Page 43 of Hold Him Like Gravity

“So what?”

“So it’s complicated.”

“Only if you make it complicated. You’re both adults. Think you can manage to figure it out.”

He made it sound so simple.

Hell, maybe it was.

“You have your meeting with Renzo?” I asked.

“Yep.”

“And?”

“Went like I expected. My past history isn’t enough. I gotta prove I can still be an earner now. If I can manage that, I can get Made and get my own crew.”

I knew it wasn’t what Bastian wanted. He’d gone to prison for the family, lost years of his life for us. Now, all of us had moved up without him. And he was still in the same place. Trying to prove his worth.

I felt for him.

But I also understood Renzo’s point as well.

The world was a different place than it was when Bass had gone away. Crews had imploded and disappeared or came out of nowhere and taken over. Local businesses were different. So were alliances and enemies.

He needed time to find his footing again, rebuild relationships, get a reputation for himself.

While I cared that Bastian was disappointed, what was good for the family as a whole was more important.

“If you don’t mind, I might take up some of the other guys on small jobs,” Bass said. “Saff said she can always use a set of hands. And Cinna and Dav said they have a big job coming up soon. Figure any money I can make means more of a kick-up to the boss. It’ll all help get me closer to having my own crew.”

“I have no problem with that,” I said, nodding, remembering how thin I used to stretch myself when I was working to prove my worth as well. I barely slept more than three or four hours a night for years. “And you know if I have any jobs I need a hand on, I will tap you first.”

“Appreciate it,” he said, finishing his drink, then getting to his feet. “Well, I’m gonna go wash this awful perfume off of me. Maybe you should think about getting some of that blueberry all over you in the office at work tomorrow.”

It seemed so easy.

Maybe it was.

I suddenly had the urge to show up bright and early to work in the morning.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Kick

How was he alive?

My throat felt tight, like someone was closing their hand around it and squeezing tighter with each passing second.

I’d stabbed him.

Repeatedly.

He’d been slumped over, barely moving, when I’d walked away.

There was no way he’d survived that.

Except, of course, the fact that he had.

---