Shady shakes his head. “Still can’t believe you were working for Pizza King.”
“And I can’t fuckin’ believe you were cleaning up cum at Sinners,” Speed fires back, then points at Fist. “And this fucker getting caught with his pants around his ankles ballin’ the police chief’s wife.”
As usual, we’ve gotten way off-track, so I stand and raise my glass. “Here’s to the Kings. Now and forever. Nothing stopping us.”
We all raise our glasses, and Ace’s gaze holds mine for an extra second. Shit, I gotta shake this paranoia and keep my head in the game.
I sit down, and for the next half hour, we go over the details for the opening just to make sure everything’s on point. Thedoors open at nine, and when we’re all satisfied we’ve tied up all the loose ends, we file out and into the main room of the bar.
Ace flanks me. “You and me are good, right?”
“You gotta ask?”
“I’m just looking out for you.”
“I get it.”
“I don’t think you do.” His serious tone surprises me. “Back in the day, it was easy to blame you for all the shit that went down, but I could’ve and should’ve stepped in, and I didn’t. That’s why I came down so hard on you before.”
“I know.”
“You and me are different.” Ace flicks his hand between us. “I don’t really give a shit about people, but you do. No matter how hard you try to play it off, deep down you actually care.”
The driving beat of Metallica fills the room, and I hold out my fist. “Let’s tear this shit up tonight.”
Ace returns the gesture then heads out front to check on the new bouncers he hired away from Harrah’s, while I head for the bar to make sure everything’s in place.
SAMMIE
The pounding bass from the bar filters through the floor of my apartment, and I check my watch for the hundredth time. Nine-forty-five. Fifteen more minutes. My gaze flicks to my ankle and then to the flash drive sitting innocently on the coffee table.
Viper would have what he wanted, the Kings would have their opening without any interference, and my father would be safe to breathe another day. A few heartbeats later, I stand, wipe my sweaty palms on my jeans, pocket the flash drive and head for the door.
Then I scold myself. I’d survived a crazy home life and prison, so why was my heart beating in my throat?
Easy answer.
My head tells me I’m doing the right thing. Helping someone bad do something good, but my heart is another story. I want to run to Deuce, tell him about Viper’s threatening texts, share my worry, and ask for his help, but that isn’t an option anymore.
Zoning out, I concentrate on one step at a time. The din from the bar rattles me for a second, but I focus on the door leading to the back lot, then the alley alongside the bar and finally behind the dumpsters. I wedge myself between the two metal bins, feeling somehow protected, straining to hear the prospect’s Harley.
At five minutes after ten, I step out from between the dumpsters. I crane my neck toward the front of the bar, searching through the semi-darkness. Nothing. I swivel my head toward the back and?—
“You got something for me?”
I jump, eek out a gasp, whip around and face a tall, skinny kid no older than me with his hand out palm side up.
“You’re with the Rabid Dogs?” The halogen security lights shadow his face.
Sensing my disbelief, he turns, displaying the prospect patch sewn onto his cut, then faces me.
“I didn’t hear your Harley.”
“No shit. Parked it down the block.” He shifts his feet, darting glances over his shoulder. “Give me what you got so I can get the fuck outta here.”
Can’t blame him being edgy in enemy territory. Good news for him—he can leave. Bad news for me—I’m a prisoner here for another two weeks.
His eyes track me as I reach into my jean pocket, pull out the flash drive and hand it to him. “Viper will keep his side of the deal?”
