I’ll see what I can do.
Ford
See you soon, June Bug
39
FORD
Roman
Gus wants to meet.
Ireceived the text thirty minutes ago, before rushing down to the kitchen where Roman and Jagger were already waiting for me.Tension bites through my jaw muscle as I sit in the back of Jagger’s cherry-red Ford Raptor.Hawke’s missing, like always, and Roman sits in the front seat, his hand grasping the oh-shit handle as Jagger weaves through potholes in the street.
“Anyone know the odds of this being a coincidence?”Roman asks in the quiet cab.
“You mean whether or not Gus’s timing for a meeting has anything to do with our scorched house last night?”I ask.
“I’m gonna go with…five to one,” Jagger decides, tapping his forefingers against the leather steering wheel.
“Five to one?”I scoff.“You’re saying there’s a twenty percent chance he wants to meet for shits and giggles?”
Jagger’s brows raise in the rearview mirror.“Eighty percent is still shitty odds, Ford.What’s your guess?”
“Ten to one, easy.”
“Ten to one?”Roman whistles.“Damn.”
Jagger pulls into the parking lot and cuts the engine.“Ford?”
“Yeah.”
“Keep quiet, all right?I know you’re pissed?—”
“We’re all pissed,” I argue.
“All I’m saying is the last time you were face-to-face with Gus, he pulled a pistol on you.”
I scrub at my forehead, anxious to get this shit over with.“Ya know, I think I vaguely remember that.”
“I’m just saying?—”
“Keep my mouth shut.Got it.”I reach for the door handle, climb out, and slam the door behind me.
Without another word, we walk inside The Body Shop.Roman leads the way.I lift my chin at Ray inside the entrance.Unlike last night, the magazine he was flipping through is missing, and so is his bored out of his mind expression.Instead, he’s on his feet, his hands clasped in front of him.
“We’re here to see Gus,” Roman announces.
I bite my tongue to keep from tacking on a sarcastic, “No shit, Sherlock,” well aware it’ll only piss off my brother.Gotta keep my mouth shut, remember?
“Follow me,” Ray grunts.
I glance at the bar in time to see Jill staring at me from across the large club.With a smirk, I lift my chin at her, too.Her eyes roll, but she doesn’t respond.Not that she should.She's at least twenty feet away.But I digress.Tossing a dish towel over her shoulder, she turns back to a customer.My gut squeezes.
Fucking Morgan.
What the hell is he doing here?
