Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 109245 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 546(@200wpm)___ 437(@250wpm)___ 364(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109245 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 546(@200wpm)___ 437(@250wpm)___ 364(@300wpm)
“That’s your fuckin’ question? What…? What the hell, G? Why would they say you were dead when you’re not? And you’re…You’re telling me you’re blind now. Like, completely can’t see. You gotta help me out here. Because you’re not the same guy I used to know. You’re…different.”
Gage’s heart clenched.
“My parents?”
Roz sighed before he said softly.
“Your mom looked bad, bro. Real bad. And your dad—” Roz cleared his throat. “He tried to hold it together. Tried.”
A tortured sound escaped him.
“Was my funeral at our church?”
“Yeah. It looked like the whole congregation showed up, even the ones who left when you got arrested. They all really came through for your parents.”
Pain ripped through Gage’s heart.
His parents. His good, kind, almost perfect parents.
The two people he was supposed to honor and respect.
The two people who’d prayed for him every day and night.
The two people he’d shamed.
He was supposed to care for them when they got older, not break them. Not bury them in grief or make them spend three-quarters of their savings on lawyer fees to keep him from doing ten years in prison.
Air whooshed across his forehead.
He shot his hand out and grabbed Roz’s wrist and slung it away from his face with a strength that startled both of them.
“I told you to stop doing that,” he gritted.
“Fuck…my bad,” Roz muttered. “It’s just…You’re doing it again. It looks like you’re staring right at me.”
“Well, I’m not,” Gage snapped. “I can’t see. Of all the things in the world to lie about, you think I’d choose that?”
“Then how’d you know I was waving my hand in front of you?”
“’Cause you’re fanning my danggone face!”
“Okay. Then how’d you know that motorcycle was coming into my lane?” Roz threw back. “Or those railroad crossing lights were about to come on? You warned me that the skateboarder was going too fast and was about to cross in front of me, and I didn’t even see him. And when that sedan door opened in the highway median, you jerked like you thought it was gonna’ hit—”
“I don’t know!” Gage roared. He gripped his forehead and lowered his tone. He was terrified, but none of this was Roz’s fault. “I don’t know, okay?”
Roz breathed out so hard his espresso-scented breath warmed Gage’s cheek.
“You gotta level with me. I’m lookin’ at you, and you sorta look like my boy, but you don’t act like him. You sure as hell don’t sound like him. You’re yellin’ and throwin’ attitude.” Roz paused before he added, “Jail always changes people, but not that fast. Something happened to you, and I wanna know what. No more stallin’, bro. No more bullshit.”
Gage understood.
He was the only person who knew about the strict religious life he’d been raised in. The only one who’d understood his curiosity to indulge in rebellion every now and then, and the desperation he felt not to be perfect all the time.
If Gage didn’t tell Roz the truth—or something close to it—he’d lose his trust. Their entire relationship was built on honesty. And it wasn’t one-sided. He also knew the side of Roz that the Hustlers never got to see…couldn’t see without judging him.
He bowed his head and whispered, “I’ll tell you.”
“Good. Let’s go inside. I think I’mma’ need a drink to hear whatever the hell this story is.”
Black Ravens
Meridian
Meridian sat loosely in his leather seat as his stealth hawk helicopter ate up miles of wintry Chicago sky.
The pilot began to drop below the gray smear of clouds, low enough for him to see the snow-dusted rooftops.
Across from him, Ex was rolling a .50 caliber bullet back and forth across his knuckles, looking bored as hell.
Beside him, Grace sat like carved stone, with one brown, snakeskin boot resting over his opposite knee. Mirage occupied the space at his partner’s side, hood up, knee touching Grace’s.
Every now and then, Grace tipped his head in Mirage’s direction, his lips barely moving in some form of hushed communication.
Behind the four of them, their joint field teams filled the bay, double-checking gear and readying weapons and coms devices.
“All right, brothers,” Meridian said, his voice low and a little annoyed. “Let’s not waste too much time on this.”
All eyes were on him.
“We’ve got real situations on the board,” he counted off. “Arms routes to shut down, insurgent cells, trafficking syndicates, world threats that actually fuckin’ matter.”
Grace nodded.
“But we can’t move on any of it until we drag the Whites outta whatever hole they’re hiding in and teach them which way to point their rage. So this”—he flicked two fingers toward the Chicago South Side grid on the large flatscreen—“needs to be quick and mean.”
Rory’s voice was crystal clear through their Hart Communicator comms pieces.
“Intel confirms this chapter of the South Side Kings has been running fentanyl, meth, and guns. They’re associated with over a dozen shootings that’s resulted in multiple deaths, including nineteen bystanders and six minors—terrorizing their own neighborhood.”