This was just what this night needed: more reasons for the men in my life to worry about me.
“Just a couple of stupid drunk guys. They followed me for a few blocks over at that dive bar by 3rdStreet.” I waved a hand.
But there was no waving off something like that. Not in this town. Not with these men.
“Did you hear a name?” my father asked.
“Give me some descriptions,” Uncle Pagan demanded.
God.
This was getting away from me fast.
“It was nothing! Just a couple of idiot drunk guys. I actually ran into Perish when he was out taking a walk, and he walked me home.”
“Where was your car?” Uncle Pagan asked.
“The master fuse,” my father concluded.
“Yeah.”
“I am going to need a lot more in—” my father started.
But just then, the door closed for the last time, and a hush fell across the clubhouse as everyone waited for Fallon to start speaking.
“Got word from Hailstorm,” he said, making all the men straighten, worried about their women and kids. “All the wives and kids were scooped up and are settled. Our older cousins are mostly there too.”
“Mostly?” Malcolm asked.
“Violet is out of town with her husband. Willa is at work and won’t leave until after her meeting. Chris sent several guards there with her, some inside, some outside. She’s safe. And Hope, well, Andres is closing ranks around her. Think we can all agree she will be safe. The only thing is… no one can locate Layna.”
“She’s in the air,” I piped in, letting out a strange choked sound when every head in the building turned my way. “She’s on a flight to Vegas. She should be landing in…” I went to reach for my phone before remembering it was in my purse back in my office. My father held out his instead. “In like three hours. I don’t think she is going to come back. She has an important game coming up.”
“I think she’ll be okay,” Perish said.
Fallon gave him a long look before nodding. “Edison, make sure you get in touch with Layna when she lands.”
He got a nod from Uncle Edison, then he turned to Perish.
“Now, what the fuck is going on?”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Perish
When your parents name you ‘Perish’—like on that official paperwork and my social security card and shit—it kind of says something about their background… and what they expect from your future.
My dad was rough and mean and in and out of prison so often that I sometimes forgot he existed for long spans of time.
But an absent dad and a disinterested mother meant I grew up wild and feral. I was out more than I was home from all of five years old, hanging out with neighborhood kids. We got into small-time kid trouble: stealing shit from people’s yards or packages from their porches, tagging old buildings and billboards, picking up smoking and drinking way too fucking early.
The older we got, the more we pushed those boundaries.
Then, well, I followed in my old man’s footsteps.
I was twelve the first time I went away to juvie for a petty disorderly person charge, spending my first three-month stint locked up with a schedule and rules for the first time.
Luckily for me, I still had nasty, bloodied knuckles from the fight that sent me inside and had just gone through another growth spurt. No one fucked with me.
