Page 67 of The Games We Play
His words hit different as my thoughts shift from Dylan to Cillian. It’s the one thing I’m scared of.
Because karma will need to come after me.
22
SPARK
As I flex my fingers, my knuckles ache, but not as much as the knuckles of the man whose hand I repeatedly slammed in a drawer earlier. I smirk as I wait with Saint at a deserted lot two minutes from the exit to the docks. Darkness embraces us as we wait for Jasper Haven, a junior scheduler on the Port Authority. He doesn’t know his worth, only asking for hundreds for what should cost thousands or a percent of shipment. Told us he was broke. Had two kids by twenty.
“You want to tell me why we just smacked that guy down on the way over here?” Saint asks.
I think about what we just did, the satisfaction I got. “Nope. Other than his hand now matches his kid’s.”
Saint shrugs. “Fair enough.”
Saint didn’t even ask why I needed to do it. Just backed me up, like he always does. I can’t remember how long he’s been a patched-in member. A year or two, maybe. Life’s a blur. But he’s becoming a solid friend. He’s centered. Thoughtful. Never rash. Which is why, even though I’m anxious to talk to King and Clutch about Iris, I said yes when King asked me to come here with Saint. To have his back tonight. There’ll be time later to tell them what I need to. Gwen is over at the compound tonight with some of the other old ladies, so it won’t be a drunken shit show.
I wish I could take Iris. Last night, I cleaned up my house, threw laundry into the machine, and generally made it as presentable as I could, knowing I’ll invite Iris over soon. Tomorrow, if I’m lucky. I stocked up the fridge with a quick run for groceries in my truck too. Anything to distract me from my conversation with King.
I violated a direct order from my president. If King wants to be a prick about it, he can kick me out. Maybe demote me and take away my SAA patch. I’m hoping he’ll do neither and realize he has no say in where I put my dick.
But even as I think it, I know why he made it an order. There’re issues between the club and Cillian’s organization. Even though we now know they weren’t as clean as they first tried to appear. What happened in the past was a setup for Cue Ball and Cillian’s brother. One went to prison and was later killed for his role. The other died that night.
All over a load of weapons they didn’t want to pay full price for. Dirty fuckers.
I get why Clutch was quiet for a while after his dad was killed in prison, but Cue Ball had it coming.
In the grand scheme of things, it looks like I’ve fallen for the enemy. But that’s literally all I’ve done against the club. I haven’t killed anyone, stolen a weapons shipment, gotten anyone arrested. Given their dads were involved with both, they can cool their fucking heels when it comes to me and my choices.
Two vehicles come to a halt on the other side of the road and then turn into a shipping container firm just down from the port’s entrance.
The first vehicle is the black truck King and I spotted. A van follows it.
“You see that?” I ask Saint.
“Saw it.” He hands me the envelope of cash. “Pay the man. I’m going looking.”
“Bad strategy, Saint. We gotta pay off this guy before tomorrow, but you going off alone is a recipe for a chest full of lead as you fall into the Hudson.”
“It’s a risk I gotta take,” he says, and sets off at a sprint. But as I move to run after him, Jasper Haven pulls into the lot.
The scheduler offers me the data stick, and I quickly throw him the envelope so I can chase Saint. Don’t want my brother off alone where I can’t protect him.
“Stay away from the docks tonight,” Jasper warns, and I halt my steps.
“Why?” I ask, gazing toward the shipping firm and seeing Saint disappear behind the building.
“Additional overnight inspection going on. You don’t want to be caught messing around.”
I look at the kid. Barely twenty-three. Can’t even grow a full mustache. And he’s telling us not to get caught messing around.
“Thanks for the heads-up,” I say, then run after Saint. I’m gaining on him, until a scream pierces the air. Saint stops dead, listening, like I do.
“Where’d that come from?” I whisper as I reach him.
He shakes his head. “Motherfuckers. I don’t see shit.”
We scramble along the brush at the side of the property to try and get a better look, and the truck comes into view.
