Page 123 of Root

“You are?” I ask.

“You can call me King. I don’t think our acquaintance will be that long.” His gaze moves over me, lingering on my tits. “Nice, but you’re a little too old and too mouthy in the wrong way for me.”

I fight the panic that flutters. I don’t know a single man in here. They’re Ten64, but this must be the top tier, the ones who control it all, and judging by the suits, cheap as they are, the ones who are looking to carve a huge piece of pie.

They think they’re going to take out The Wilder outfit, and get hold of the Smiths, too. I imagine they want to take them all out and gut Queenstown.

My knowledge of crime’s low level, street shit. To see these people organizing… I want to back out, but I don’t make the mistake of moving. Nor do I look behind me.

Not even when the door opens and a man comes into view. A man with a big, big gun.

My knees want to wobble, but I’m not about to fucking let them.

“Hand it over,” King says.

But I stand my ground. Something tells me my little trick might work on other members I know, other outfits with their disorganized ways and general greed and urge to snatch and grab. I don’t, however, think it’ll work on this King.

I’m not getting out of here. Not alive, anyway.

But Brutus?

Rush?

The first, I’ll fight to have him walk out and not look back.

The second? I’ll die to make sure they don’t touch him.

If I can.

“I’m not that stupid.” I ignore the raised brow. “Let Jack walk out that door with the promise there’ll be no retribution on him, and I’ll hand over what you want.”

“And if you’re lying?”

“Then you still have me. The book has more than what you want, numbers, codes, all the details of his business. Take that, take over, and you’ve destroyed the Wilder/Smith hold on Queenstown. What’s more is the bar’s on important land. The port? Where it is? The police keep away. It’s the perfect spot.”

He clicks his fingers and from the door leading to the back, Jack stumbles out.

He looks like what he is, a scared kid in his early twenties. He’s skinnier than I remember and all cockiness is gone.

“Brutus?”

“Lady M.” He doesn’t smile, but I can see he’s not high. His dark hair’s too long and both eyes are black and blue, the right one almost closed shut after being used as a punching bag.

I swallow the anger and pain that burns in my throat.

He’s alive. He’s okay, even though he’s limping and there are bruises everywhere and his face is swollen.

He’s okay.

King doesn’t say a word as Jack comes to me and I don’t hug him, even though it kills me not to. And he squeezes his hands, eyes full of apologies.

“When they let you go, don’t look back.” I look up at him.

He frowns. “But Jess…”

“Go.”

At least I don’t have to tell him how to steal a bike. How to disappear. They’re skills we share.

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