Page 23 of Princes of Carnage

Emmett is still shaking his head after I say my piece. “I still say the marriage is going too fucking far.”

I don’t ask him why it’s the marriage he’s so damn opposed to and not my order that all Enigma members will have to cease any hostilities against Carnage members. I already know this is about more than just the gang to him, but I’m hoping that if I don’t call it out, if I just let it lie, then whatever feelings he has for me will fade before too long.

“It’s fine,” I say, glancing sideways at him. “It’s just business. And it’s not like I was ever planning on marrying for love anyway, so it doesn’t matter.”

He looks like he wants to say something else, but we pull up outside Blood and Ink before he can. I park the car and get out, and he keeps pace with me as I stride inside.

“Boss, there you are.” Fallon lifts his chin as he sees us enter, shoving his long hair back with a tattooed hand. He strides over to meet us, and I nod at him.

“Fallon. You’ve got news for me?”

“Yeah, about the money drop that went down last night. We did the new route like we talked about, hitting up the new location.”

I rest a palm against the front counter. “Good. Any issues?”

He purses his lips, tipping his head from side to side. “It went okay. Almost went off without a hitch, but it got a little… hairy at the end.”

“Hairy how? Is everyone alright?”

“Yeah, yeah. We just almost got picked up by the cops because we didn’t know the area so well. Ended up in a zone where there was heavier than normal police presence. They almost got us for loitering of all fucking things, and we had to book it.”

I sigh, rubbing my free hand over my temple. All things considered, that’s not as bad as it could’ve been. At least no one got hurt and no one got arrested. It’s just another thing that I have to deal with. Another reality of leading a gang, trying to make sure everything runs smoothly.

Sometimes I wonder how the fuck my dad did it all. How he managed to keep everything in his head that he had to be on top of. How he managed to keep everybody safe.

“Okay, thanks for the update,” I say. “Tell everyone to be more careful about that shit. And have some people get on double checking the boundaries. We need these new routes, but we don’t want to risk fucking with the cops. Have a couple guys go scout the area, but tell them to keep it casual. Don’t linger anywhere too long, don’t draw attention to themselves.”

Fallon nods. “You want me to go with them?”

“No, the cops have already gotten a good look at you, so let someone else do it. You lie low for the next couple of drops. We don’t want them to keep seeing the same people.”

“You got it,” he says with a messy salute. “I’ll get the word out.”

“Thanks, Fallon. I’ll see you later.”

“Heading out?”

I can feel Emmett watching me as I turn to head for the door again. There’s nothing heated or upset about his gaze, it’s almost like he’s just concerned. But I don’t have the energy to reassure him or talk about it anymore right now.

“Yeah,” I say simply. “It’s been a day.”

It’s almost a fucking relief to get back in my car and drive home. After dealing with the Princes of Carnage and Nico’s ultimatum and Emmett’s grilling, I’m wound tight with tension, and I need some fucking peace and quiet.

The house isn’t all that far from the tattoo parlor, although the area looks completely different. One of those little sections of Detroit that’s nicer than it should be, considering what’s around it, as if someone came in and built some nice ass houses, hoping the rest of the area would follow suit to look better. More presentable.

Needless to say, that didn’t happen.

So the old house seems big for the location, and definitely it sometimes feels too big for me. It has too many bedrooms for me to use, a basement that mostly sits empty, and a kitchen that’s outfitted for someone who’s definitely better at cooking than I am.

Still, it’s nice to get inside and to put the closed front door between me and the rest of the world for a while. As soon as I step into the living room, I take off my bra, pulling it free from my shirt with a sigh.

I drop the bra on the couch, since it’s not like anyone is here to care if I leave my shit lying around. It’s getting dark out by now, so I close the curtains over the blinds in the living room and turn on the lamps, letting the warm light flood the large space.

It’s tempting to flop face down on the couch and zone out for a while, or maybe turn something on the TV to add some background noise, but my stomach growls, reminding me that I haven’t eaten since I picked at lunch earlier.

So I go into the kitchen to see what I have that’s easy. The shining metal appliances gleam at me accusingly, and I roll my eyes at their silent judgement.

It’s not like my dad was a better cook than I am, but the house came with the upgraded stuff, and he at least tried to use it sometimes. When he had time. How he had the time, I don’t know. By the time I get done handling all the shit on my plate, I’m usually so tired that all I want to do is collapse with a pizza or Chinese food or whatever’s easy.

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