Total pages in book: 150
Estimated words: 136791 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 684(@200wpm)___ 547(@250wpm)___ 456(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 136791 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 684(@200wpm)___ 547(@250wpm)___ 456(@300wpm)
"Guess he didn't get the memo about keeping the peace," I mutter, looking over to see Quan's son playing in the sand beneath the swings. He's pushing it into a big pile like he's trying to build a sandcastle, but it'll never hold. The sand is too fine for that. I know because Titan and I tried like hell to build a sandcastle in that shit one year. As soon as we'd finish one wall, another would crumble apart. Titan eventually got pissed and kicked the whole thing down.
"What's he got on you, Quan? You and I both know you'd never follow his ass unless you stood to lose something important."
"My son," he says after a minute, his jaw tight. He rubs a hand down his chin. "His mom dropped him off with me when he was six weeks old and never came back. Found out a few months later that he's not my kid."
"He's Kaleo's?" I ask.
Quan nods, his lips compressed into a grim line. "He knows Isaiah is his but has no interest in raising him."
"Unless you step out of line," I guess, putting the pieces together. "Fuck."
"Some things are worth putting up with all the bullshit, Kincaid," Quan tells me, his eyes on his boy. "Isaiah may be his by blood, but he's my son. Keeping him out of Kaleo's hands is worth it."
I can't say he's wrong. If it were my kid, I'd make the same choice. The last thing that kid needs is Kaleo trying to step in and play daddy. Doesn't make the situation any easier to swallow, though, because I can't count on Quan to help me bring Kaleo down. I can't even count on him not to get in my way. He stands to lose too much by siding with me. I can't ask him to take that risk when I could fail.
"You know he's pimping out girls?" I ask him anyway, hoping like hell he's willing to give me this much.
He jerks his head in a nod, anger flaring in his expression. "Don't agree with it, but I'm doing what I gotta do to keep my family safe. Don't ask me for help you know I can't give you."
"I won't, but word to the wise…I'm doing what I gotta do to keep mine safe, too. He came after January. I'm not going to let that stand. If you're riding with him when we come knocking, I'll take you down with him. Won't enjoy it, but it is what it is."
"I get it," Quan says, and I know he does. Maybe better than anyone. "He knows what you did."
"I know," I tell him and then shrug. "Like you said, some shit is worth it. If fighting for January is how the truth comes to light, I'll live with it."
"I always hoped you'd come back for that girl. Think she's always hoped you would, too. Take care of her, Kincaid," he says, then clasps my forearm. "She's been through enough."
"I know," I whisper.
"I hope like hell you come out on top of this one, brother. Good luck."
"Thanks, brother." I watch him jog back across the park to his son, and then I climb back on my bike. For a long minute, I just sit there, not sure what to do now. The last thing I want to do is go back to Ma Lucia's when I know damn well January is right next door, expecting answers I'm too fucking afraid to give her.
There's not much I'm scared of anymore, but looking in those emerald eyes while she realizes she should have hated me all along? That thought terrifies me as much now as it did back then.
Eventually, I decided to go check on Tristan and his wife. After checking on them, I spend the next three hours running around Los Angeles with Roman, helping him look for the DEA agent who helped kidnap Tristan's wife. By the time I get back to Ma Lucia's, it's almost ten, we still haven't found that son of a bitch, and I'm dreading spending the night alone. The last two nights were bad enough. I didn't sleep at all.
"What the fuck?" I growl when I pull up outside the house and see the front door to Ma Lucia's cracked open. January's car isn't at her place, and the lights are all off. It doesn't look like she's been home at all since she left this morning. I park my bike on the curb down the street and contemplate calling for backup before clearing the house but decide against it. I don't want to wait that long.
Pulling my Glock out of my saddlebag, I creep toward the house, keeping to the shadows. With most of the streetlights still out on the block, disappearing into the dark isn't hard. I strain to hear any movement coming from inside, but there's nothing.