Jackson Stiles, Road to Redemption (Road to Redemption #1)(36)

“Your guys kill him?”

No sense beating around the bush, right?

He laughs and takes a glance over toward the empty road he calls home. Like he’s thinking, he grabs his bottom lip with his teeth. When he looks back at me, straight in the eyes, he tells me without another word of explanation, “No.”

“Can I trust you on that?”

Dice grabs me by the collar and shoves me up against the car door as guy number three snuggles up to Green. Who, by the way, looks like she wishes she’d taken me up on that whole leaving thing. Only she can’t because her car is more than twenty yards away, and there’s no way she’s outrunning these guys in those heels.

At least, I’m assuming that’s her car. It’s the only one I see that doesn’t have spinning wheels and tinted windows.

“You questioning Thomas, *?” Dice double dares me to answer. I steel my temper and my focus.

“Sure f*cking sounds that way, Hoss.”

He pulls his gun out and points it directly at me while I push him off me and retrieve mine, pointing it at Thomas.

Green stomps on the third man’s toe with her heel. He hunches over and lets out one hell of a wail in pain, as she pulls her hand pistol out to point at that guy.

I gotta say, I’m impressed. Using a heel as a deadly weapon. Not bad.

“Calm down,” Thomas tells his lackeys, even-keeled.

I, however, am not so calm.

I keep the S&W trained on the big man in charge as I keep an eye on Dice, hoping Thomas doesn’t hold this shit against me.

Wishful f*cking thinking, dumbass.

“I’m gonna ask you again, Tom. Can I trust you on that?”

He nods. Slowly. “You can trust me on that, Jack. I’ve got no beef with Donnie. Or his brother.” He says that last part a little louder than I’d expect him to. Then he warns me, “Now, you come back here again and you better hope you’ve got an archangel on your shoulder. People don’t generally question my actions, much less twice in one day. You get me?”

His voice is cool and eerie, and if I’m being a hundred percent honest, it sends a chill up my spine. Not that I’m gonna let his sorry ass know that.

I pull the gun back and uncock it.

“You really believe in angels, Tom?” I ask him sincerely as I holster it away.

“Don’t you?” The way he looks at me makes me think the wrong answer could get me a bullet to the head. So I don’t give him one.

“I get you, Tom. Thanks for the info.”

I give Green a nod. “Get in.”

She points down the street at the Honda she came in. “But my car─”

“Get. In.”

Seriously? I need to f*cking tell her twice?

Her survival instinct kicks in, and she hurries to the other side of the car, pulls open the door, and slides in. I’m not even halfway down the street before I start grilling her.

“Do you have a death wish or something?” I glare over at Green, and her expression says it all. She’s shell-shocked.

Jimmy sits up in the back and checks behind us. “That was intense, man.”

“Well, if you hadn’t shown up all─” Green waves her hands around. I have no idea what the f*ck that’s supposed to mean.

“Your boyfriend know you’re playing house with Thomas Flint’s gang?”

“He is not my boyfriend.”

“That guy? Dice? Scary.” Jimmy’s still revisiting what just happened. I flash him a look through the rearview mirror that hopefully says shut the f*ck up and go back to sparring with Green.

“Then what is he?”

Why did I ask that? That’s not what I was gonna ask.

“He’s…” She can’t answer. Either because she doesn’t want to admit out loud that he’s her boyfriend, or she doesn’t know what they are yet.

I have no idea why I care either way.

“Did you see the size of his─”

“Shut up!” Green and I both tell the kid.

“Jeez.” He throws himself back into his seat with the emotion of a thirteen-year-old girl. The car goes quiet after that, allowing me a few minutes to think and calm down.

I don’t exactly wanna get back on the subject of the boyfriend, so I change the subject.

“Anyone teach you those survival tactics or was that a natural instinct kinda thing?”

“What?” For the first time, I notice she’s shaking. Maybe our run-in affected her more than she showed out there.

“Nothing,” I mumble. I take the opportunity I have to think about what just happened myself.

If Thomas didn’t have his guys do Donnie that means either someone from his crew did it out of order, the kid had an enemy, or it was the cops. My gut is telling me it’s the cops, but I don’t get why. Donnie was small time. Other than that murder he was wanted for, that is. Which brings me to my next point.

How does a kid with nothing but petty theft-and I do mean petty─and street racing on his record suddenly turn to murder?

I didn’t kill that guy.

His plea from the night I took him in echoes in the back of my mind. My stomach churns again at the thought of handing an innocent kid over to the slaughter house.

I am such a f*cking moron.

“Two questions.”