Page 11 of Pocketful of Us

"Fifteen years ago, when you were little more than a toddler, Cal Dillon committed the ultimate crime in our world and betrayed his boss. He double crossed your father. He sent my cousin down for a crime he did not commit byframingRaff for the rape of a young girl, and in doing so, he took command of his army, of hisfamily." My father's tone was urgent as he spoke. His face looked more weathered in this moment than I'd ever seen. "But that wasn’t enough for him. Not for a paranoid narcissist like Cal. He knew that even in his absence, your father was worshipped more than he could ever hope to be. Therefore, to enforce his power and control over the family, Cal eliminated anyone openly loyal to Raff."

"Including his mother," Lucky offered quietly.

"Including his mother," Dad confirmed sadly.

"Why not me?" Blinking away the tears, I looked at my dad, feeling numb to the bone, and asked, "Why didn’t Cal killme?"

"Because I convinced him that you would be far more useful to him alive than dead. You would be the perfect bargaining chip should Raffaele ever be released from prison and seek revenge on Cal."

"Except I wasn't useful." My hands were shaking so badly that the vibration was ricocheting through my whole body. "He never came to get me."

"Only because he thinks that you burned with your mother –"

"Okay, can we pause the life-altering revelations until the gunshot victim is sitting down please?" Coming to stand beside me, Presley wrapped a tentative arm around my waist. "I've got you, buddy."

"Sketch." Feeling both weak and deflated, I leaned heavily against him, allowing him to lead me back to a seat, and surprised as hell that he could take my weight. "My name is Sketch."

"Damn straight," Presley coaxed. "To hell with the name Holden Capaldi and screw Jacob Toretto. I never liked those names anyway. You're Sketch, buddy. Just Sketch. Like Madonna or Rihanna, except cooler, and, you know, male. You rock the single-name thingy anyway."

"Yeah," I breathed, consumed in my pain. "Just Sketch."

"So, now we've established that Cal isDr. Evilin all of this," Presley said once we were sitting down. "Care to break the rest of the madness into bite-sized pieces? You know; make it easier for my boy here to swallow all of this catastrophictrauma!"

"Does he have a mute button?" one of Gonzalez's men asked, staring at Presley with a look of bewilderment.

"I can mute the creature," Gonzalez replied menacingly, setting his gun on the table.

"Oh, give it a rest with thecreaturecomments, Mr. Stretch-Fatso-Stinky," Presley shot back with a huff.

"What did you call me?"

"Ever heard of the movieCasper? No? Too bad. It's a great movie. And I would've chosen one ghostly uncle nickname for you, but you know what they say about the shoe fitting…"

"Did you just call me fat?"

"Are you really surprised?" Presley replied, gesturing to his stomach. "You have the look of a man who is partial to a pie or ten. I mean, let's be honest here; I can't be the first person to mention your weight issue. As for the stinky jibe…" Presley shrugged. "Well, I think we've already established your urgent need to bathe in some grade A disinfectant – "

"That is it!" Gonzalez declared, red-faced. "Bolillo, I cannot take another second of this creature." Jerking to his feet, he grabbed his blade and stalked towards Presley. "I am going to cut your tongue out and wear it as a trophy around my neck."

"Enough," Lucky interjected, stifling a laugh, as he stepped between Gonzalez and Presley. "Cowboy, as entertaining as I find you, and I find you immensely entertaining, you're walking a thin line."

"Duly noted," Presley replied with a nod, sinking closer to me. "I know you're in bad shape right now," he whispered in my ear, "but do you think you can protect me?"

I didn’t answer him because my entire focus was on my father.

He's not your father, remember?

He's your father's cousin.

"Why?" I asked, hating the weakness in my voice. Christ, I hated crying, but right now I could hardly see through the tears burning my eyes. "Why would he think that I died with her?"

"Because that's what Cal wrote in the letter he sent Raff in prison," my father replied.

My eyes narrowed. "Why would he do that?"

Dad sighed heavily. "What better way to torment a loving father than to taunt him with his only son's death?"

"That's completely fucked up," I bit out, feeling broken and confused.

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