Rogue (Real #4)(83)

“So I did do this?”

So I destroyed my place. Great.

I’m so f*cking proud of myself.

“Hell, it could be worse. Bro, you’re a f*cking legend, the king of the Underground, rich as f*ck . . .”

“My mother is dead. My mother is dead and my girl is . . .”

I can’t say it. My heart rips open at the thought of her. I put my head in my hands.

“I’m sorry, Z. I’m f*cking sorry we didn’t reach her in time.”

“She was coming back to me, C.C. She was coming back to me even with this . . .” I spread my arms out and look around at the mess I look like—I finally look the part of the criminal I was born to be. “I may be revered in our own little dark world, but out there I’m shit. Out there there’s something very wrong with us, C.C. And a girl like her can do much, much better than me. And she was coming. Back. To me.”

He’s silent.

I start picking up my knives from where they lay scattered all over. “If I’m doing this, C.C., if the Underground is mine to deal with . . . things are going to change.”

“What do I do about Wyatt?”

“Jail him. Pin everything wrong there is with the Underground and my father on him. We start with a clean slate.” I look at him. “C.C., I want to be the man she wants. The man she needs. The man I could be.”

“Z, she may never wake up. She could stay like this for months until her family decides it’s time to turn off the artificial . . .”

I grab him by the shirt and warn, “Don’t f*cking finish that sentence!”

C.C. quiets, and I start putting all my weapons aside.

“Grey, the Underground will f*cking thrive with you. Your father was weighing it down. You can take it to another level. You can give our fighters more, our clients more.”

“I’ll take care of things. I’ll take care of things like I always do, but not now. Not now. I can’t now.” I start packing some stuff.

“Dude, where are you going to sleep?”

“For now, at the hospital.”

He signals to the box, my mother’s box, on my bed.

“Aren’t you going to open it before you leave?”

It’s a steel box, rather large. I stare at it for a long time, haunted by the sight of it. I rub the top and wish I could talk to her. I’m sorry I failed you. I’m so f*cking sorry I failed you.

I failed proving to her that I could be good and tempered when I shot a man. I failed finding her in time. I became the thing she had been running away from for as long as I can remember. She died thinking I was a killer and probably never wanted to see her. She died thinking me a criminal just like the man she hated, my father. The reason I lost my mother is the same reason I lost the woman I loved. The Underground.

C.C. leaves, and I fist my hand around the key and eye the slot. The box is old, larger than a shoe box, made of steel.

“Fuck this.” I force myself to shove the key into the slot and crack it open. I peel open the lid, and it’s heavy, creaking. Then I stare inside. There’s a pendant with a diamond I remember her wearing. So simple. The scent of her lingers somehow. I pull out a set of pictures of me. Age fifteen? Check. Age eighteen? Check. Age twenty? Check. In all of them, I’m training with my knives or at a shooting range—unaware of the camera. Fuck me. What a way to say hello to your mother.

Next I find a bundle of letters tied in a white sash. Hand delivered, maybe. No addresses. Just her name on them. I open all three and immediately recognize my father’s handwriting.

Lana,

I’ve been told you’ve been uncooperative as of late. Let me assure you how cooperative I will personally be if you stop trying to leave the island . . .

J

Lana,

He’s doing well. How else would you expect a son of mine to do? He thrives under pressure and he’s thriving now. If you mean to ask me if he’s been asking about you? He has. I’ve assured him you’re all right. Don’t make me a liar.

I cannot guarantee I’ll let you see him and risk all the work I’ve done so far, but it’s in both his and your best interests that you get on my good side.

J

P.S. There’s a cook on the island for a reason. Eat.

Lana,

As you requested, it’s at the Waterfront. The deal was this for your cooperation; it will be gone in an instant if you ever defy me or my wishes again.

J

Motherf*cker. Even with keeping her locked up, he still wanted her to accept her fate without quarrel? I’m gritting my teeth as I go to pull out the rest of the box’s contents.

And a set of keys falls out and to the ground. I’m about to bend down and grab them when I see, at the bottom of the box, another letter.

And this one’s addressed to me.

To my son, Greyson,

I remember you. Every day I wonder what you’re doing and how you’ve grown. I ask for pictures, and as you can see I’ve gotten quite a few. You’re as handsome as I imagined you’d grow up to be. I look at these, wishing all your inner strength will be able to stand living with a man as hard as your father. But I try pretending that you’re all right. I try remembering how strong you are, how resilient, and I tell myself, one day you’ll outgrow your father and then you’ll be unstoppable. You will make yourself to be exactly what you want.