One Last Rainy Day: The Legacy of a Prince(19)

Glancing between the three of them, I hate the fact that we have these particulars in common. Unlike Fatty, the birds surrounding me have major skin in the game. And it’s our job—my job—to ensure any mistakes made at this point are few and reversible, and I’ve barely had a spare second to put the time in with any of them since I got back to Triple.

“Get some rest. We’re just getting started,” I warn, pulling out my keys.

“Where you off to?” Jeremy asks, sucker punch forgiven.

“Shit to do.” More importantly, a bird to find.

“Hey, Dom,” Peter speaks up, hesitation evident before he lifts a shame-filled gaze to mine. “In our haul, I saw some coloring books and—”

“Take it,” I say, looking between the three of them. “Take whatever you want or need. Just make sure you log it with Denny.”

“Thanks, man,” Peter says, eyes alight, heading toward the compound with Jeremy. Russell hesitates before turning.

“Something on your mind, man?” I call to his back.

He stops his retreat into the building and glances back at me.

“I’m just . . . thanks, Dom.”

“It’s what we do,” I tell him. “Remember that if guilt-induced insomnia hits anytime soon.”

His lips lift. “Trust me. It won’t.”

“Good to hear.”

We share a grin before he turns to head inside. Watching him walk away to join the others in celebration, a sense of pride floods me.

It’s working.

We’re taking care of our own. It’s no longer planning and daydreaming about our future. We’re living it. All of the plotting and the effort to get to this point is proving worth it. Deciding a celebratory blunt is in order, and that there’s only one bird I want to share it with, I check my phone to see Sean hasn’t responded to my text. All hopes of celebrating with him dashed as I pull up the tracking app attached to his Nova to see he’s parked on some dead-end backroad.

No big fucking mystery as to what he’s doing—Cecelia.

Behind the wheel, I fire up my car as my phone rumbles, a text from Tyler filling my screen.

T: Got a bite on the line.

A little weight eases from my shoulders as I reply—at least Tyler’s focused.

By all means, reel it in.





The following night, Sean stands just outside his driver’s door, his phone to his ear. I kick back against my Camaro in wait, scanning the towering mountains in the pitch-black sky. He coos into the phone, catching my gaze before giving me a drawn-out wink. “You know I could tuck you in properly if you’d let me.”

Uninterested in his performance—which seems to be for my benefit—I jerk my chin to get him to hurry it along so we can get to work.

“Agree to disagree,” Sean replies, ignoring my prompt. “You never did tell me about your dream this morning.”

He waits patiently for her response. “I haven’t given you enough already? Ouch. You’re going to pay for that . . . me too. See you tomorrow. Night, Pup.”

Sean clips his phone closed before locking it into his Nova, his other hand holding the Glock he’s had trained on Clint since I pulled up.

Tyler found our dirty bird.

It took a few days to lure Clint in after Tyler set the trap, but Sean stepped in, taking responsibility once Tyler identified him.

Clint whimpers, kneeling at our feet, looking every bit the strung-out junkie he is. Lit by our collective headlights, his sunken eyes dart around as he tries to construct an adequate excuse to help him out of his current situation.

Sean rips off the masking tape that’s muffling Clint. When I step forward, Sean gives me an adamant shake of his head. “This is on me.”

I dip my chin, though I’m dying to unleash. But rules are rules, and when it comes to Sean’s own recruits, it’s his call. Sean kneels in front of Clint, casually draping the gun on his thigh. “You thought we wouldn’t find out, Clint? Is that what you thought?”

Clint—already on the verge of sobbing—speaks up, “I j-just n-needed—”

“Oh, I know what you needed,” Sean snaps. “It’s one thing to poison yourself to the point you got cut out of secrets. It’s another entirely to spread that poison.” Sean leans in. “Think we wouldn’t pinpoint how Fatty got pinched and printed? Did you think we would kick him out and leave it there? You yourself should know that we don’t half-ass anything. That’s how we keep our secrets.”

Sean pulls a prescription bottle from his pocket and shakes it in front of Clint’s face. “You know what that sound is, Dom?”

“What’s that?”

Sean obnoxiously shakes the bottle in a taunt. “That’s a junkie’s mating call.”

Spittle runs from Clint’s mouth as he speaks. “I’ll get clean. I’ll do whatever you want.”

“Hear that, Dom?” Sean snaps with disgust. “He’ll do whatever we want. His girlfriend OD’s three weeks ago and barely survives, but this is his wake-up call.” Sean uncaps the bottle before balancing the small pill on the tip of his finger, and Clint’s eyes follow. “You got hooked and poisoned everyone around you. But then you lost your spot with us and your respect. No bird wanted to deal with you or let you in on their secrets, so you took it upon yourself to sell Fatty out to steal from your own . . . I’m going to give you one fucking chance to confirm what I already know.”