Page 2 of Insurgent

“Fuck, I’m sorry, Bones. I’ve had too much to drink.” He holds up his hands, putting his glass of liquor down.

I nod and pick up my beer. “A toast,” I insist. “May you be in heaven a full half hour before the devil knows you’re dead.”

Sweep eyes me, and we three clink glasses. I cast my eyes back to the TV, calming the madness from the shit I have to deal with sometimes. Yaps should really consider that prayer.

A lot has changed over the last nine years. I own a bar now, and people like this dumb fuck occupy it. It’s a cover-up for all the money I make. I gotta have some kind of job, or the government starts getting suspicious.

When Mickey died, Moretti named me his right-hand man. He also gave me the name Bones, Johnny the name Sweep, and Carson is known as Trig because he’ll shoot your ass without a second thought. He’s trigger-happy.

At the time, I didn’t want the title. I started seeing things differently when Mickey got popped by those meth heads. All of a sudden, this life I’d chosen didn’t make much sense.

One minute, we were on a run. We were headed back and talking about doing business in Atlanta, and the next he was bleeding out in Johnny’s backseat. The way his eyes looked when he was about to die.

I saw regret.

I saw pointlessness.

And now he’s buried in the Pine Barrens. Nothing but dirt, overrun by the worms.

Shit like that will fuck with you. You can’t look a dying man in the eye and not come away with something. It sticks with you, like a new layer of skin. It changes you.

I went from a boy to a man that day.

I was considering getting out. I was thinking about changing my path, but I messed up.

I’m not big on regret, but when it comes to her… yeah, there’s some guilt.

Chapter Two

Danny

2006

Prom.

“Fuck, man.” I run a hand from my nose to my mouth, exhaling before I grab my phone from my pocket. It’s dead. It’s almost ten at night, I was supposed to pick her up at five this afternoon.

“What?” Johnny says.

“I forgot about prom.”

“Oh shit,” Carson says. “Man, she’s going to be pissed.”

“No, she’s going to be done,” I say. I don’t have a charger in Johnny’s car. “Let me get one of your phones.” Carson hands me his. I flip the thing open and dial her number. It goes straight to voicemail. “You gotta take me to her house.”

“Looking like that?” Johnny says. “You still got Mickey’s blood on you.”

“I don’t care. I’ve got to get over there.”

“All right,” he says.

I hit the dash. “How the fuck did I forget about this?” I hit call again.

“Um, I don’t know, maybe because we were almost killed, and a man was dying in the backseat of this car?” Carson says. “Who the fuck is thinking about some stupid-ass prom?”

“I warned you about this,” Johnny says.

I look over at him. “Love, it’s me. I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry. I’m on my way. We got held up. I’m sorry,” I say again before I snap the phone shut.

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