“Nah, man. The opposite. If Rocco’d lived long enough, he’d have staged a fucking coup, and there’s no one better at that shit than the Folkster.”
I shivered.
Locke pressed his fist to my shoulder. “Sorry, mate. I’m not trivialising it. Just putting it in terms my tiny brain understands.”
“There’s nothing tiny about you.”
The new voice came from behind us.
Nash.
He slipped outside and shut the exterior door behind him, leaning on it, a lit cigarette already in his mouth. “Fucking A. Just when I think this life can’t get any goddamn crazier.”
Locke fixed his gaze on him. “You good?”
“Nope.”
“Come here, man.” Locke patted the step on his other side.
Nash claimed the space and dropped his head on Locke’s shoulder, closing his eyes. It felt like a private moment. A new one. But Nash leaned on Rubi like that all the time. On Cam, sometimes, if they were both drunk.
And Locke wasn’t shy with his affection either. The big hand he dropped on Nash’s head was fraternal and warm. It was everything this life was about, but for unfathomable reasons, my dazed stare zeroed in on it until Nash roused himself again.
I tossed my smoke and stood, giving them more room, unsurprised that they remained an inch apart as Nash stretched out his legs, absently rubbing his knee.
“I’m worried about the Viktor thing,” he admitted. “How does this shit even happen?”
River edged further away. “Keep it down over there.”
Quieter, I asked, “You think it’s possible? That he was on that boat?”
Nash shrugged.
Locke shook his head. “Folk would never hit that switch without checking every stone first. He doesn’t fuck up like that. I’m more scared it was a kamikaze mission.”
That sharp nausea returned with a kick to my gut. “What?”
Locke pressed his lips together, like he wished he could take the words back.
I stepped closer, looming over him. “Finish the fucking thought.”
“It’s not a thought, man. It’s a fear, and fears are irrational.”
He was right, and I knew it, but it was too late to stop his anxieties becoming mine.
Kamikaze.
Suicide.
I knew there was nothing Alexei wouldn’t do to protect Cam and Saint. But what about Folk? Did he love me enough to leave me like that?
If he did, it was the only thing he’d ever do to make me hate him.
29
FOLK
The torn leather of the seat dug into my back. I gripped the steering wheel, resting my head on it, waiting for the dizzying nausea to pass.
