Jackson Stiles, Road to Redemption (Road to Redemption #1)(28)

Tricky paces with one arm tucked into the other as he chews on his thumbnail. A habit he’s had for as long as I can remember. It makes him come off like a jittery rabbit as opposed to a down to business bail-bondsman.

“I don’t think this is the best idea, Stiles.” I’m not even out of the damn car when he tells me he’s changed his mind.

“Relax.” He’s a little dramatic sometimes.

“No, I mean, guess who paid me a visit within five minutes of me getting off the phone with you.”

“Santa Claus?” I can’t help it sometimes.

“Very funny.”

“Okay, I give.” Now Stix is curious, as he gets out of the car.

“None other than the man himself.”

That gives me pause, as well as the kid.

“Thomas?”

“S’right. And he was askin’ questions, too.” He rubs his unshaven face with a rough hand and eyes Stix suspiciously.

Add paranoia on top of nervousness and you’ve got an unstable human being. Ricky’s teetering on the edge with this shit. And can I just add, that’s some damn coincidence, Thomas dropping by.

“About what?”

“Wantin’ to know if maybe I heard something about what happened to that Leary kid. Like a name, maybe.”

“But you haven’t, so…” No problemo. Am I right?

“I told him that, Stiles. But…” he leans in and whispers out of the side of his mouth. “He was suspicious.”

Ricky’s always been a look-over-your-shoulder kinda guy. I’ve always thought he was slightly off his rocker, good guy as he is. But something in my gut tells me to pay attention this time. Not that Stix would be in danger, necessarily, even if Thomas did run into him somewhere. Because, like I said, it’s not really his style to hold grudges against anyone but the person who did him wrong.

Let’s say it wasn’t Thomas who had Donnie offed. Maybe that person does hold grudges that extend outward from the offending person. Maybe Thomas is working with that person. Maybe he stands to make some money off of turning the kid in.

I’m not down with that.

I peek over at Stix. The kid looks like he’s gonna hurl.

I’m pretty much f*cked here. You know that, right?

I mean I can’t very well leave him here. Not with my spidey senses tingling and shit, and particularly not after I already made the mistake of leaving one Leary with the wrong people.

There really isn’t anywhere else to put him up. It’s not like my brother is keen on keeping runaways in his home. Not with a family he’s responsible for, anyway. And Green…

Jesus. I don’t even know why her name popped into my head like that. What in the ever loving hell is wrong with me today?

Ricky paces some more while he keeps watch, up and down the street, to make sure no one else is getting ready to give him a surprise visit.

Stix strides over to me and turns around so Ricky can’t hear him. “You’re not really gonna make me stay here, are you, Jackson?”

Me?

I take a deep breath and let it out, trying to find that calming spirit somewhere inside me.

Who am I kidding? There’s no calming f*cking anything inside me right now.

“No.” I grab the kid by the arm and lead him back to the car. “Later, Tricky.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he says in a hurry. “Good idea. I’m here for you, Stiles, you know that, but this is…”

“No worries, Trick. Just keep a lid on the intel, okay?” Not that I doubt he will, but it never hurts to reiterate that shit.

He nods and waves and wrings his hands as I drive off with the kid in tow. Still.

One night.

I can deal with one night.





I GIVE


IT’S A LONG RIDE back to my place.

My fingers itch for a smoke. Who the f*ck am I kidding? It’s the lungs. It’s always the lungs. They ache for it. My head itches for something else. Something that will explain to me how and why I’m continuing to dig myself into a hole I might not be able to get out of.

I don’t need a smoke.

I don’t need a smoke.

Dammit. I need a smoke.

It occurs to me that I could easily put this kid up in some cheap ass motel somewhere, buy him a bus ticket even, and be done with this shit.

It also occurs to me, though, that whenever I pull a Pontius Pilate, bad things happen.

Go the f*ck home, Mikey.

See ya, kid.

I don’t know if my conscience could handle another death on my hands this week. Year. Decade. Whatever.

Temporary roommate it is.

“Dude, this place is a shit hole.” Stix laughs. I however, am not finding that shit funny.

“Is that a thank you?” I will put his ass out, swear to God, if he keeps it up. “’Cause I’m pretty f*cking sure you don’t have any other options right now.”

Neither do I.

“Sorry.” He says it in that way only a teenager can. You know the one that makes you think they aren’t f*cking sorry at all.

“Jeez.” He’s out of breath. “Why the top floor?” I’m guessing he isn’t big on the whole exercise scene if he can’t even handle three flights of stairs.

“Maybe you’d rather sleep in the gutter down by the precinct?” It’s always good to remind them of their options.