“Why?” she asked softly. “I don’t understand why my uncle would do this to me.”
“I don’t know,” I admitted. “But things are going to get bad for a little while. I need you to promise me something.”
“I don’t think I have any more to give,” she said and leaned her head against my shoulder.
I put my arm around her and pulled her tight. “All I need is for you to trust me,” I said. “I’m going to get us out of this, okay?”
“Yeah,” she said, closing her eyes. “Okay.”
I held her there for a few minutes. There were more sounds from the basement, some grunts and curses. I got to my feet and helped Mags up, and took her outside before Tony and Marco started dragging out the bodies.
Trent stood in the shadows smoking a cigarette. The smell was thick and heavy as he saluted.
“You were never here,” I told him. “Got me?”
“Got you,” he said. “Never here.” He whistled and looked up at the sky.
I took Mags’s hand and tugged her alone. “Come on,” I said. “Let’s go back home and finish this.”
She came with me and didn’t speak the whole way back.
We had a day to get this sorted. One day to put things right. After that, I’d lose the element of surprise, and the family might break down into all-out war.
If that happened, I was afraid that Mags wouldn’t survive it.
18
Mags
I felt numb on the drive back to the house. Dean parked and helped me inside. It was late, and I should’ve been exhausted, but a nervous, jittery excitement kept me awake. “I’ve got to make plans,” he said and squeezed my hand at the threshold of his office. He kissed my cheek softly. “Go find Bea. Make some tea if you want, I don’t know. Try to get some sleep.” He hesitated, but left me there in the hallway.
I paced back toward the living room. I figured if Bea was still awake, I’d find her there. But the house was empty and quiet, and all the wooden paneling, the statues and the art, it felt oppressive and terrible, like a tomb. The rugs soaked up noise and the furniture seemed like it belonged in a museum, and nothing brought me any comfort, noting felt like home.
The only thing I liked in this house was Dean, and Bea, but the rest of I was completely foreign.
I checked the time. A little past two in the morning. I couldn’t sit around and I definitely wasn’t going to sleep, and one thing bothered me, one detail that didn’t make any sense. I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was missing something, that Uncle Roy really wasn’t trying to kill me, that Dean had it all wrong somehow.
Uncle Roy didn’t much care about me. That wasn’t some huge secret. He never tried to hide his actual feelings, but I didn’t think he despised me enough to have me killed for his own political gain. I was still his blood, his flesh and his family.
Something bothered me worse. I stepped out the back door and looked up at the night sky. Just a few weeks ago, I would’ve still been working the bar in my father’s club, the night winding down to close, the final drunks all busy getting their last drinks in and throwing whatever money they had left at the girls dancing up on the stage, everyone exhausted, dirty, and sluggish. My father would sit and count tips and do accounting and drink beer after beer until we finally kicked everyone out at three. Now though, everything was different.
I walked around the back of the house and found the garage. The light flicked on and I stood next to the car Dean gave me. I hadn’t driven it anywhere yet—just didn’t have a reason to go anywhere. Besides, I didn’t have a license, and I didn’t feel like breaking any laws. Yet, anyway.
Now though, something bothered me, and I needed answers.
The garage door slid up and I started the engine. It purred to life and vibrated as I pulled out. Nobody came running, nobody tried to stop me, and I drifted down the long driveway, out onto the main road, and headed into the city.
I couldn’t stop thinking about my father, drinking beer after beer.
He wasn’t a good man or a good father. He was abusive and aggressive and treated me like dirt most of the time, and yet he was still my dad. If Uncle Roy wanted to kill me, Dad would be in danger, too.
There was no way Dad would let Uncle Roy get away with it.
I had to warn him. I didn’t want him to do somethings stupid like go after Uncle Roy. Dad never struck me as someone that might start a fight or get violent with a powerful man like Uncle Roy, but people did stupid things sometimes. I sped up the closer I got to the city, mind racing around in circles, trying to understand how my own family could kill me, and hoping, hoping, hoping, that my father didn’t know about it.
I found a decent spot near the bar. It was two-thirty. The place was technically closed, though I knew they didn’t kick anyone out yet and I could get in without problem. I hesitated, not sure what I’d find inside, but pushed my fear away and stepped out onto the cold sidewalk.
The club was rundown and sticky. I entered in through the too-familiar front door and hesitated in the shadows near the door. Jasmine was on stage, gyrating like she was trying to break her own hips, looking exhausted. A drunk old guy threw a single at her and she didn’t bother to pick it up. A man I didn’t recognize stood behind the bar, probably some temp from the mafia sent to help my
