“I want to help,” Cole says. “You know why I left.”
But I don’t, and I’m sensing that’s a major part of the story that I’m missing. “And why’s that?”
Cole goes to answer, but Mag shuts that shit down. “Is that all you’ve got for us?”
“For now.”
Mag lifts the gun in his hands again, lining up his shot. His finger steadies over the trigger, and Cole pales.
I take in a steady breath, wondering if Mag is actually going to do it. His own cousin. “Just get out of here,” he says, eventually.
He trains the gun on him the whole time he walks toward the door. Cole stops briefly before addressing Brawler. “Don’t get involved in Crew shit, Mack. Your brother wouldn’t have wanted that for you.” He doesn’t wait for an answer, just turns and walks away.
We wait, his footsteps thudding down the stairs until the bang of the exterior door sounds, signaling his retreat from the warehouse.
Magnum finally puts his firearm away, sticking it back in the waistband of his black tactical pants. He moves forward, patting down Farmingham’s pockets. In his front right, Mag sneaks his hand in and pulls out something. He peers into his palm, shaking his head. He turns, and Brawler and I slide closer.
“Seriously?” My brows raise. “Fucking Runts?” A small package of Runts candy lies in the middle of my badass bodyguard’s palm like some cosmic joke.
“Our intel said Candy’s was more his than Dunnegan’s.”
“But his calling card is fucking Runts?” I can’t tell if I should laugh my ass off or be impressed that a bad guy is willing to use such an inferior candy as his calling card. Like, what the fuck do we do with that? I mean, he could’ve used Skittles if he was going for something sweet. Or better yet, chocolate. Dark chocolate. Dark chocolate with nuts. That’s a hell of a lot more sinister than candy shaped like fruit.
Brawler doesn’t say anything to this, and upon closer inspection, he’s retreated inside himself. Mag looks at him warily. “You okay?”
The dark angel wings on his neck catch my attention. They’re for his brother, and I’m sure that’s who he’s thinking about right now. He gives himself a shake. “Fine. I just didn’t expect to run into someone from the past today.”
Mag moves over, placing his arm on Brawler’s shoulder. “We can’t trust Cole.” He locks gazes with me. “I don’t care what he says. Yes, he knew your brother, and he was friends with Johnny, but we’re not trusting him. Okay?”
“What happened to him?” Brawler asks.
Mag drops his hand. “He left after your brother died. Defected. No one’s heard from him since, but there are rumors he hooked up with another gang. I wouldn’t be surprised. I saw the hint of a fire tattoo on his neck.”
I’m almost afraid to ask. “And that is?”
“Not from around here,” Magnum answers as he glares down at what’s left of Farmingham. “But there’s a gang in the tri-state area called the Dragons.”
Fire. Dragons. It makes sense. I peek up at him. “How much trouble are you going to be in because you didn’t kill him?”
“We keep this to ourselves for now,” Mag says, eyeing us both. “We’ll tell K we found Gregory’s calling card ourselves, which I would’ve. I don’t trust the fact that he showed up here, regardless of what he’s said.”
Mag is thorough. He didn’t need to be told to check Farmingham’s pockets. The only thing Cole succeeded in doing was popping up out of nowhere as if he was trying to throw us off. Or offer help. He knew Magnum would show up at the scene and used the opportunity to talk to him. The reasoning behind it is the only thing that remains in the dark.
Whatever his reasonings, I’m with Mag. We hold him at arm’s length if he decides to show up again with vague answers. I don’t care about his history with the Crew or my guys.
“I’ll call in our cleanup team,” Mag says.
I drift my gaze back to Farmingham’s dead body as Mag moves to the side of the room, bringing his phone to his ear.
“He wasn’t even our recruit,” I say, dumbfounded at the whole thing and trying not to look at all the blood pooled on the floor. I thought the guy was sleazy—an ass—but there are worse people who deserve to end up like this.
“It doesn’t matter,” Brawler says. “Everything the Crew touches dies.”
9
In the back of the car on our return trip to the tower, Brawler traces lines over my thigh absentmindedly. Goosebumps spread over my exposed skin, settling in the base of my spine. It’s been so easy to come back to the Heights and fall into everything again. Everything feels so natural.
And no, I’m not talking about the dead body. I’m talking about working with the people I care about.
Magnum’s been quiet since the warehouse. As natural as it is for him to be self-reflective and listen rather than talk, he’s doing it for a whole other reason right now. His cousin showing up threw him for a loop. “You have a lot of history with him, huh?” I ask.
Mag blinks, looking into the rearview mirror. He nods. “That’s an understatement. We came into the Crew at the same time.” He runs a hand over the side of his scruff. “I didn’t think I’d see him again.”
“K?” Brawler guesses.
Mag turns left down a side street, grabbing the steering wheel from underneath. “K wasn’t at the top then. It was Mayhem.”
Now that’s a name I haven’t heard yet. “And Mayhem was where Big Daddy K is now?”
“Top dog,” Magnum says, his words coming out on a breath. “But it doesn’t matter who gave the orders. Anyone who defects is shot on sight.”
“That’s…a little harsh.” I entwine my fingers with Brawler’s. One day, we’re going to defect. All of us. We’ll have to make sure they never find us. “I don’t know why they won’t let people get out if they want to.”
“People know too much. They can be used against us—them,” he says, correcting himself with a shake of his head. “Not many would go away quietly. Not many wouldn’t break under pressure from a rival gang and release as many secrets as they know. That’s why when you’re in, you’re in.”
“You make it sound like we won’t ever have a chance.”
Mag meets my gaze in the mirror again, but he doesn’t say anything to alleviate my worries. My stomach twists.
Brawler hugs me to him. “Don’t lose hope.”
“Hope is one thing I’ve never lost,” Mag says. He returns his gaze to the road then leans forward. “Shit. We’ve got a problem.” He pulls over.
My heart rockets up my throat, lodging there until Mag has the car safely parked. Brawler and I follow his line of sight. “Shit.”
Mag throws the car door open, and I scramble out of the car on the street side, leaving my door open. Magnum’s long strides eat up the cracked road so fast I have to jog to keep up with him, but eventually, we flank Oscar who’s getting shit from some guy.