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“Look, I have to go, I can't get into everything—”
“Dang it's hot out. Come on, y'all let's go inside,” Tyrone says, giving me a look. “Ricardo has something to tell everyone anyway.”
“Thanks,” I grunt and he raises his hands.
“Family don't keep secrets from one another, brother. It's best she hears it from you first anyway.”
“Mayor Gaffney is dead,” Alyssa repeats slowly, letting the news sink in.
Jackson rubs her shoulders and her eyes cut to the floor. “I mean don't get me wrong, Ricardo, that's awful, but I wasn't exactly a fan of his.”
She scrunches her face. “Thanks for letting me know, but if you're worried about the news mentioning my name and the sex tape, I'm kind of over it.”
She pats her growing belly and her face breaks out into a big smile. “I have more important things to worry about now.”
I turn my head away, focusing on anything else. “Right, of course. Tyrone just thought it would be good for you to hear it from me first.”
“How is she?” Alyssa questions after another minute goes by.
I force myself to face her again. “She's—”
I'm not sure how to answer, mostly because I don't really know. We're not exactly on speaking terms at the moment.
“She's fine,” I finally decide as I stand up from the couch. “And I need to head back—”
“When can I come by?” Momma's voice calls from somewhere in the kitchen.
“I don't think that's a good idea.”
I can hear her footsteps right before she comes barreling into the living room. “Why not?”
I can feel everyone's eyes on me now and I hate what I have to do, but there's no other way.
“She's a little angry at you for telling me where she was, Momma.”
Hurt flashes across her face and I hate myself even more.
“Hold up,” Jackson says, rushing to Momma's side. “Why would she be mad at Momma for keeping her safe from that asshole?”
I can physically feel everyone's gaze sharpen at his question.
“Because she doesn't know,” Momma whispers, turning to look at everyone. “And we can't ever tell her. I might not agree with Ricardo's methods...but I do agree it's best she doesn't know her father is alive.”
That's when Jackson crosses his arms over his chest and steps to me. “Why is he still alive?”
“Shit,” Tyrone mutters before yelling, “Okay, all women folk evacuate the premises. Let the men talk amongst themselves.”
Shelby raises an eyebrow and purses her lips. “Really?”
He swats her behind and gestures to the door, “Yes really, sugarplum. I'll see you in a little while.” She leans down and he pulls her in for a kiss. “If I'm not back in ten minutes, it's because Ricardo killed Jackson and I have to help him bury the body.”
I blow out a breath, although his statement was meant to break up the tension, it's too damn close for comfort.
Shelby's head snaps up, Momma puts her hand over her heart, and Alyssa gasps, looking horrified.
“I was joking. But that right there is exactly why y'all women folk aren't allowed to stay here for this conversation.”
After he closes the door behind them Jackson looks at me. “Well?”
I match his stance and cock my head to the side. “Well what?”
I get where he's coming from, but I don't appreciate his attitude. He doesn't call the shots, therefore he has no right to question me about my business.
A look crosses over his features that I haven't seen in awhile...anger. “Gaffney's dead—almost one week to the day that piece of shit Travine went on the local news and declared he was ru
He takes another step. “I hate to break it to you, brother...but I think you might be in the wrong profession. Because either you can't pinpoint the right target...or your aim sucks.”
My fist slamming straight into his nose takes us both by surprise, mostly Jackson though, because he doesn't have the reaction speed to deflect it.
I can hear Tyrone yelling in the background when I throw another right hook, this time landing on his cheekbone.
A light bulb finally goes off inside him and he tries to shove me, but unfortunately for him, I've already had the upper hand...twice now; so he doesn't have a leg to stand on.
Especially when I haul him across the coffee table and wrap a hand around his throat. “I'm sorry, motherfucker. What were you saying?”
“I'm saying you're a killer,” Jackson spits. “It's what you do. You're a fucking mobster, a thug who should have already taken care of business.”
His words are like kindle fueling the fire and I can feel the dark beckoning me, even though some part of my brain that I haven't tapped into in a long time is fighting like hell to keep it at bay.
My grip around his throat tightens. “Talk about being in the wrong profession...because for someone who was supposed to be a professional MMA superstar, it looks like you just got your ass handed to you by a thug.”
I reach for my gun and I can hear Tyrone yelling and pleading at the top of his lungs in the background. “And isn't this the pot calling the kettle black, because last time I checked...you're a killer too.”
I laugh and it doesn't sound like me at all, but I can't focus on that because I have pure venom ru
“Oh that's right, me saying you're a killer probably hurts your little sissy feelings. Wouldn't want you to have another identity crisis.”
His eyes narrow and I dig the gun into his temple. “Just remember who saved your fucking life...twice, bitch. And I can take it all back in a heartbeat...so you better treat me like I'm your fucking God and kneel at my damn feet, because as far as you're concerned I am.”
I lift him by his neck and slam him down again. “And the next time you step to me and inquire about the way I handle business, you better be ready to put your big boy pants on, suit up, and handle it your damn self.”
He spits at me. “Go fuck yourself, DeLuca. I'd rather be a sissy who takes care of my girl...a girl who actually wants me. A girl who doesn't turn my stomach when I fuck her because she didn't spend her time sucking and fucking my dear ol' pop's dick first. And I don't owe you or your fucked up, murdering, warped, devil family shit. I paid my dues, remember?”
I cock my gun. “Say that shit about Lou-Lou one more time and I swear it will be the last thing you say before you leave this earth. Because there's a lot of shit I can say about your girl—like how we all know she's not as pure as you'd like to pretend she is. At least my girl kept her shit locked down to one man and didn't spread it around to more than half the guys in New York and the greater tri-state area. And last time I checked, you still owe us 6 years, 2 months, and 3 days. Don't make me collect.”
“Wow,” he says. And it's no longer the adrenaline ru
It's the look in his eyes telling me he doesn't trust me.
And why should he? I have him pi