Page 60 of Rooke
“Well, that’s unfortunate, Cuervo. This kid seems to think you did. He knew an awful lot about you.”
I haven’t seen anyone from Goshen since I left the godforsaken place. I have no idea who the hell he’s talking about. It was a long time ago now. Five years, to be precise. I’ve made an effort to forget the thieves, racists and petty criminals I shared such a cramped, closed space with back then. People were in and out of there every other day. There’s no way anyone would specifically remember—
My hands reflexively tighten on the Skyline’s steering wheel.
Oh.
No fucking way.
God, you have got to be kidding me.
I grind the name out through my clenched jaw, shaking my head. “Jared Viorelli.Jared fucking Viorelli.”
“Ahh, so he was telling the truth. Youdoknow him.”
“Yeah, I know him all right. He’s a fucking liar, Jericho. I never worked with the cops. I refused to take a fucking shiv from him after he stabbed someone in the neck with it. The guards found it on him. He was transferred out and sent to Edgecomb.” Goshen was bad, but at least it was a juvi facility. Edgecomb, on the other hand, is not. It’s a full-blown correctional facility, and Jared’s stay there would have been un-fucking-pleasant to say the least. “Why the hell are you listening to that guy?”
Jericho is silent for a moment. “People are often most truthful when they’re having their fingers cut off, my friend. It takes concentration to lie convincingly when you’re about to lose a thumb. Jared wasveryconvincing.”
“He’s a fucking psycho. If I was working for the cops, why wouldn’t they have shut you down by now? I’ve been running cars for you for years.”
Jericho doesn’t say anything. He’s quiet for a long time. Far too long. “You’d better come home,hijo. I need to look you in the eye.”
“Fuck you. I can’t come home. You know I can’t. I’m in the middle of something.”
“Then your friend dies. Just as a precaution, you understand.” He hangs up.
I can’t let Jake die. No fucking way I can let anything happen to Sasha either, though. I message her, asking if she’s safe, asking her if she can sit tight for a couple of hours. I hate doing it. I hate trying to prioritize my friend and the woman I’m in love with, but it has to be done.
Sasha: I’m okay. At Ali’s now. I wasn’t followed.
Me: Are you sure?
Sasha: Positive. I had someone keeping an eye out.
I don’t know what that means, but I don’t have time to ask questions. It takes me thirty minutes to redirect and head back home. Traffic is a nightmare, but the Skyline’s aggressive and so am I. I bully my way through the city, not caring about the cops anymore. Let them try and pull me over. Just let them fucking try.
There are no cars parked out the front of the house, but no surprises there. Jericho isn’t stupid. He must have parked his ride a few blocks over. I let myself into the house, ready to fucking destroy the man who’s harmed my friend, and I’m immediately met with four guns pointed directly at my head. Seems like people are really determined to use me as target practice today. Jake is sitting on the middle step of the staircase, head hanging loose. He looks up and his face is a mess. Nose broken. Black eye. The works. Jericho is leaning against the bannister, typing something on his phone. He doesn’t look up. Doesn’t need to. Why would he when he has four of his guys, mean looking motherfuckers, pointing their weapons at me?
“Nice place you have here, Cuervo.” He tap, tap, taps into his phone. Sniffs. Puts the phone into his pocket. “I’m glad you made it back here before I got bored and broke both this bitch’s hands.” I see Jake’s guitar laying shattered in pieces on the floor. Jericho must have figured out pretty quickly that he was a musician. Broken his instrument to fuck with him. Better that he did break the guitar than Jake’s hands, though. I would never have forgiven myself if he lost his ability to play.
My hands are itching by my sides. I haven’t felt like this in a really, really long time. Not even when I kicked the shit out of that tweeker who was trying to steal my payday. I want to hurt the fucker. I want to damage him, tear him apart, fucking rip him limb from limb. The odds are stacked against me, though. I have to try and play this smart.
“How many cars do you think I’ve brought you over the years, Jericho?” I ask quietly.
A look of confusion flashes across Jake’s face. “Cars? You actually know these guys?” It shouldn’t really be a huge shock to him that I do. He knows about my checkered past. He knows that I’m hardly a model citizen. I get up and randomly vanish for hours in the middle of the night. I come home bloody, bruised and manic three nights out of the goddamn week. He’s a little naïve, though. Clearly more than a little. I give him a warning look. Akeep-your-fucking-mouth-shutlook. Jericho shrugs, looking down at his hands. He’s changed his shirt from earlier, but his hands are still covered in blood. There’s a good chance a lot of it is Jake’s but I’m betting Jared Viorelli’s DNA is still caked around his fingernails, too.
“I couldn’t count,hijo. It’s been a while. I don’t exactly keep a record of these things, y’know?”
“Well I’ve been keeping track. It’s forty-three. Forty-three cars. How many do you think I’d need to hand over to you for the cops to make an arrest? Three? Five? Ten, maybe? It sure as fuck wouldn’t take forty-three. That asshole played you. And now you’re burning bridges. Now you’re making enemies. Now, I am seriously fucking pissed.”
Jericho frowns, both of his eyebrows banking together—a strange look on his normally stoic, expressionless face. “I am enemies with everyone in this town, Crow. And all business relationships end sooner or later. It’s just a matter of when. And where. And how. I’ll admit…perhaps I overreacted a little in this instance.”
“Overreacted? Let’s go ask Jared if youoverreacted. I’m going to fucking kill that son of a bitch.”
“I’m afraid that’s impossible. The matter has already been taken care of.”
I take a step forward, my pulse throbbing at my temples, and Jericho’s guys, guys who have opened up the garage for me countless times, all raise their guns an inch higher, bristling, baring their teeth.
