Page 82 of Black Jack (Advantage Play 5)

“I’m going to need a place to stay.”

His kind eyes gleam with remorse as he leans closer and pats my hand. “Of course.”

“And I need you to keep this quiet until it goes to court. If my brother died because of his connection to the case, then it’ll only be a matter of time before I do too.”

“We’ll keep you safe.”

“You’ll do your best,” I clarify, “but Reed has connections you wouldn’t dream of. I’m not safe until he’s dead, but since that isn’t exactly how the government works, we’ll just have to be careful until the jury reaches their verdict.”

He nods his understanding, that same stern expression taking over in the blink of an eye. “I won’t say a word until the time comes. I promise.”

I breathe deep, hoping the added oxygen will help me think clearly as he stands up from his seat across from me.

“Thank you. One more thing,” I rasp.

“Yes?”

“Jack gets to keep his job. Actually, I want him to take Reed’s. There’s an opening, isn’t there?”

“Bianca––”

“It’s non-negotiable.”

He exhales, his gaze shooting to the ceiling before rolling his shoulders and offering his hand to help me to my feet. It’s warm and calloused as it engulfs mine.

“I’ll see what I can do,” he mutters.

“Thank you,” I repeat.

“Don’t mention it. We’ll get you through this. And once it’s over, you’ll be able to move on and turn over a new leaf.”

There’s just one problem. Jack won’t be around when I do.

And I can’t imagine a future without him in it anymore. But I guess that’s okay because if I do this, I won’t have much of a future anyway.

26

Jack

My drive is aimless. No direction. No purpose. I feel lost. Hell, I am lost. I’m married to a woman who sold her body for money. A woman who can’t remember how many men she’s slept with. A woman who managed to steal a piece of me without giving a fuck whether or not she deserves it. And even though I hate her for lying to me, I hate her even more for making me question my resolve. For making me feel guilty for leaving. For making me feel anything at all.

Knuckles white, I clutch the steering wheel and drive the car down the winding road with no destination in mind. The trees blur past me, along with a random house or two, and a few herds of cattle. As I continue, little things begin to stir in my memories, and I realize where I’m heading.

Matteo Moretti’s estate.

Slamming on my brakes, I pull off the side of the road, then slap my hand against the dashboard.

“Fuck!” I scream at the top of my lungs. Even my subconscious refuses to give me a break.

The phone in my glovebox starts ringing, and I take it out with a frown. It’s the burner that Kingston gave me. And even though I don’t have his number programmed into the cell, it’s easy to recognize.

“Yeah?” I growl.

“We need to talk,” Kingston returns.

“Then get to the point.”

“Dominic Castello is dead.”

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