Page 42 of Darkness and Duress

Jericho kicked a milk crate of car parts, sending metal bits and bolts flying. The jarring sound was enough to snap me out of my daze as the full breadth of everything hit me with more force than any of Jericho’s blows had. I jumped into action, darting into the bedroom to retrieve my phone. The call I never wanted to make but knew I had to connected before I even had both shoes on.

“Marco, my son—”

“Pa, I need help!”

There was a pause, just the briefest moment of dead air, before his soft voice came through the line again. “Of course. Anything. Where are you?”

“Brandon. Henny. It's Henny. He's heading to Jersey alone. Pa, I can’t… he… I can't let him—”

“My son, I'll handle it. We'll handle it. I'm on my way.”

The relief was short-lived, but life-saving. My eyes snapped toward Jericho, pleading. He scanned my face and nodded before I could even voice my desperation. I was not above begging—not when it came to Bran. He whistled to the door, pulled his keys from his pocket, and strode toward the door. I was hot on his heels, snatching my gun from the side table as we fled the apartment on a mission. He had to be okay. I'd make sure of it, even if it was the last thing I ever did.

By the time we hit street level, we were sprinting. Every second felt perilous and precious as it slipped away from us. The fear I'd felt when I had heard he was arrested, the terror I'd felt when Moretti’s men surrounded us at the car show—both combined paled in comparison to the horror in my gut as I pictured him alone in the shipyard under cover of darkness and with no one around as backup. I wanted to wring his fucking neck and simultaneously lock him away from the world. I could do neither because the fucker had jumped into shit alone. My body couldn't decide if it wanted to let the fear or rage win this battle, so I decided for it. Anger was always so much easier.

“God fucking damn it, I'm going to fucking kill him!” I slammed my fist against the roll cage of Jericho’s Nissan, earning me a death glare as he finished strapping the dog into the backseat. He tumbled into the front seat with a grumble, taking off without securing his own belt. He and I weren't all that much different. A complete disregard for our own safety while trying to protect our own. He was silent for a while as the car hit speeds I would have boggled at under ordinary circumstances. When he broke the quiet, it was in the form of a truce.

“You and me, both. Get in line. I call dibs on saving him so I can kill him first.”

Despite the tension and fear and all-consuming anger I felt towards things outside my control and beyond my ability to fix, I chuckled. It startled us both. The flash of a feeble smile crossedJericho’s face before he held out a fist. My knuckles struck his without any force at all. Leave it to Brandon fucking Fortini to bring us together if only with his bullshit antics. God, he needed to be okay, because I had a lot of choice words for that fucker. Chiefly, the words I love you. At least, I'd tell him that after I called him a dumb fuck. There were priority levels to the things he needed to hear.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Henny

Ihad done a lot of regrettable things in my life. Like, a lot. More than I could count or recall, especially since most of them were done under the influence. That was not the case for the most regrettable thing, though. The minute the passenger door had opened and Gramps climbed in, the award for dumbest decision ever was secured by me and me alone. They had to have a place for that in the Guinness Book of World Records.

Poncho, from his position in the back seat, prodded my ribs again with another taunt. Honestly, I had started to tune them out about half a second after they got in my car, but it hadn't deterred them at all. Crude jokes, jeers, propositions to relive old times, sick jokes about things we’d done in the past… by the time we were nearing our destination, I hadn't even had a chance to worry about the risks because I was so damn busy blocking out shit I didn't want to hear. Marco had been right all along—these people weren't friends. I hated myself for how low I had sunk when I used to throw myself at them all for scraps of affection.Honestly, I was sick to my stomach and none of it had to do with the potential dangers that lay ahead.

“Look, quit. Be serious for two fucking seconds.” I slowed the car, my eyes darting to the rearview mirror to make sure Molly and Big Red were paying attention enough to not rear-end the SUV. “This isn't a joke. Moretti’s fuckers have been shady as fuck for ages and we’re on unstable footing here.”

“Yeah, whatever. I ain't scared. The fuck we here for anyway?” Gramps bounced in the passenger seat with a grin reminiscent of a hyena. My gut rolled with another uncomfortable wave of nausea.

“Damiano needed us to make an exchange. I'm dead ass, bro. I need you guys to be on your game in there.” I jerked my chin toward the dockyard in the distance. The halo of light should have been reassuring, but I felt only remorse and regret. Maybe it wasn't too late to back out.

“Fuck you, we're always on our game.” Poncho smacked the side of my head. I turned in my seat to scowl at him once the car coasted to a full stop.

“I'm serious. This is a lot of fucking money. This is a big fucking deal.”

“Whatever. It's all the same shit every time. Drugs, papers, cars. Why are you so wound up? You need me to fuck it out of you, widdle baby?” Gramps elbowed my arm. It wasn't a little jostle between friends, either. That shit hurt like hell and his smirk told me he knew exactly how much.

“Guns. It's fucking guns. I need you fuckers to act like fucking adults, got it?”

Poncho whistled low under his breath. Gramps looked suitably stunned for all of a second before a slow, slimey smile spread over his face. “How much money we talking?”

My eyes rolled as I shifted the car back into drive. “Shut up. We get in, we get out. That's the deal.”

“You thinking what I'm thinking, Ponch?”

“Already on it, G.”

I glanced into the rearview again, and my heart stopped beating in my chest. Poncho was typing into his phone and the gates to the dockyard were already sliding closed behind my car. Molly and Big Red had the Caddy pulled up in front of them. I slammed the brakes hard and threw the car in reverse.

“Nope,” Gramps quipped, the P popping as the muzzle of a gun pressed to my temple. “Not the best idea you ever had. Where’s the cash?”

“Fuck you,” I snapped, recoiling to turn my glare on the man beside me. The man I once trusted. “You're working for them now?”

“Nah, man. Working for ourselves. You had no problem ditching us as soon as you got a chance to shove your nose up Marco’s ass. Now, we’re ditching you. Cash, Henny. Where is it?” Gramps tapped the gun against my head with zero delicacy. My eyes stung with tears—from pain and betrayal in equal measure.

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