I suck on the inside of my cheek and shake my head. “He could hurt her again.”
Jarred twists in his seat, bracing his arm on the dash. “I’m not here to stop you. You do what you’ve got to do to keep your girl safe, but for god’s sake, be smart about it.”
My gaze cuts to him. Understanding flickers between us and as much as I want to cross the street and wrap my hand aroundCarson’s throat, I know Jarred’s right. I have to play this smart. I did it before and I can do it again.
Jarred sinks back in the passenger seat and now I’m not so caught up in my own crap, I realize he’s in a bad state. His cheeks are gaunt and booze stinks up the car. “You look like shit,” I say.
He tips his head back against the seat. “Archer died last night.”
Shock blows my chest. Archer was like a father to Jarred. They’ve been working together since Jarred’s dad died when he was only seventeen. Jarred took over the company then, passed up a full ride to Michigan State to run the family business with Archer. “Fuck.”
“Yeah. I just needed one night. One night to drink myself stupid away from my family.”
Well shit, now I feel like crap for getting in the way of that. Jarred never takes time for himself. He’s spent the last seven years being responsible for his whole family.
I cut him a look. “Jarred, I’m grateful you came over here but honestly man, you should have ignored Mase’s message. If I kill Carson, that’s on me.”
He rolls his head to face me.
“I’m serious. Stop trying to look after everyone else and take care of yourself.” I meet the pain in his gaze head on. “You need more than one night, Jarred.”
His eyes shine before he turns away, his hand on the door. “Don’t kill anyone,” he grumbles as he climbs out of the car, fading away into the dark street.
My gaze flicks to Carson. He slips his vape in his pocket and heads back inside the bar. I pick up my phone and type out a message to Mase.
Roman: Thank you.
Three dots appear and I hold my breath.
Mase: Yeah, whatever.
I go to turn the engine on, ready to drive out of here, when something in the wingmirror catches my eye.
I grab my phone and call Mase.
“I’m still mad at you,” he grumbles.
I ignore him, my gaze still set on the SUV in the wingmirror. “Did you ever hear back about those plates I sent you?”
Rustling filters down the line. “Give me a sec. I’ll call Santos and get back to you.”
“Thanks, man.”
I wait in the car, not letting the SUV parked a few car widths behind me out of my sight. What with everything happening with Lola I’d forgotten about the out of place vehicle, but I’ve seen it one too many times for it to be a coincidence now.
A minute later my phone buzzes.
Mase: Car is registered to a Simon Merchant. He’s a PI, Rome.
My jaw locks because I know that name. Simon Merchant is the private investigator my father uses.
I shove open the car door, my feet pounding against the sidewalk as I approach the SUV and rap the base of my fist on the window. My attention narrows and I glower at the glass, the window humming as it opens.
Merchant is a weasel of a man with slicked back hair and eyes set too close to his nose. He opens his indignant mouth, but I don’t wait for him to talk.
“I have a message for my father.”
Merchant eyes me, wary.
