Page 2 of Riding the Edge

“Maybe it’s time for a different dosage,” Blackie offered.

“Answer the phone, Stryker. Tell that girl you love her because you never know when the time might come that you can’t,” Jack ordered methodically.

Stryker’s eyes came back to me, but I didn’t give him the assurance he needed. Blackie had caught the exchange between us and took the liberty away from me.

“Do as your president says,” Blackie ordered.

Lifting the phone, Stryker took a deep breath and accepted the call.

In an instant, the weary expression left his face as he turned to Jack with a grim look on his face. “Whoa, calm down,” he told his girl. Moving the phone from his ear, he pointed to the television in the far corner of the garage. The room went still, and dread churned in the pit of my gut. “Turn the television on.”

Staring at Jack, I watched him bow his head and close his eyes. As Cobra stood to turn the television on, I stared at Jack and watched him slowly bow his head in defeat. He didn’t have to watch the news to know we were fucked.

Neither did I.

The television reported the new boss of the Pastore crime family and our fucking ticket to Yankovich, Rocco Spinelli, was shot last night. A plan that was fucked to begin with, became dead and we took a step further from ending the nightmare.

“Jesus Christ,” I muttered, turning to Blackie. “How is that we’re just hearing about this?”

“Has anyone tried to call Bianci?” he replied.

“I haven’t heard from Anthony in two days. Nor have I heard from Rocco,” Jack said, opening his eyes and lifting his head. “Riggs?”

“I’ve got nothing,” he replied. “But, if something was wrong with Anthony, Adrianna wouldn’t hesitate to contact me.”

“Adrianna doesn’t know her husband has found his way into the mob again,” Jack reminded him. “She thinks her husband is teaching troubled kids how to box and the trips he’s been taking back and forth to Chicago are business trips,” he added, rubbing his temples.

Listening to them go back and forth about Anthony Bianci, the former enforcer who refused to give up the life and made it his duty to lend a helping hand to the club any chance he got, I realized this was no coincidence. Anthony was helping us get to Yankovich by calling in a favor with one of Victor Pastore’s former associates. Yankovich must’ve caught wind of our plan and decided to eliminate Rocco. The house cards were about to come tumbling down around us and it was time for me to speak the truth.

“Jack,” I called.

“Not now, Wolf,” Jack interjected. “We need to locate Bianci,” he said turning to Riggs. “And as his brother-in-law, I’m expecting you to fucking find him.”

“Yeah,” Riggs muttered, pushing out his chair. “I’m on it.”

“No one knows where Rocco is,” Stryker added solemnly. “Gina and Celeste have called every hospital in the city and he hasn't been admitted to any of them.”

“He was shot in front of Lincoln Center, how does no one know where he is?” Pipe shouted.

“Are we assuming this is Yankovich or do we think this is mob thing?” Bas questioned.

“We can’t assume anything because we don’t know where the fuck Yankovich is!” Jack roared, slamming his fist against the table.

“Actually,” Needles began. “We finally got a hit on those addresses. One of them is an abandoned warehouse, and another was an apartment complex in Danbury Connecticut.”

“I thought the addresses were linked to a zip code in New York,” I said.

“Only one,” Bas revealed, meeting my gaze. “A mansion that we believe belongs to Yankovich himself.”

“Why are we just hearing about this?” Blackie sneered.

“You didn’t hear anything because you were missing, and the fucking lunatic cop took Pipe before we got the chance to tell anyone.”

“We need God,” Jack repeated, bringing my eyes back to him.

God wouldn’t save him or any of us for that matter. The club needed the truth and Jack, well, he needed all the anti-depressants in all the land to be able to handle that truth.

Turning my gaze to Linc, I drew in a deep breath.

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