“No. More than likely, he figures I’m your boyfriend.” Jimmy gritted his teeth. Could be a smile, but maybe not.
“What’s the plan?”
“Bathroom break.”
He had to go and say that, didn’t he? Lucky hadn’t had to piss until Jimmy made the suggestion. Bastard.
They pulled off the interstate at a truck stop. The BMW followed.
And so did a familiar chicken shit green Malibu. And a black jeep. And a Kia.
Jimmy led his caravan of tails into the relatively empty parking lot of a fast food restaurant.How about some subtlety, y’all?
“I’m going to go in first and leave you in the car.” Jimmy handed Lucky a 9mm Glock that fit into his hand almost as good as his dick did. “Use it if you have to, but try not to have to. I’ve been assured you won’t. Smile, you’re on camera, and you might not want to say anything bad about your boss. I’ve got a mic in here strong enough to pick up things you haven’t even said yet.”
Lucky kept his eyes on the BMW in the side mirror.
The car parked right behind Jimmy’s Ford Escape.
Same sandy blond hair, same swagger. Couldn’t be nobody else but a Lucklighter. Lucky kept his eyes on the driver’s approach and tightened his grip on the Glock.
Please, God, don’t make me have to shoot my brother.Mama will never forgive me.
The Malibu flanked them, and the Jeep cut off any possible escape. Where was Jimmy?
Lucky’s heart pounded. He’d faced down many a drug dealer, but he’d never had to take down family before.
The seconds ticked away, Lucky’s target grew closer. He readied the gun and let the window down. Footsteps padded toward the car. Closer. Closer.
They stopped. Lucky swallowed hard and turned to face his fate. “Bris…” His mouth dropped open. “What the fuck are you doing here?”
Chapter Nineteen
The man standing at Lucky’s window reached into his jacket. Who wore a jacket in this heat? The haunting scent from the hospital teased Lucky’s nose. The same guy. Had to be.
Lucky raised his gun, heart pounding. “I don’t wanna pull this trigger, but if you so much as flinch I will.” And may God have mercy on his soul.
“Is that any way to talk to your brother?”
“Those are the first words you’ve spoken to me in twelve years.” Lucky chanced a glance in the side mirror.
Jimmy waited a few yards away, gun at the ready. Behind the car, Johnson flexed her arms. Lucky didn’t see a weapon, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t armed to the teeth. And being out after dark and not being home with her kid made “pissed off” her most dangerous weapon.
“Why are you holding a gun on me? I just want to talk.” But the man kept his hand in his jacket.
“Then talk. I’m listening.” With the Glock’s safety off, but still listening.
“I wanna ask you…” The man pulled his hand from his jacket. “Yaaah!”
One moment, familiar eyes stared Lucky down, the next minute his stalker simply wasn’t there—plowed down by a freight train. Never even had time to run.
Johnson pinned the guy flat, face in the pavement, and her knee in his back. She wasn’t gentle about hauling his arms behind him, and if she pinched his flesh snapping the cuffs, she didn’t look sorry.
Lucky was braced for more hatred, more fury. His social climbing brother never had a good word for him when he stood at Victor’s side, enjoying the lush life. Not when Lucky had what his brother wanted so badly. And now, Lucky stood free and his brother wore cuffs.
Johnson hauled her prey to his feet. And maybe dislocated his shoulder.
But it wasn’t Bristol.
