Page 51 of Parrish

“I need to know where your head is,” he continues calmly. “You can’t be making accusations and planning on fucking the law without giving me something. Now, it’s been a rough couple of days. You get a little confused sometimes and I don’t want you—”

“I’m not fucking confused,” I snap.

“Parrish, Blackie’s only concerned. We all are,” Wolf interjects. “What happened to Junior was a horrible accident, and you never got any closure. Now, this happens to Reina and Danny and you—”

“It was the cartel,” I blurt, cutting him off before he can spew anymore fucking nonsense.

“Jesus Christ,” Wolf mutters.

“You don’t fucking believe me?” I sneer, watching as he runs his hands over his beard.

“Jack—”

“There was a car following me and Reina. At first, I thought it was a fucking fluke but then last night I couldn’t sleep and I saw the car parked across the street from my house.”

“This again?” Nico questions.

Ignoring him, I continue, “I told this kid…” My words trail off and I point a finger at Nico, who shuffles his weight from one foot to another. “But like the rest of you, he thinks I’m fucking crazy.”

“Because that’s a stretch,” Nico mumbles sarcastically.

Quick with his hands, Wolf slaps the back of his sons head before narrowing his eyes at me.

“Did you see the car?” Blackie asks Nico.

“No, there was no car parked across the street from his house.”

“I’ve been too worried about the fucking charges against Blackie, the dead paramedics and the backlash of discovering Cain was working with Yankovich that I didn’t take into consideration the fucking Sinaloa Cartel would likely avenge those murders in the paper factory,” I say. “Think about it. It’s not like we fucked with some street guys trying to turn a product. Sinaloa is a global organization. Javier and his superiors are not going to let the death of their guys go unavenged.”

“This is all my fault,” Bas claims.

“He was crazy before you came along with your woman,” Riggs says. “I can tell you stories.”

My eyes slice back to Wolf’s and I point an accusing finger at him before continuing, “You warned me,” I say. “Every one of you warned me. You didn’t want me to make a deal with the cartel. Why?”

No one answers.

“Why?” I shout, slamming my hand against the table.

“Okay, I’ll bite,” Riggs says, raising his hand like a fucking schoolboy. “None of us wanted to get ourselves killed.”

“We weren’t in the business of dealing drugs anymore,” Blackie adds. “Making a deal with the cartel gave them free rein to pollute the streets we’ve kept clean since Cain died.”

“But really we didn’t want to get ourselves killed,” Riggs says. “Tell him, man.”

“We also didn’t have enough manpower to deal with the backlash,” Stryker offers, meeting my gaze.

“And on top of that, we didn’t need the fucking heat either,” Deuce supplies.

All valid points and none from the lips of the two who truly wanted no part of the cartel deal. Glancing between Pipe and Wolf, I cross my arms against my chest and lean back in my chair.

“If it was one of your wives would you chalk it up to a punk ass kid on the road?” I ask, knowing very well if they were in my shoes, they’d be out for blood. Pipe would be looking to blow up everything from here to Mexico and Wolf would slice and dice everyone with Sinaloa ink. But because the crazy guy said it, no one believes it.

“You said a Cadillac hit her from behind and pushed her into the semi. A fucking Cadillac was parked outside the house last night. That’s not a fucking coincidence,” I tell Nico.

“You never said it was a Cadillac,” he replies. “You just said it was black but—”

“But what?” Wolf growls.

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