Inside

the hit on Garcia, but there were no guarantees. And that chance wasn’t worth risking the lives of his girls. Or spending the rest of his life looking over his shoulder. Or losing Peyton to a man who wasn’t worthy of her.

Even if she wouldn’t have him, he didn’t want her to be with Virgil.

“I need an answer,” the guy pressed.

Rick squeezed his eyes closed. With just two words— Pelican Bay—Virgil would no longer be a problem to him, and the threat posed by Virgil’s low-life friends would be gone. It’d almost be as if he’d never gotten involved in this.

“Five Gs, Mr. Wallace. Think of the kind of family vacation that can buy.”

“I don’t want your money,” he snapped. And it was true. That would only create a tie between him and The Crew, a tie others might discover. If he simply gave this man what he wanted, who would be the wiser? Then everything that’d gone so wrong since he started this whole thing would instantly improve.

He didn’t have any option, he told himself. They’d find Virgil, anyway. It would be better if it happened before anyone else got hurt. Virgil was the one who’d joined The Crew in the first place. He’d understood the risks: blood in, blood out.

“He’s in Pelican Bay.”

“What’s he doing there?”

This answer was more difficult. Rick knew what it might mean. The Hells Fury would have a greater chance of reaching Virgil than The Crew….

But remembering Virgil standing in Peyton’s office, tall and proud despite his cuffs and chains, and knowing that he was taking what Rick had warned him not to take was too much. Rick had the chance to strike back, and he took it. “We put him there to investigate the Hells Fury, to tell us who killed Judge Garcia in Santa Rosa,” he said, and hung up.

If he’s such a good fighter, let him fight his way out of that….

Shady smiled as he punched the end-call button on his phone. “We’ve got him!” he announced to Horse and Meeks.

Don “Meeks” Mechem sat in the converted garage across from Horse. An older member of the gang, still physically fit but already gray at forty-five, he’d mostly gone legit. If not for Pointblank’s death, he probably wouldn’t have requested a meeting. He didn’t show up at regular events. But Pointblank had been like a kid brother to him, and he wasn’t taking his murder lightly. “And now Skin’s going to pay,” he said.

Horse held up his drink in a toast. “For Pointblank.”

“And Ink,” Shady added. Although no one particularly liked Ink well, he’d become as much a reason for revenge as Pointblank. In some ways, Pointblank had been the luckier of the two. According to Ink’s doctors, he wasn’t going to come out of the hospital the same as he was before being shot. He was currently on a respirator with tubes going in every direction, had nearly died twice. If he survived, he’d be unable to walk. And to top it all off, once he healed, he’d have to stand trial for what he did to those prostitutes, as well as answer for his part in all the other violence. That meant he’d likely get a life sentence. Or two or three.

What had happened at the safe house was a bad deal. But there were some positives that’d come out of it, at least when they looked at the big picture. The Crew hadn’t seen this much solidarity in two years. Shady could feel the members rallying behind him, as their leader, while he worked to avenge their fallen comrades—and he loved every minute of it. Everyone was on the hunt for Virgil and Pretty Boy; everyone was putting out feelers, checking contacts and reporting because they were all determined to make Virgil and Pretty Boy pay for turning on them.

“How do we handle it?” Horse asked, after draining his glass.

Shady wished he could blow Virgil’s head off himself. He knew nothing would make him look better to the rest of the gang than that. But Skin was in prison, which meant Shady couldn’t get access to him. Someone else would have to do the honors, someone on the inside. The question was, who?

“We drive up to Crescent City, meet with Detric Whitehead and form an alliance with the HF,” he said.

“Shit, do you know how far that is?” Horse complained. “It’s like…fourteen hours!”

“You’re worried about your time?” Meeks growled. “When Ink’s in the hospital and could die at any second? And Pointblank’s being buried this week?”

Horse’s gaze dropped to the floor. “I didn’t mean it that way. I’m in. Of course I’m in.”

“There’s no need for all three of us to go to Crescent City,” Shady said. “Someone’s gotta take care of things around here. And we still have to find Pretty Boy. He’ll probably come to L.A.”

Stretching out his long legs, Horse crossed them at the ankle. “So you want me to stay?”

“Yeah. Find him while we’re gone.”

“I’ll do what I can.”

“When do we leave?” Meeks asked Shady.

Slamming his empty glass onto the table, Shady scooped up the keys to his truck. “What’s wrong with tonight? We play our cards right, we can get there before visiting hours tomorrow afternoon.”

Meeks heaved himself to his feet. “Who we gonna see?”

“Detric Whitehead,” Shady replied. “Like I said.”

When Peyton spotted Rick’s car in her drive, she felt her temper rise. This time she was going to tell him, in no uncertain terms, that he had to go. She didn’t care what it meant for her job. No boss had the right to do what he was doing. She’d sue him for sexual harassment, if necessary.

But before she could reach the deck and confront him, he hurried down the steps and brushed past her with a comment about having to get home.

“You’re leaving for Sacramento?” She shaded her face from the rain. “This late?”

Ducking his head, he unlocked his car and tossed his briefcase inside. “Yeah, listen, I waited around for a bit, hoping to talk to you. I know I’ve been acting like an ass lately. And I’m sorry. Truly. We’ll have a conversation on the phone tomorrow. I just remembered that…there’s something I’ve got to do.”

“No problem.” She was so eager to have him gone she didn’t question his rush—until after he’d driven off. Then she wondered what he’d been doing for the past four hours. She knew he’d left the prison shortly after the warden because that was what the C.O. at the guard shack had told her. She’d thought he’d already left town, as well; that was why it had come as such a surprise to find him at her house. But if he wanted to drive back to Sacramento, why didn’t he get an earlier start?

She had no idea, but she didn’t really care.

Breathing a huge sigh of relief at finally having her house to herself, she ran up the stairs to let herself in. She’d grabbed a bite to eat on the way home. Now she craved a nice long shower and a good night’s sleep. She wasn’t sure she could manage the sleep part—she was on edge, worried about Virgil and probably would be the whole time he was inside—but she knew she had to try.

Her cell phone buzzed on the bathroom counter while she was standing beneath the hot spray. Normally, she would’ve ignored it, returned the call once she got out. But it was late for a sales call or anything like that, and the memory of Virgil using a contraband cell phone had her getting out dripping wet.

Sure enough, this call was from the same number.

“Hello?” she said, breathless with hope and anticipation.

No one answered.

“Hello?” she said again.

“Who is this?” a voice responded.

Buzz! Her heart nearly seized in her chest. Fear urged her to hang up, but she couldn’t. That wouldn’t be doing Virgil any favors. Getting back in the shower with the water running, she closed the door so the noise and echo would help camouflage her voice and pretended to be someone much coarser and bolder. “Who’s this?” she snapped back.

Her answer got no response, but Buzz was still listening. She could sense him on the other end of the line.

“Where’s Simeon?” she asked.

“Sleeping,” Buzz said, and then he was gone.

Peyton stood shaking in the shower long after Buzz hung up. Had he fallen for her act? Or had he recognized her voice?

What was he going to do?