“Sierra,” I whisper in her ear, gently shaking her shoulders. “Wake up, baby.”
I place my hand over her mouth when her eyes blink open, cautioning her to keep quiet.
Heavy feet thud down the stairs as I stand, pulling Sierra with me, keeping her shielded behind me, and raise my weapon.
A skinny man with long dark hair pulled back in a ponytail appears in front of us. His brow puckers as he drinks us in, rubbing his scraggly beard. I peer at him more closely, a grin spreading across my face as I recognize him. “Pillow?” I exclaim, stepping forward, taking Sierra with me but keeping her firmly behind my back.
He startles, staring at me in confusion for a few seconds before a light goes off in his eyes.
“Benny? Benny Carver?” He guffaws. “Or it’s Mazzone now, I hear.” He looks at our guns. “Don’t be pointing those weapons at me, boys.”
I nod at the guys, and they put their guns down the same time I slide mine in the band of my black slacks. I pull Sierra to my side, taking her hand in mine. “It’s good to see you, old man, though I hardly recognized you.” I turn to my friends. “Pillow here used to carry a lot more meat, especially around his middle. The guys loved teasing him he was soft and cuddly like a pillow.”
“Motherfucking assholes can’t call me that now,” Pillow says, reaching forward and clasping me in a hug. “It’s good to see you, Benny boy.” He claps me on the back. “Terry was very proud of all you’ve accomplished.”
“I didn’t see you at the funeral,” I say.
“I was out of the country at the time. Terrible business, that.” He shakes his head, sighing heavily.
“I didn’t even know he was sick. I hadn’t kept in regular contact with him those past few years when I should have.”
Confusion, mixed with concern, crosses his face. “Terry wasn’t sick, boy. I thought you knew that.”
“What do you mean?”
“Why don’t I tell you when we get in the van. I assume you need a lift someplace?”
“The airport,” I say, quickly introducing the others.
“Did you spot anyone lurking around outside?” I ask, as we climb the steps back into the warehouse.
“If you mean those ugly Russian fuckers, we took care of that problem for you.” He tosses a grin over his shoulder. “The guys are cleaning up as we speak.”
I don’t ask for specifics because I don’t trust Pillow not to give us the warts and all account, and Sierra doesn’t need to hear that. She’s been traumatized enough today, even if she appears to be holding it together fine.
“I owe you,” I say, hauling myself into the back of the large white van behind Sierra. It’s parked right outside the warehouse, facing the other way, blocking the view from anyone who might be looking. Nightfall is creeping in, and it’s dusky out. Alessandro takes shotgun while Pillow slides behind the wheel. I keep my arm around Sierra on the hard wooden bench, sitting up close to the front seats so I can talk to Pillow as we drive toward the airport. Leo claims a seat on the bench across from us.
“You’re family, Benny boy. You don’t owe us anything.”
“All the same,” I say, handing him my business card. “If you or any of the MC ever need my help, you only have to ask.”
“Appreciate it, man.” He tucks it into a pocket in his leather cut.
“Did you happen to hear anything about an SUV accident just outside town?” I ask, wondering what happened to my soldiers.
“They were your guys?” Pillow eyeballs me through the mirror. I nod. “I heard two are dead and two have been taken to the hospital.”
“Shit,” Leo mutters, already tapping away on his cell. “I’ll handle it,” he adds.
“What was it you want to tell me about Terry?” I ask Pillow, holding Sierra close as we shuffle back and forth over bumpy terrain.
“We’re among friends here, I assume,” he says, looking at me through the mirror.
“Of course. You can speak freely.”
“I expected you would know, but it’s obvious you don’t. Terry was a made man, Benny. He was a soldier for The Outfit and our main point of contact for years. We sell guns and drugs on their behalf.”
That revelation almost knocks me over. I had no idea. Maybe if I had visited him after I left, after I became involved in this world, it would have been noticeable or he would have confided in me, but I had no clue. “I didn’t know. He never told me.”
“He wasn’t sick, Benny. Someone wanted Terry taken out, and we believe it was The Outfit.”
Shock races through me. “Why would they want to take out one of their own? What had he done?” I know the reasons why soldiers are killed, but Terry was one of the most loyal, most honorable men I know, and I can’t imagine him betraying the organization.
“Something went down around the time you left. He wouldn’t tell us. Said it was safer we didn’t know, but he lived in fear. He was a hermit after you left Chicago. Staying in his house except when he had to work or do a job.”
“That explains why he rarely answered my calls in those early days, and when I did get talking to him, he usually had little to say.” I press my palm to my brow, consumed with guilt. “I should have pushed him harder. Done more for him.” It was a shitty way to pay him back for everything he did for me.
“He knew you cared for him, Benny. He knew it was you who paid the mortgage on his house. Did you know he left it to you?”
I shake my head. I didn’t know that.
“Someone burned it to the ground a few days after his funeral.”
I didn’t know that either. I had only just discovered Rowan, so I was preoccupied.
“He told me he left a box for you. It might be stretching things, but I wondered if whoever torched his house did it to destroy that box.”
“In our world, things are rarely a stretch.” Damn it. I need to find out who handled his legal affairs and ask them why no one made contact with me. If it was important enough, maybe he left the box with his lawyer.
“I don’t have any proof,” Pillow says, entering the ramp that leads to the highway. “But word on the street is The Outfit took him out for something he had done years ago.”
“That makes no sense,” I say. “Unless they only became aware of his actions recently.”
“All I know is he lived every day in fear. I asked him about it once, a few years later. I asked him why he was living in fear instead of confronting it head-on because that was the kind of man he was. He told me it wasn’t just about him. That he needed to stay alive to ensure you never came back to Chicago.”
All the blood drains from my face, and I feel every pair of eyes on me. “This was about me?”
“Let’s just say I don’t think it’s a coincidence you returned to Chicago when you did.”
“You think someone killed him to lure me back?” I ask, continuing his train of thought.
He shrugs, peering at me through the mirror. “I could be wrong, and I have nothing to back it up, but I don’t believe in coincidences.”
“Neither do I.” I’ve known for some time that something is fishy. That things weren’t adding up. But I would never have put Terry in the middle of it. If he was killed because of something he did to protect me, then I owe it to him, as much as myself and my family, to get to the bottom of this.