Page 62 of Inflame Me
“Buzz here pulled up some information that I’m sure you want, because it’s a Fed.”
My spine stiffens. It’s fucking painful to keep still.
“You’re lying. My guys wouldn’t,” Ralphie says.
Pops’s gaze turns to a guy with reddish-brown hair who stands to the left of Ralphie. His posture is stiff, but in control. His hands are clasped in front of him as he stares straight ahead.
“Isn’t that right, Agent Peterson?” Pops asks.
It’s small, so fucking small I’m not sure anyone saw it, but his left eye gives a slight twitch to the name. Son-of-a-bitch.
“Levi.” Ralphie turns to the man, and Pops chuckles.
“Try Samuel David Peterson, FBI undercover. I’d appreciate it if you checked him for wires, considering this meeting and all.” Pops leans back in the chair. This right here is why he is our leader.
“Dez,” Ralphie orders another guy, who goes over to the agent, taking the gun away from him.
“I don’t know what these assholes are talking about,” the agent snaps.
“Check him,” Ralphie orders then narrows his gaze at Pops. “Where’s the proof?”
Pops looks over to Buzz who nods, reaching into his vest and pulling out a manila folder. He slides it across the table to Ralphie who opens it. He rustles through the papers, and whatever he sees turns his eyes to the venom of a snake.
“Gut him,” he calls out. “Get a sweep of the entire place.” His words are dripping in anger so thick, if we weren’t sitting, it may have just knocked us on our asses.
They carry the agent out of the room, kicking and swearing that he didn’t do anything. Whatever is in Ralphie’s hand must be some doozy of evidence.
“What else?” Ralphie asks Pops.
“There are two more. They aren’t in this room, though.” This time, Pops pulls out a manila envelope, setting it in front of him. “I give you this, and you take care of our problem.”
“You’re fucking lucky you’re a top runner for me.” Ralphie shakes his head. “I clear this, and you do a run for me.”
Pops’s eyes narrow, the tension in the room growing tight. “What kind of run?”
“I have some precious cargo that needs to make its way to Southern Texas. You deliver it and give me the envelope, and we call it even.”
As much as I fucking don’t want to run whatever it is, it’s in our best interest to get these assholes off our backs and for there to be a clean slate.
Pops looks to each of us at the table as we each nod in agreement. It’s not like we have a huge choice at the moment. It’s either this or pay out two hundred K. We have to trust that he will follow through.
“Fine,” Pops says, sliding the paper across the table. “What are we taking?”
I PULLED MYSELF together once we were on the road. Mom and I talked the entire way, but I avoided questions about Rhys, not knowing what exactly to say. He’s not a one woman kind of man, and I can’t have that. Our arrangement was for the time I was there. When I left, it was over. The thought of another woman in his bed brings me to my knees, crushing my heart with a sledgehammer. Therefore, I don’t want to talk about him. I want to avoid the subject.
I have this gut feeling he won’t be showing up for the funeral today or anytime else, for that matter. That feeling depresses the hell out of me. That’s why the good-bye was so hard. I knew he ruined me for other men, and there is no going back from him. Even if by some miracle he does come up, he won’t stay. His life is there. Mine and my mother’s lives are here.
I slip into the black dress and put on my pumps. We arrived back at my apartment late last night. I gave Mom my bed and slept on the couch. She says she has to do paperwork tomorrow for the house. It’s a good thing she owned it because they weren’t officially married, and she would have gotten nothing on the insurance. At least, that’s what the guy told her on the phone on the way up here.
My stomach is twisting like a roller coaster on crack. I know it’s a combination of today’s events and the fact that I haven’t heard a word from Rhys, only proving to me further that we are done and over with.
The ache in my heart has nothing to do with the death of James. To him, good-riddance. The pain is solely for Rhys. I’m not saying we’ll have some happily ever after, but more time would have been nice.
I’ll see if he shows up today then figure out what Mom and I are going to do.
I walk into the living room where Mom sits on the couch, her head back as she looks up at the ceiling. Her marks have mainly healed, and I did her makeup liberally to hide anything else. She’s wearing a back pencil skirt; flowing, black shirt; and black flats.
“You ready?” I ask, moving closer to the couch.
