“Tell me,” he urges, not as the shot caller but as my brother. His emotional whiplash tells me he’s just as on edge as I am.
“My job has been a little hectic lately, but our pension is looking pretty fucking spectacular.”
“Good to hear,” he muses. “How are things at home?”
Delphine.
“The definition of insanity.” I scrub my face thinking about my aunt rotting away in that house—how I watched her pour a drink from the porch just after parking her in her recliner earlier today. She’s shackled herself to that house for as long as I can remember now. It’s as if she’s serving a self-imposed prison sentence.
“Don’t let her miss a treatment,” he orders.
“I’ve got it,” I snap.
Silence. The clink of ice.
“Try not to resent me too much, brother,” he finally says, recognizable guilt coating his tone. He’s either on his third or fourth drink and getting antsy due to the time away—mostly from me. The paternal concern is starting to kick in. What he doesn’t realize is that I’m just as fucking worried about his situation. On that, I’m done obeying orders and formulating a plan instead.
“You tell me about home,” I prod.
“I’m talking to home.”
“You do know the definition of insanity, don’t you?”
He circles his glass, and I realize he’s drained it already. That knowledge grates on me.
“It’s repeating the same actions over and over again and expecting different results. That’s where waiting has gotten us.”
He releases my name like it’s a nuisance as a text comes through my personal cell.
Ginger: He’s here.
“Don’t let my shit keep you from sipping your guilt away, brother, seeing how it’s worked out so fucking well for the rest of the family. I have shit to do.”
Smashing the phone into my dash, I toss its remains on my passenger floorboard. Reveling in the timing of Ginger’s text, I allow the residual anger to snake its way into my vision. Downshifting, I fly in the direction of her apartment. Once parked, I grab what I need from my glove box. As I do, recent, concerned looks of every single one of my inked brothers flit through my mind . . . along with Tobias’s warning. Pressing send on a last-minute text to Sean, I slam my door closed and make a beeline for Ginger’s apartment door.
Ginger opens the door just as I approach, and I see the source of her fear standing next to a littered coffee table. Nearby, a baby no older than a year bounces in a chair. Rage engulfs me, and I zone in on the motherfucker who barely has time to drop his glass pipe before I’m on him. Clamping a hand on his neck, I drag him toward the open front door.
“What the fuck?!” He shrieks, attempting to turn his head as I keep him bent but walking.
“Dom!” Ginger’s sister, Marie, screams my name as if she has some ability to reason with me.
“Pack his shit,” I bark at Marie as Ginger holds the door open so I can take the trash out.
Stopping just outside of it, Marie starts to berate Ginger, and the greasy piece of shit in my grip gets it together enough to start questioning me. “What the fuck, man?! Who the fuck are you?”
Gripping his hair, I pull his head up enough to scan the parking lot.
“Which one is yours?”
“The S10, fuck, please ease up, Jesus Christ!”
“He’s not answering today,” I inform him before pinning him to his rust-eaten Chevy. “I already called.”
“She didn’t tell me she had a man, dude. I swear.” Inside, I hear the baby start to scream along with Marie, and my hackles rise.
Sean speeds into the parking lot, and in seconds, he’s by my side, his voice barely audible to the pulse thrumming in my ears as I stare at the fucking junkie who was about to hit a pipe with a baby mere feet away.
“Dom,” Marie screeches as she bounds into the parking lot with Ginger on her heels. “Dom, please don’t hurt him!”
I slam him against his truck, leering at him as Sean’s words finally start registering.
“Easy, man. This isn’t the time or place.”
“You’ve overstayed your welcome,” I inform greasy. “This isn’t your place. Ginger wants you gone. So go.”
Marie turns on Ginger. “I told you it was just a couple more days!”
Ginger stands her ground. “You said that two months ago! I found a pipe in Toby’s car seat this morning!”
Greasy, who hasn’t taken his eyes off me, starts to sputter as I slam him into the side of the truck again. “You’re smoking that poison around a baby. Are you not aware that shit can seep into his clothes, his skin?”
“Please, Dom, don’t hurt him!” Marie shrieks.
The crackhead’s smoked, false bravery decides to speak up on his behalf as he questions Marie. “Who the fuck is this guy?”
Sean supplies the answer for her. “You don’t want an answer to that. It’s best if you leave, man, and take him at his word. He’s not a fan of repetition.”
Keeping the fucker pinned to the truck, I pat him down before yanking his keys from his jeans and pressing them into his chest.
Marie must have taken a hit of the same bravery as her first threat comes out. “Let him go, or I’m calling—”
I flit my gaze to her. “You sure you want to finish that sentence, Marie?”
She backtracks as Sean turns toward her, his expression just as unforgiving as she cowers. “You know I wouldn’t. Just, please . . . let him go.”
Focusing back on the sweat-slicked junkie, I see him for exactly what he is—a complete and utter waste of a life. “Your dick seems to be clouding judgment around here.” Slamming him against the truck again, he fades, going limp in my hold.
My voice of reason speaks up beside me. “Ease up, Dom. What’s your name, man?”
“Jeffrey.”
“Jeffrey was just leaving, weren’t you, Jeffrey?” Sean gives him an easy out, a script to repeat, which he does not follow.
“Seems he’s having a hard time grasping the concept, so we’ll make it easy.” I turn to Marie. “I’m only going to say this one more time. Pack his shit. He’s taking it with him. We’ll wait, won’t we, Jeffrey?”
Jeffrey, who is full of bad decisions, has the gumption to look bored. “Yeah . . . sure.”
I turn to Ginger. “You said two months?”
“Around that, yeah,” she replies with a shaky voice, her eyes darting nervously.
“Has he given you a fucking dime for anything—rent, utilities?”
“I don’t care about that,” she waves her hand.
I turn on her. “Then maybe you deserve an unwanted houseguest if you’re willing to be so hospitable.”
She quickly speaks up. “I just want him away from my nephew.”
“I wasn’t hurting him,” Jeffery offers in a shit excuse.
“Jeffrey,” Sean shakes his head, “don’t talk.”
“Nah, let’s chat. How much cash do you have on you, Jeffrey?”
Jeffrey fearfully glances at Sean for more help and finds none.
“I dunno.”