Jackson Stiles, Road to Redemption (Road to Redemption #1)(35)

I roll my eyes anyway because, if there’s one thing I can’t stand, it’s a *.

And I am not a f*cking *.

“I know the guy. And like I said, I need a f*cking word.” The Smith & Wesson is out in full view now. I point it at his stupid-looking head before he’s able to get his pointed at yours truly.

Do I know Thomas?

More like knew him. Once. Like in middle school. When kids were still semi-innocent from their elementary school days but getting ready to grow into mutants their parents barely recognize.

There was a group of us who decided to stretch our inner rebels and practice pissing our parents off by trespassing on the local recreational facilities one night after dark. We weren’t very good at it back then.

Long story short, the police came, my dad included; I got off easy because of my family connections. Thomas didn’t.

He pretty much hated my guts, and every other part of me, after that. His disdain for me grew throughout middle school and into high school when I took some ROTC classes with Nick, and Thomas leaned more toward the natural herb growing business.

Otherwise known as pot.

Typical kid stuff.

“I don’t want any trouble.” I’m calm. Collected. That’s how I roll. And he backs off slowly, then heads toward the building behind him.

I let some air out that got caught in the back of my throat there for a minute and pray to whoever the hell is listening that this guy actually gets me Tom and not his right-hand man, Dice. Otherwise, this could turn ugly.

He might still be pissed at me for the finger he lost about two years ago.

Long story.

Not my fault.

Honest.

Okay, maybe it was a little my fault.

“What the hell are you doing, dude?” Jimmy whisper-shouts from under his blanket in the back seat. I’d nearly forgotten he was even there. “Have you lost your mind? Pointing a gun at Flint’s peeps is like suicide.”

To say the least.

“Stay low, stay quiet, and we’ll be outta here before you can say─”

“Who’s this?”

SHIT.

I turn, aim, and cock my gun at our new visitor before I can register who it is. Who she is. Green. Standing at my f*cking window. Air rushes out of me, thankful it’s not Thomas or anyone else who might be coming out of the abandoned warehouse I’ve parked near.

Green’s face drains of the color she painted on this morning, and I pull back on the shooting instinct. A little bit.

“I’m…” I put a hand up to silence Jimmy and his big mouth. The less she knows, the better.

“This is none of your business, Green. And what in the hell are you doing here?”

She looks back over her shoulder to see if her contact is still there. He is. And he’s watching us, closely.

“Investigating,” she says simply when she turns back to me.

“This is a stupid place to start.”

She cocks her head toward me. “You’re here.”

“Yeah, well, I’m an idiot.”

She lets out a small laugh and lifts a shoulder. “You wouldn’t help me. What’s a girl supposed to do?”

“Go back to her day job. Live a little longer?”

“That’s no fun.” She thinks playing advocate to gang bangers is a game. This woman. Swear to f*cking God.

“You really should go.”

“Don’t tell me what to do, Stiles.” She’s serious now. Like I’ve offended her by trying to be chivalrous and shit.

Won’t make that mistake again.

“Or maybe I will.”

“What?”

I swing the door open and push Green to the side as Thomas and Dice approach us. And man, they do not look happy to see me.

“I will cut you, motherf*cker!” Dice always has been a bit on the dramatic side. He makes his way past Thomas, but lucky for me, the big guy isn’t in a playful kinda mood today. He puts a hand on Dice to stop him but doesn’t take his eyes off yours truly.

My stare shifts to Dice, who’s now interested in Green, which is why I told her to f*cking leave in the first place. You don’t wanna catch the attention of these guys. Trust me.

“Good to see you, Dice,” I tell him in an effort to pull his glare away from her and, hopefully, from the back of my car, too.

“What do you need, Jack?” Thomas is ready to get to the point. I can’t blame the guy. He’s got a lot on his plate.

Selling drugs. Killing enemies.

Tough life.

It’s not my first choice, doing this with Green here. Who knows what information she’ll twist into a front page story for The Chronicle. I don’t exactly have any other options though. It’s now or never.

“I wanted to ask you about Donnie Leary.” I throw his name out there because a) I need to see how he reacts to it, and b) I don’t wanna be here any longer than I have to. The problem is, when Green’s previous interviewee hears that name, he starts heading over to join the powwow.

Not good.

That’s three against two. Well, one and a half really.

Dice pulls out his smartphone and texts somebody. It’s official. I don’t have much time.

“What about him?” Thomas looks intrigued enough to not blow my brains out. Which is a good thing. I think.