Shattered Dreams (Boys of Bellerose, #3)(74)

“Agree to disagree,” Rhett muttered, but he continued to stitch Grayson’s flesh, nonetheless.

“What happened?” I asked, shaking my head. “How did you get shot? Who did it? Why?”

Grayson grimaced in pain, and Jace indicated for me to sit in the little chair at the corner of the room while he stood.

“Giovanni is pushing drugs through our concerts,” Jace announced. “Gray stumbled over the evidence and got shot for it. I can only assume the guy who fired the gun didn’t realize who he was as that would really mess up the tour—and Giovanni’s plans.”

Rhett scoffed. “He’d probably just replace Gray with some other Ricci who conveniently plays the drums.”

My jaw dropped. “Wait, do we think Angelo has something to do with this?”

None of the guys answered immediately, and my stomach flipped with anxiety.

“No…” Jace finally said with a sigh. He ran a hand over his hair, looking tired. “I don’t think so. But we also think he might not see it as an issue.”

“I’m kind of on his side on this, then,” Rhett commented. “Drugs get sold at concerts. We know this; we’ve benefited from it ourselves and never given two shits who is doing the selling… Why do we care now?”

Jace scowled. “This isn’t the same thing.”

“Isn’t it?” Rhett straightened up, giving Grayson a break. “If we’re talking about those bags you had earlier, Gray, then I can verify the quality of product is perfectly fine. It’s not some shady, back-alley crap cut with who fucking knows what, if that’s our concern.”

“That’s not the point, Rhett. If Giovanni is—”

“Bro, chill. I get it. You hate the thought that the Riccis are using us to push their drugs into countries they’d normally be locked out of, but I just want to be clear about what we’re actually worried about. And I don’t think it's the drugs.” Rhett shrugged, and I had to agree with him. It wasn’t like the band itself was clean and sober, let alone their concerts.

Jace was fuming with outrage, though. “You really think Giovanni’s goons care who they’re selling to? I guarantee they don’t give a shit how old the buyer is so long as they have cash. They could be selling drugs to kids, Rhett.”

“Which is disgusting and sad as fuck, but don’t sit up there on your podium and act like any other random drug dealer distributing at our show gives a fuck how old the buyers are either. You and I both bought drugs before we were eighteen, so cut the sanctimonious crap. You’re pissed that we’re being used, and that’s valid. I am too.”

“Agreed,” Grayson rumbled. “So what do we do about it? Because their product and cash are being moved in Bellerose equipment cases, on Bellerose trucks. How many people will actually believe we had nothing to do with this? At minimum we get accused of being accessory to the crime but at worst…” He trailed off with a grimace.

“That would mean you guys would get criminal charges,” I said quietly, wrapping my arms around myself. “We need to tell Angelo.”

“I’d rather not,” Grayson muttered. “He’s still a Ricci.”

“Exactly,” I shot back, frowning. “If anyone can fix this, it’s him. And don’t bullshit me by saying he’d pick his family over us; we all know that’s not true.”

Rhett and Jace exchanged a silent, loaded look. Then Rhett shook his head. “I still don’t fully trust him, Thorn. Would he sell you out? No way in hell. The rest of us might be fair game, though.”

“Bullshit,” I spat. “I know him. So do you, Jace. And right now… with all of this?” I gestured to Grayson’s freaking gunshot wound that Rhett had just finished stitching closed. “We’re in over our heads. We need Angelo, and Vee too, for that matter. This is mafia shit; let the mafia heirs handle it.”

None of them responded. Then Jace sighed and headed for the door. “I’ll wake them up,” he said as he exited, leaving me alone with Rhett and Gray.

Tension vibrated through me, and words built up in my throat, desperate to be released as I met Grayson’s pained gaze.

“Rhett, can I have a minute alone with Gray?” I whispered, not tearing my eyes away from the wounded drummer.

Rhett quickly wiped up all the excess blood around his neat stitching, then peeled off his latex gloves. “Sure thing. I’ll go sort out some room service.”

He left the room, and suddenly the silence grew oppressive and heavy.

“Gray…” I sighed, moving over to kneel on the carpet beside where he lay. “We didn’t finish our conversation earlier, and I can’t keep going like this, with this big fucking question mark hanging over us. You could have died tonight, and the damn truth”—and my heart—“would have died with you. Things are getting crazy, and I need to know what happened that night. Save the details for another day; just tell me the key points. Please?”

He knew perfectly well what I was talking about. Not the drugs nor the bullet hole in his muscular flesh. I wanted to know about my parents.

“I didn’t kill them, Billie,” he told me without hesitation, and the relief those words brought me was enough to make tears roll. “I’m sorry, Prickles; I wish I’d connected the dots sooner. But I swear to you they were already dead when I got there. My uncle placed a hit on your mom, but he wasn’t the only person she’d double-crossed. Someone else had gotten there before me, so I walked away and let my family assume we had completed the job.”