“Come in, honey. We can hear you lurking out there.”
He closed his eyes and shook his head. “Not lurking, Mom. Just trying to figure out how to grab a Coke from the fridge without interrupting.”
“Don’t tell me that, of all your mad skills, you’re not a certified ninja, too,” Grace said with mock disgust.
“I’ll make it a bullet point on my five-year plan. ‘Become a certified ninja.’” He walked into the kitchen and went straight for the fridge to grab his soda. The oven timer pinged.
“Grab that while you’re there?” Darcy asked. She sighed, propping her chin in her hand. “Seems it was only yesterday I was cooking this very meal just to make sure you came home at night.”
Justin nearly dropped the pie plate when Grace asked, “Where would he have been that he would have possibly missed this?”
Silence hung in the room and thickened the atmosphere.
Grace set her teacup down, her brows drawing together. “Justin?”
“You’ll excuse me for a moment.” Darcy pushed away from the table and hurried from the kitchen.
This wasn’t remotely close to how he’d envisioned having this conversation, but he couldn’t avoid it any longer. Unbuttoning his shirt, he shrugged out of the left sleeve. The elaborate tattoo that banded his biceps felt tighter than a manacle. Illusion, he thought. It had been the same way the first three or four years after he’d cut himself off from Deuce-8.
“This?” He traced a finger along the outside center of the design.
“I’ve seen it.”
“Right.” He took a generous sip of his soda before setting the can back down and spinning it slowly around in the ring of condensation. “I...” He cleared his throat and forced himself to meet her steady gaze. “Grace, I was in Deuce-8 for almost five years.” The way the blood left her face made him rush to explain. “Three weeks shy of my sixteenth birthday, a guy offered me a hundred bucks to deliver a note to someone a few blocks away. That’s how it started. Small stuff.”
“Why?” The quiet question held no judgment but a world of confusion.
“My dad was killed in military service and we were desperate for money. I’d take the money and slip an extra five or ten into my mom’s wallet, put gas in the car, buy groceries and sneak them into the house. I thought it bought protection for my family.” He tunneled his fingers through his hair, pulling until it hurt. “I got in way over my head, but I got out. I’ve been free from that lifestyle for a little over a decade. The minute I got my first legit paycheck, I had my rank covered up.” He took her hand and traced her fingers over his ink. “I wanted a clean break. I needed it. I’d never have made it to twenty-one if I hadn’t gotten out when I did.”
She followed the intricate design around his biceps. “What did you do for them?”
“I started as a courier and ended as an enforcer.”
“Did you ever kill anyone?”
Closing his eyes, he fought to center his emotions and control the moment that threatened to overwhelm him. “I did. Yes.” He risked a glance at her.
Her face had blanched. She tried to pick her teacup up but her hands shook so badly she only spilled the tepid contents all over the table. “I-I’m sorry.”