Losing Streak (The Lane) (17 page)

Chapter Twenty-Two

“So, man, you see what we’re getting at here? It’s a shit situation, but King’s a ruthless motherfucker. You’ll be okay opening up this place for him. Not great, but okay. But not doing it? He’s got people, man. Mean-ass people with a lot to lose if they don’t follow his orders.”

MacBain stared at us hard, rubbing the stubble along his jaw that hadn’t been there the last time I saw him. I could tell he was studying my face, the skin I knew was still swelling just by the tightness I felt with the slightest movement. As if he read my thoughts, he nodded in my direction before yelling out, “Mary!” in a booming voice.

“Stop yer hollering. I’m right here.”

“Get the girl some ice to put on that cheek of hers. Nasty bruise, that.”

A minute later, Mrs. MacBain was pressing a bundle into my hand. I didn’t think I imagined that her eyes were marginally softer when I murmured my thanks.

“So yer King did this then?” MacBain asked Brandon with a jerk of his head in my direction.

“Yeah.” The muscles in Brandon’s face tightened. “Yeah, that was him.”

“I see. And the problems for ye if ye don’t persuade me?”

“Too numerous to list,” I said.

It was so quiet for a minute that I could hear the scratching sound MacBain’s stubble made against the palm of his hand. Then he broke into a face-splitting grin. Brandon somehow managed to not jump when his big fist suddenly hit the table, a laugh bursting out of him.

“It’s settled then! We fight!”

“Wait. What?” I asked at the same time that Brandon said, “Man, that is not recommended.”

“Nonsense! It’s obvious. Ye have a corrupt king, ye dethrone him. And that’s what we’ll do. We dethrone Joshua King.”

To my astonishment, Brandon was nodding. He was agreeing. He was actually agreeing. Just like that.

“You’re both crazy,” I told them. “No. You’re fucking batshit. Fight Joshua King? What the hell do you think this is? Medieval times?
Game of Thrones?
Do you think you’re Mel fucking Gibson and this is—God, whatever the fuck that movie was called.
Braveheart?
You think you’re Mel Gibson and this is
Braveheart
and we’re just going to ride into battle? No. Hell no.”

But Brandon was turning to me excitedly before I’d even finished speaking. “No, babe, listen. It makes sense.”

“The hell it does! You’re talking about staging a fucking coup.”

“Nay, lass. We’re talking about bringing down a corrupt man who believes he’s a king.”

“Whatever,” I snapped, waving my hand dismissively in their direction. “It doesn’t matter what you want to call it. It’s still crazy. Joshua has how many who will do his bidding? You honestly think you could pull off something like this without collateral damage?”

“Not as many as you’d think,” Brandon replied in a low voice before turning back to MacBain. “She’s right, though. There’s a good chance of innocents being targeted if we do this. It’s his way.”

“We get the women out. That goes without saying.”

“Whoa. Hold it right there, you misogynistic piece of—” I started but Brandon cut me off.

“You haven’t met too many Lane girls, have you?” To me, he added, “He does have a point. We need to get your mama out of town before we do this.”

“Before we do this? So it’s already decided, then? Just like that? We’re doing this?”

“Rose, what choice do we have?”

“We came up with a plan already and this wasn’t it!”

“Plans change, lass,” MacBain piped in. “Better ones are born. This is a better one. Because I ain’t giving in, but I’ll fight. And I’ll fight with ye.”

I glared at the pair of them, but they didn’t budge. They stared back at me evenly, and after a minute, I tossed the bundle of ice I’d still been holding to my cheek onto the table between us.

“Jackson too. Jackson has to leave too.”

“Ah.” Brandon looked as if he was going to protest and I pointed a finger at him.

“Don’t even think about it. If you guys are going to do this fool shit and you’re not going to be talked out of it, then I want my brother as far away from it as possible. You hear me? I don’t want Jackson near it.”

“It should be up to him, babe.”

“The hell it is. I don’t want him here, Brandon.”

“Fine.”

Glancing between us as if making sure we were through, MacBain directed his question at Brandon. “Ye know of others, then? Is that what ye were saying earlier? Ye know of others that would make a stand?”

Brandon grinned and something about it reminded me of a boy I’d once met across the bar, who’d called me a sadist and told me to keep the change.

“You bet your ass I do, Scotsman.”

* * *

He hadn’t known that many people, really. But the ones who trickled in the back door of Molly’s, sticking to the farthest table away from the now covered windows, surprised me. Carmen had been the first to show, looking both nervous and resolved, followed closely by Lester and his wife from Sharkie’s. Fury’d been next, swaggering in with the air of a man happy to be invited to the party. Finally the scarred boxing manager I knew as Theo, though we’d never been introduced, turned up, Luke Turner and Bri Martin on his heels.

I was leaning against the bar, watching them, when Theo pulled himself from the wall he’d been propped up against near the others. He paused next to the chair Bri and Luke were sharing and said something in a low voice before making his way over to where I stood. He didn’t speak right away, just crossed his arms, his eyes locked on to the small knot debating in hushed, but urgent voices.

“So, you’re the one.” His voice was gentle. Almost soft.

“Who’s the cause of all this?” I laughed bitterly. “Yeah. That’s me.”

“Nah.” He was looking at me now out of the corner of his eye, through lashes too long and full on a guy to be remotely fair. “You’re not the cause of this and if you think so, you think too highly of yourself, darlin’.”

My frown deepened.

“Not very nice.”

“But very true. You’re just a player. That’s what all of us are. Just players in a fucked-up game none of us have any control over. Never really did.”

“If you think that, then why’d you come?”

“Williams asked me to bring Luke. Said we might be interested in what him and the Scot had to say.”

I gave him a hard look, suddenly suspicious of his presence and Brandon’s trust in him. “Are you? Interested?”

He was smiling despite my harsh, accusing tone.

“Oh, I’m interested all right. Don’t know if I’ll throw in with them.”

“Yet you’re still here,” I pointed out. He laughed as if he found something amusing about my statement.

“I am. Because Turner’s here. And trust me, darlin’. Considering the way Turner still feels about Williams? You should be thanking me for the good deed.”

Across the room, Luke scowled at Brandon over Bri’s shoulder only for it to soften just enough to be noticeable when Bri started nodding at what Brandon was saying enthusiastically. Luke’s arm wrapped around her waist tightened slightly as he leaned forward and said loud enough for Theo and I to hear, “If this ambush plan is so fucking simple, then why the hell hasn’t it ever been done before?”

Theo shook his head. “I don’t know who that boy thinks he’s fooling. He wouldn’t still be here if he wasn’t interested.”

“That’s what they’re going with, then? An ambush?”

“That’s the ticket.”

“No.” Brandon raised his voice suddenly, before Theo could finish. “You’re taking Jared down. Not out. Nobody’s fucking being taken out. If they were, it’d be King and only King. His hands are the ones that are bloody.”

“And what if I don’t have a choice?” Luke ground out. Bri shot a look back at him that he seemed to ignore. “Then what? Suppose you just want me to talk him down?”

“I don’t give a good damn how you do it, but you’ll have a choice and you’re not choosing that. We stick to the plan. Lester calls Joshua out of Duke’s. We’re waiting for them. You put Jared on. The. Ground. We get Joshua in the car Theo has waiting, transport him to the gym and drop the bomb the stash houses have been abandoned and we got someone waiting to call in a tip into the feds. We get ourselves out of the contracts. Done. That’s it. No detouring.” The others around the table, save for a sullen-faced Luke, nodded their agreement.

“And what keeps him from retaliating?” Luke demanded as he leaned forward, pulling Bri marginally closer and fixing Brandon with a fierce look. “How you gonna guarantee that, Williams?”

“Same way we’re getting the contracts renegotiated. I made enough friends up there. I go a few days without checking in with them, they ditch the houses, whoever here is able to drops the tip.”

Luke sat back with a scowl, as if, for the moment, he couldn’t find another argument to make and was entirely pissed off at the fact.

As though he were thinking the same, Theo gave a low chuckle.

“Boy’s got a hard head, but he’s got his reasons to be here too.”

I arched an eyebrow. “Never did bother explaining that.”

Theo nodded toward the others. “We all have one. All of us players. A reason we’re in the game in the first place.”

“And you think I’m Brandon’s?”

“Don’t you?”

I thought back to our conversation in the car on the way over and I nodded slowly.

“I’m the reason he’s still playing anyway.”

“And you’re the reason he’s gonna throw the game. Powerful stuff, being someone’s reason. Risky too, for him. Because people, they can betray you. You can pin everything on them, make them the motivation behind all you do, and then they can shit all over that.”

“You’re a cheerful sort, aren’t you? I take it your reason isn’t a person?”

“God Almighty, no. I put my trust in things. Not people. Never people.”

“Yet you’re here. Trusting us not to rat you out if this goes bad and expecting us to trust you.”

He nodded. “Yep. Sounds about right.”

“So why should we? Trust you?”

He unfolded his arms, bringing them back to lay against the bar behind us.

“You shouldn’t. If you were smart, you wouldn’t. And I don’t think you do. I don’t think any of us trust each other. Except maybe you and Williams and Bri and Turner. But we’ve all been playing a losing game for a long time, and if we ever want to win it, we’re gonna have to band together. Stop being players and start being a team.” He gave me a look. “I don’t trust ya, darlin’, but I also recognize this is my best shot at winning. Getting out of the game with my life and my gym. That’s my reason. Me and my gym. And I reckon I’m willing to take a chance on Williams and his for me and mine.”

I was nodding before he finished. Because I understood that. And I didn’t trust him. But I also got throwing in on the side that stood the best chance at winning. I understood doing for yours.

“Could get messy, though.”

I nodded. “I know.”

“They’re over there dotting their i’s and crossing their t’s, but people could still get hurt if something goes south.”

“Yeah.”

He looked at me full on for a second and I got the full force of his scar. But when he spoke again, I caught the hint of a dimple in his cheek.

“Probably be worth it, though. You have to pay in blood for most things that are.”

* * *

A couple hours later, Brandon and I were walking up the front walk to Mama’s. I stopped and looked around, taking note of the little touches Mama had added over the years to make the place hers, distinguish it from the other similar, cookie-cutter houses on the street. The flowerbeds that somehow bloomed even in the winter months with their vibrant pinks and greens and reds. There, on the tiny porch, sat the statue I got her as a teen of a praying Virgin Mary, her eyes lifted to the heavens with a serene expression on her face, an expression that reminded me so much of Mama. Next to it was a rock Jackson had painted for her for Mother’s Day when he was only waist high and all curls and big, expressive blue eyes.

She gave us our past, Mama did, had shaped and molded it with tired hands and now she kept it on display in the little house Joshua had built for her and I had secured. After years of sacrificing for me and for Jackson, she had stability, a place that was hers, that had only ever been hers, and I was going to rip it away.

Mama liked Joshua. She was starry-eyed and swoony over him. She thought he was my savior, her savior, and now I was going to have to crush that, explain that all this time I had been a prisoner with designer labels, with her life hanging over my head. I was going to walk into that tiny house with its pretty prints and inexpensive artwork and potted plants that probably would have thrived only for her, and I was going to expect her to believe me when I said she was in danger and despite her health, which was only going to decline, we needed to flee our knowns for the great unknown. We needed to run to a stranger and leave behind a life she’d built between humble walls, from a man who had given them to her.

Brandon stood silently next to me while I worked up the courage to turn the doorknob and walk inside. Mama was sitting on the sofa, attempting to cross-stitch with trembling hands by the looks of it, but she set it down as soon as she caught sight of us, a startled expression on her worn face.

“Rose? I wasn’t expecting you. Is everything okay? Is it Jackie? Is Jackie okay?” Her voice, already so much frailer, it seemed, almost broke me.

“Jackson is fine, Mama,” I told her quietly as I left Brandon’s side and quickly crossed the room to kneel down on shaking knees at her feet. Those blue eyes, so much like my own, stared into mine, concern written across her soft features. Gently, she reached out and brushed a single curl back from my face.

“Rose,” she whispered. “What’s wrong? Who’s he?”

“I called Jackson,” I said, avoiding both questions and taking one of her hands in both of mine. Mine were so much smoother than hers, younger, but I could see the similarities between the two of them, could see that my hands would one day be her hands, with their bulging veins and small knuckles. “I need you to pack a bag in the meantime. Can you do that for me, Mama?” I squeezed her hand that had once been like mine, and with my eyes I begged for her to trust me. She nodded, no hesitation, though a crease appeared across her forehead, making my guilt skyrocket.