“Looks like we’re gonna have to rebuild everything from the storeroom back, then the whole second floor.”
“We were gonna redo the second floor anyway.” I face Ace. “You make contact with Viper?”
“Bullet contacted me. Said they were ready for a sit-down.”
“Sit-down? More like we take their asses out once and for all. First we gotta come up with a foolproof plan with no blowback.”
“It looks like their prospect is on our side too,” Ace says.
My brow furrows.
“Seems Shady dragged the kid outta the basement just in time. I let the prospect listen in, and he wasn’t too pleased to hear his VP and prez didn’t give a shit if he went up in flames too.”
“Nothing says commitment like hate.”
“Church tonight. Pass the word.”
Ace nods, then asks, “How’s Sammie doin’?”
“She’s shook, but acting like she’s fine. Too fuckin’ tough for her own good.” I zero in on the blackened, twisted metal hanging off the side of the building. “If it wasn’t for her remembering that fire escape, we would’ve been toast.”
“So, is she gonna be permanent?”
I shrug ‘cause I don’t have an answer for my VP. So much shit went down between us. Lack of trust on both sides. Then we fucked each other like the world was ending.
“Hard to say.”
Ace stays quiet. Probably shocked I’m even considering anything permanent.
Fifteen minutes later, I pull my Harley over the shell driveway of a rental on Atlantic Avenue in Margate. Since it’s still early May, I was able to grab it up before the summer rush. I’mnot sure when The End will be redone, so I need somewhere to crash, and so does Sammie.
Between the fire department’s and the insurance company’s investigations, it would be a few weeks before the claim is settled. The security cameras clearly showed the Dogs doing a drive-by, so there is no shade on the Kings.
I drop my kickstand, suck in the ocean air and head for the back door. The amazing smell of garlic surrounds me. I sneak a peek into the pot simmering on the stove, and my stomach growls, then I head down the side hall and into the bedroom. The black garbage bag full of money sits in the corner taunting me. I didn’t question her about it after the fire, but it eats at my gut. Another thing she kept from me.
“Hey.” Sammie’s perched on the edge of the tub painting her toenails. “Never felt like doing this when I had that damn monitor on.”
Since she only had another week left with the monitor, her P.O. cut her a break and took it off early. Hard to stay under house arrest when your house has been firebombed.
“Must be a good feeling to get that fuckin’ thing off.”
“Absolutely. At least I don’t have to worry about tan lines.”
She tries to sell the joke with a smile, but I see right through her. “You don’t have to do that.”
“Do what? Paint my toes?”
“Act like you’re fine when I know you’re not.”
She falls silent, and I take the polish from her hand and set it on the bathroom counter. Then I flip down the seat on the toilet and sit, our knees touching.
“I’m fine.” She’s been saying the same thing for the last two days.
“You’re not. And if you were, I’d be really worried about you.”
She sucks in a shuddering breath and looks away from me.
“Forty-eight hours ago, you were trapped in a burning building and worried about your father’s future.”
