Page 41 of Darkness and Duress

“This isn't the same—”

“Damn fucking right, it ain't.” Jericho scoffed and pulled back. “This is ten thousand times riskier and I'm not doing it. Not again. You aren't either.”

“I am. I have to. Do I have to remind you who pays the fucking rent on our shit?” I gestured toward the apartment building we called home. “He fucking owns us, and this is what we need to do. I don't want to do it alone.”

“But you also don't want to drag Marco into it? It's his fucking father, let him put his neck on the line.” Jericho’s eyes narrowed, becoming dark slits that shown with disappointment. “Marco can disappear and get off without consequences, but we have to keep picking up the slack? His dick must be fan-fucking-tasting if you're willing to play errand boy for a taste.”

“Fuck you, Jer. Fuck you.” My hands tightened around the steering wheel as I ground my teeth. “It's not about dick, it's about doing our fucking jobs.”

“Maybe I don't want to do this job any more. Maybe I don't want to run guns and drugs and play thug for the Mafia Princes any more. I figured maybe the last shit would be your wake up call. If not that, then the bullshit at the meetup. Instead, you're ready to jump in balls deep just ‘cause Marco gets balls deep.” Jericho took a step back, his head shaking as his nose curled. “I thought better of you. I guess I was the only one who thought you were trying to do better. But I'm out. I’m done. I can't keep picking up the pieces while you run around hellbent on self-destruction.”

The hurt ran deep, cutting hard and fast. My jaw went slack as I stared at him, absorbing all the words into the marrow of my bones. My brother, the man I'd survived the foster care system with, the one person I thought would be beside me till the end, was walking away from me and I couldn't do anything to stop him. Anger rushed in, attempting to cushion the pain with a different emotion.

“Fuck you, Jer. Fuck you.” It wasn't the most creative rebuttal, but it was all I could muster through the hurt. I jabbed the button to roll the window up and turned the key in the ignition. Jericho took a half step forward, his mouth opening to say something I couldn't hear over the sound of the engine and the loud music that started playing through the speakers. Honestly, I didn't want to hear it. I flipped him off, my rings clackingagainst the glass pane, before shifting the car out of park and peeling out into the road. Fuck him. Fuck him for everything he just said, even if half of it was true.

Three blocks later, en route to a job I didn't quite feel like doing anymore, I decided I really needed someone to come along for the ride. If only to save myself from a disaster. Just as reluctantly, I turned the music off and pulled up my contact list at the first red light I encountered. Anyone was better than no one when it came to walking into enemy territory. I pressed the call button and sighed as it rang and rang.Please don't pick up. Please don't.

“Yo, fucker. Long time no talk.”

I swore under my breath and resigned myself to the fact that I really didn't have many other options than this one.

“Hey, Gramps. You and the crew feel like helping with a job?”

“Fuck yeah, Henny. When and where?”

I hesitated, breathing in and out as I tried to list the pros and cons with no time to do so. As the silence stretched too thin, I battled with second thoughts before blurting the address. Even as the words fell from my lips, I worried that this time might be when I finally got burned for playing with fire.

Chapter Twenty-One

Marco

The distant sound of screeching tires caught my attention, snapping me from the stupor I'd been in all afternoon and into the evening. I boggled at the time as I pulled my phone out from under the pillow to squint at the too-bright screen in the darkness. It had been a rough day. One of many, truth be told. It was exhausting always having to wear a mask. Always having to pretend I was okay when I was anything but. My desperation to keep up the façade was wearing me down more and more every day. Where I was typically able to spend long days and night in isolation, only needing to put on a show during brief encounters with my family or while working, I now had inserted myself into a living situation with a partner and his roommate. The task of keeping myself on an even keel was getting harder and harder every day, but my need to stay with Brandon held a stronger pull.

The sound of the apartment opening and slamming shut spiked my anxiety. King’s excitable yapping made my headache instantly worse and sitting up too fast invited a dizzy spell tothe party. I needed to eat something. The idea made me more nauseous just thinking about it. I waited on the edge of the bed in the darkened room, anticipating Bran’s entrance, but he never came. It wasn't like him to not be home by this hour. A spark of anxiety zipped through my body as I winced through the act of standing up. My obsession with him was reaching an unhealthy level, but I couldn't be bothered to care about that. We all needed a reason to live—mine just happened to be Bran.

I crossed the bedroom and tugged the door open, wincing at the harsh overhead lighting as fireworks bloomed in my vision before it finally adjusted. Expecting to find Bran, I paused in confusion to find Jericho glaring at me with murder in his eyes.

“Hey,” I hedged, eyeing the bristling dog at Jer’s side. King was never on guard when I was around, and I was always around lately. “Where’s Bran?”

“Out doing your dirty work,” Jericho bit back with a scowl as his arms crossed over his chest. “Again.”

My brow furrowed and I took a step further into the living room. King’s ominous growl froze me in place.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” I eyed the dog and flicked my gaze back toward Jericho.

“Figures. Fucking figures.” His hands flew up and he made a disgusted scowl. “His blood is on your hands, Marco. You're so fucking short-sighted, you can't fucking see it.”

Jericho was typically the calmest of the group. His words were usually the most clear-cut and bluntly honest. The fact that he was uncharacteristically dysregulated and speaking in fucking riddles had my nerves dialing up into the redline of anger as a coping mechanism.

I advanced another step and clenched my shaking hands into fists. “What the fuck are you saying?”

“Bitch, he's on the way to fucking Jersey!” Jericho, in an act completely unlike his typical reserve, launched himself at meand shoved my chest with the flat of his palms. “He's so fucking desperate for your family’s approval, foryourapproval, he's been doing the jobs fucking solo! And now he's running off to the fucking docks to pick up more fucking guns for your dear old dad!”

I staggered backward, absorbing the full force of Jericho's anger as he pushed me again and again. Even once my back hit the wall and there was nowhere else to go, he kept striking me. Numb, shocked, and growing increasingly concerned for Bran,myBran, I took every hit, dumbstruck and silent as the words sank in. Like the idiot I was, my jaw went lax before I could formulate words.

“He's headed there now?”

“Yes, you fucking ass! I just said that!” Again, Jericho struck my chest, this time with his balled fists, before turning away and shoving his hands into his hair. “God, I tried to stop him but I just ended up shouting a bunch of shit I shouldn't have. Fuck!”

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