
“You’ve got to be shitting me,” I fume through clenched teeth. “Youleftme with the assholes who have only putdozensof hits on me over the last several years?”
“Are you complaining about your accommodations?”
This prick…
“Cairo, I will fuckin’ make all of Bay’s dreams come true with that pencil if you don’t get me the hell out of here.”
He chuckles, as if it’s amusing and I couldn’t pull it off. “Well, let me answer your question first.”
“Which one?”
“On where you are.”
A few beats go by, and I clip out, “Alright, go ahead, asshole.”
“Shoreline Peaks.”
I gape at the wall behind Ozzy and just sit there like a dumbass because he just said Shoreline Peaks.
Shoreline Peaks.
“If I didn’t know any better…I’d say you were banking on getting me killed again. For real this time.”
“Not my first choice,” he claims evenly. “However, Hot Rod did bring up some good points.”
“Like?”
“It’d be the last place De Leon would look.”
I hate the logic behind it.
But it’s smart logic, at that.
“You know Hot Rod and I aren’t homies, right?”
“Fully,” Cairo replies. “But I’m looking to get you home ASAP. Oz brought you a phone. I’ll call you.”
Still hate this, but what else am I going to do? “Please tell me there issomeonehere who hasn’t wanted to kill me.”
“There is. I just told them to give you some space.”
My face clenches, but then it all just makes perfectsense. “You’re doing this tofuckwith me.”
“It’ll teach you never to step out in front of a hail of gunfire again, dumbass. What you did was fucking stupid and reckless. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you and Bay are both channeling each other’s bullshit.”
“That’s one of the reasons why she makes me hard,” I deadpan, glowering at the wall.
“Do some more fucked-up shit like that,” Cairo warns, “and I’ll make shitrealhard for you, Torin. Rest up. I’ll get you home soon.”
I hand Ozzy back the phone, hanging up on Cairo in the process as my subtle fuck you. “Get lost”—I slowly raise my hand to fist bump it out—“and keep her safe.”
He lightly knocks on my knuckles but doesn’t sway from my bedside.
“What did you do to Travis Muncy?”
My brother relaxes then, alluding this is a more comfortable subject. “Talked.”
