Chapter 6: THE ST?TUS QUO
She bolts out likeshe’s fleeing the apocalypse, and the smile slips off my face.
But before I face the men, I breathe her in—intoxicating roses. Sweet and unforgettable, just like that rainy day a lifetime ago when I was someone else.
One second. One small moment of indulgence. I’ll deduct this from my twenty-eight-minute quota tomorrow.
“So, what do you think?” Maxwell asks, his tone sharp. “Is this SUV a credible threat? There’s not much to go on.”
Slowly, I turn back to the brothers who’ve become my good friends over the years, even if they don’t know they’ve invited a fox into the henhouse. This friendship will end when I join The Association, the very people they hate. Invisible ropes cinch around my lungs. I shove the feeling down.
The papers rustle in my grip. I scan the letter and images. Illinois plates. Tinted windows. The SUV kept showing up where she was. My jaw tightens, red misting my vision. How did I miss this?
Coincidences don’t exist in my world. If they’re circling her, she’s on a list, and they want something from her. And The Association’s lists only end one way.
Any other assumptions will get you killed sooner.
Dread coils low in my gut.
“Illinois,” I murmur. Chicago is the headquarters of The Association, but they don’t know that. “Out-of-state plates. Sticking out like a sore thumb. It’s—”
“A warning,” Rex finishes. “They want us to know she’s being tracked.”
Hestraightens, all traces of humor gone. He, like his brothers, has experienced The Association’s brutality. Last year in Monaco, their bullet almost ended him.
“They don’t take ‘no’ for an answer.” Maxwell paces in front of the fireplace. “I’m tired of being threatened. It’s time to do something.”
“Legally, Maxwell? Or my methods?”
The eldest Anderson levels his icy gray stare at me. His jaw tics. “Who am I to stop a certain mobster from protecting his friends? A favor for a favor, right, as you say?”
The intelligent asshole, wording his request with plausible deniability.
I stride to the wet bar and pour us a drink. Top-shelf whiskey in hand—pricier than our family’s monthly grocery budget when I was a kid—I return and hand him a glass.
“You saved me in the alley ten years ago. I never forget.”
A ghost of a smile curves his lips. He understands that’s a yes from me. I’ll look into this, exact violence, and he doesn’t have to worry about a thing.
He clinks his glass with mine and takes a sip. “You’re a good man and a loyal friend, Elias. We both know real criminals hide in plain sight—the very people in this club. I’m glad Ryland and I found you that day.”
The hollow spot beneath my rib cage aches, but I ignore it because guilt has no place in my life. That day in the alley—they have no idea what happened.
It’s all a game of chess, and I’ve been several moves ahead.
“Mister brooding mobster likes to think he’s the big bad shit, but we see you, Eli.” Rex grins, winking at me.
“Call me Eli again and I’ll share photos of you with your wife. The Rose floors vintage.”
“Dude, not cool. That was before I met her. And where do you think the nickname ‘Rex-a-Million’ came from? Had to earn those million orgasms somewhere.”
I snort, turning away before a smile betrays me.
“You love us, Eli.Eli. Eli,” Rex needles and slaps my shoulder.
“You’d think marriage and fatherhood would make you grow up.” Maxwell shakes his head. Rex and Olivia gave birth to twins recently.
“And becoming boring farts like you all? No, thanks.”
