“Don’t you get tired of it?” Emory asked.
Jack flashed a smile that left Emory awash in childhood memories. Brave Jack—riding his bike like a madman with busted up knees—every so often had a thoughtful streak. He’d look to the sky with wanderlust and speak slow and soft with a dazed grin.
“Not really, but I do wonder what we’d be doing if it weren’t for this. Maybe we’d still live in that same neighborhood in Sacramento, right next door to each other. We’d have some gig turning wrenches or fitting pipes. We’d end up with beautiful women. Make babies and they’d grow up together. Barbecues, camping trips, holiday parties.”
A dull ache ripped through Emory. He grieved for a life he’d never live and dealt with the loss of something he never had in the first place. He yearned for a future he could stamp his name to, a legacy that would make his father proud. Shame filled him up something fierce whenever he dwelled on what his old man might think of his life.
Emory subdued it lest it spread like wildfire, but a thought rose with dawn that morning and gained importance throughout the day. His father would’ve adored Amelia, would’ve told Emoryshe was right and to listen well and good to a woman like her, to hold her tight and not let her slip away.
“Sounds like heaven,” Emory said, though he and Jack both knew the truth. If not for the Moriartys, they’d both be dead; Emory from Ivan and Jack from trouble to be found.
“Does that make this hell then?” Jack asked.
Emory watched him in peaceful repose, soaking up the sun like a cat that got the cream. It was easy living for Jack, lobbing jabs from the high ground and waltzing in there like Emory could forget last night. He’d slept on what Amelia said and found it more concrete in the morning. Meanwhile, Jack’s last stand seemed toothless in comparison, and now he was the emblem of quiet dissent, the mouthpiece for whatever stirred in the ranks.
“You can call it whatever you want,” Emory said, “butyouwere the one with a choice, not me. Don’t ever forget that.”
He delivered the barbed remark with an icy stare. Jack took the blow on a stiff chin and shifted to the edge of the chaise.
“I haven’t. We don’t talk about it much, but after you and Miri left, my world fell apart, not that I had much of one to begin with.”
Jack licked his lips and ran his fingers through greasy hair. He only ever told the story with whiskey on his breath. He’d erupt with laughter and tell the tale of the shit-stain who married his mother.
For some, starting over meant wiping the slate clean. When his mom learned about the baby girl growing in her belly, she’d sent Jack to live with his grandmother in Nevada and washed her hands of him. He’d found Emory again and talked as if he’d orchestrated it all. In reality, he’d begged and pleaded to follow Emory into the Moriartys. It wasn’t about brotherhood or belonging but righting the wrong of being unwanted.
“Life here makes sense,” Jack said. “There ain’t shit for me if I ever left. But if you or Mirabelle left, it’d feel like the end of the world again, and I tend to go crazy when I think about that.”
Jack stopped short of apologizing, but the sentiment stillshaded his words. Emory accepted it and repaid the gesture with a little white lie.
“I’m not going anywhere.”
“For now.”
“For now,” Emory agreed and reached for his phone vibrating in his pocket.
Mirabelle calling…
Emory answered and went to speak, but a hiccupped sob cut him off.
“Mirabelle, breathe,” he said and shot from his seat. “What happened? What’s wrong?”
“She’s gone! Amelia’s gone.”
THIRTY-SIX
EMORY
Emory staggered around the side table but nicked his knee against the edge so hard the lamp nearly toppled over. He ignored the jolt of pain and hurried to the foyer with Jack close behind.
“What do you mean she’s gone? I thought you two were here. Where the hell are you?”
Mirabelle dissolved into a fit of tears again. Unable to speak, her cries faded as someone else took the phone.
“It’s Thomas. We’re about thirty minutes south of Liam’s at that commuter lot off 95. Rich Dauer has her. Two other men were with him. At least one was a Velasco guy.”
A chill spread through Emory. He stopped halfway up the stairs. Highway noise crowded the line before a heavy sigh crackled through.
“Emory, I’m so sorry. The other was Ivan.”
