Cristov pushed James into the backseat as Mina unbuckled herself and slid over into the passenger seat. All the doors seemed to slam at once. Mina turned, faced the man with the gun in his side.
"James Whitley?" she said, buckling her seatbelt again as Kennick turned out onto the street.
"That's him," Cristov answered for him. "Just face forward, Mina."
"I have another question for you," she said, ignoring Cristov, ignoring Kennick's puzzled look as he turned to her.
"Tired of doing whatever you weirdos say," James grumbled.
"Too bad," Mina spat back. "Where's Curly Gottlieb?"
Kennick slammed on the brakes, forcing everyone in the car to lurch forward. Cristov nearly lost his grip on the gun.
"What the fuck are you asking that for?" Kennick barked, glaring at his sister.
"I keep my word, too, Kennick," she said, affording him only the slightest glance. "Damon gave us this fucker, but only if I gave him Curly."
"Develesko mush," Cristov groaned, exasperated, and Mina noticed how his knuckles whitened around the handle of gun. "That motherfucker … "
"Where is Curly Gottlieb," Mina repeated, staring straight at James Whitley.
"I don't tell little girls nothing," he spat, a repulsive smirk on his face. "Fuck, I've had enough for one day without having to answer to some little bitch."
Cristov didn't hesitate a minute. The butt of his gun met the tender spot right on James' knee, slammed down hard. James' howl filled the car.
"Don't call my sister a bitch," Cristov hissed. He looked at Mina, shook his head slowly, and sighed. She wasn't going to let this go. He hated his family sometimes. Not a damn one of them knew how to let things go, even when those things were a sure and sturdy poison. "And answer her question."
"Goddammit," James said, tears at the corners of his eyes, his hands curled around his knee, rocking back and forth slightly. Kennick was driving again. "He lives at some fuckin' low-income shithole called Coral Manor. Fuckin' dirty little immigrant hovel, alright? Fuck!"
"That was easy, wasn't it?" Mina asked, turning in her seat to face the road ahead. Kennick looked at her, studying his sister. It was as though, for the first time, he realized how much she no longer fit the description of "kid sister". She looked back at him, smiled. That smile took every inch of woman away from her, turning her back into the pre-teen who cried about braces. He turned back to the road, made for the highway that would lead them to the hotel. He didn't have time, now, to ruminate on how time passed and people changed.
He realized, all too well, just what he and Cristov were getting into.
They might not ever get out of it.
Roper had taken the bait, which was good. He'd given James an address to meet at, expecting to see a wounded Damon, all gift-wrapped and ready to be killed. At least, that's the best that Kennick and Cristov could hope for. That was the best case scenario.
The worst case scenario was that Roper was onto them, somehow, and luring them into a trap. Based on the number of cuts they'd seen at the fight, Cristov and Kennick knew they were outnumbered by at least eight men. Seven, if they could get Jenner a gun. But they didn't want to have to shoot anyone. If they did things right, there'd be no blood – at least, not until they were far down the road.
Before dropping Mina off, Kennick took the gun back from her and slipped it into the glove compartment. To make room for it, he had to readjust the other items in there. Items that made James Whitley's eyes widen, made him lean forward in his seat until Cristov pushed him back, roughly.
"Where'd you get all that?" James stuttered, still looking at the glove compartment even after Kennick had snapped it closed.
"Miami's a real playground, isn't it?" Cristov hissed.
When they pulled away from the hotel, Kennick saw, in the side-view mirror, Mina pull out her phone and press it to her ear.
The address Rig had given was twenty minutes from the hotel, and they passed the time in silence. Cristov kept his eyes hard on James. Kennick knew that Cristov had the most at risk; Kennick would leave a wife behind if things went sour. That alone was enough to make him want to turn the car around and book it back to safety. Cristov – he may not have a wife, but he had something much more important to live for. Hell, Kennick almost wanted to turn the car around for Cristov's sake.
But if they did that, it would never end.
And they needed it to end.
Before they led the bikers back to Kingdom, where it would only be worse, where more lives would be in danger. It was Kennick's duty to keep his people safe. Of all the responsibilities of a rom baro, that was the most important, the one that could never be forgotten or ignored.
"When do you want to make the call?" Cristov asked from the backseat. The GPS told them they were close.
"Soon," Kennick said, glancing at his brother in the backseat. "Soon."
"Te avel mange bakht drago mange wi te avav po gunoy," Damon said, absently: all we need is good luck. With luck I would not even mind sitting on a dunghill.
Kennick glanced back at his brother in the rearview. We need more than luck today, prala, he thought.
40
"Can we talk about this now?" Kim said, sitting on the bed in Ricky and Cristov's room. Ricky turned away from the window, where she'd been peering out, anxious for her man to return.
"Now? Our boys are out there, probably doing something very fucking stupid, and you want to talk about why I didn't tell you the minute I found out I was preggo?"
"I don't care that you didn't tell me the minute you found out," Kim said. "I do care that you're not married, you've only been dating Cristov for like … ten months, and you're … you're … "
"I'm what?" Ricky asked, putting her hands on her hips. "A drunk? Because I haven't touched a drop in seven months, and you know that."
"No," Kim said, brow furrowed, shaking her head. "You're … "
"Irresponsible? Sloppy? Immature? God, you sound like Mom," Ricky said, turning back to the window. Kim watched her sister, her slender body not yet showing the baby inside it.
"It's none of those things either … well, I mean, you are kind of messy … and you do eat potato chips for dinner most of the time … "
"I wouldn't feed my kid potato chips for dinner," Ricky sneered, looking over her shoulder. "I'd make them a nice, wholesome meal and save the chips for myself. And, by the way, you knew Kennick for how many months before you married him? Five? Six? And since when do you need a paper from the government to say that you're in love? That's pretty damn traditional thinking for someone who's supposed to be a progressive mayor."
"How are you going to pay for all the baby things, who's going to take care of it, are you going to quit your job? You could be editor next year, but not if you're going to be on maternity leave!"
"Do you think I haven't thought of all that? Cristov makes his own schedule at the tattoo parlor, he can be a stay-at-home dad while I'm at work. And we make plenty, combined. And I really don't think any kid in the kumpania is allowed to go around in dirty diapers, anyway. You know there's like a million old people there who love bouncing babies on their knees."
Kim was silent for a long moment.
"I know," she finally said, and Ricky realized from the wet sound in Kim's voice that she was on the verge of tears. "It's just … you're my baby sister, Ricky! My baby sister is having a baby!"
Ricky melted, looking at her sister. She walked from the window, sat beside Kim on the bed, took her hand.
"I know," she said, and smiled. "Isn't it wonderful? You're going to be an aunt, Kimmy."
Kim shook her head, but a smile slowly spread across her face. She wiped at her wet cheeks with the back of her hand.
"Aunt Kimmy," she said, as though trying it on for size. The smile grew, and a light came into Kim's eyes, as though realizing for the first time what Cristov had revealed in the hospital room. "Ricky, you're having a baby!"
Ricky laughed, pulled her sister in and squeezed her tight.
"Mom's gonna kill you, though," Kim said, now joining in Ricky's infectious laughter.
"Are you kidding me?" Ricky said with a smile. "I'm not telling her until the kid goes to college."
Kim pulled away, still laughing and wiping at her cheeks.
"You really think a kid raised by you and Cristov is going to college?" she teased. "That baby is going to end up touring the world with a rock band, or living in Bogota raising alpacas."
"As long as it's happy," Ricky said, smiling down at her still-flat stomach.