Page 35 of Redemption
“Fair enough. We’ll patch him up. Thank you for showing mercy.”
“That wasn’t mercy. That was me not being into killing kids. Which is more than I can say for those sick fucks coming after me. Have a good life, Leo. I appreciate the information.”
As I turn and stride out of the cabin, Leo calls after me, “America is no longer safe for you, my friend. The DuFort tentacles have a long reach, and they will not show mercy.”
I salute him before I climb over the side. “Thank you, Captain. Parley is concluded.”
As I make my way down the metal rungs, my mind races.
Fuck, things just got serious.
Chapter Sixteen
Lachlan
The Camry is already running when I make it back to the parking lot. I’m still in my rough clothes and longshoreman cap, but I don’t care. Normally, I wouldn’t think of returning to Keira without showering and changing into a fresh shirt and suit, but today is different. Today, nothing is normal.
I let myself inside and shut the door.
“Did you find out everything you needed to know?” my brother asks in a conversational tone, like I didn’t just ask him to potentially snipe someone.
For some reason, his ability to roll with whatever life throws at me is comforting.
“Yes,” I reply as I grip the steering wheel with both hands.
It’s tempting to slam my head against the center, but that would be a show of weakness, and there’s no time for that.
“Is it as serious as he alluded to on the phone?”
I filled my brother in on what Leo had said before I went out on the boat. I figured, if things went south, someone had to know who to kill and why.
“Yes.” I shift the Toyota into drive to begin a long, circuitous route back to the safe house. “Shit. I have another call to make. Grab my phone, will you?”
With my mind on the mess that’s been unleashed in my life, I almost forgot about the kid. Get it together, Mount. Now’s not the time to get sloppy.
Marco offers me the phone, and I put the car back in park for a second as I dial a number I know by heart. My cleaner picks up on the third ring, as per usual.
“Joyful Cleaning Services, Joy speaking.”
“I need a recycling run made from the metal plant.”
“A trash run?” Joy—a three-hundred-pound man who loves money, fried food, his mother, and me for saving her life—replies.
“No trash. Recycling only. Mardi Gras–style. Pick up at the metal plant at your earliest convenience. Drop-off on the corner of Canal and Bourbon at 7:05 p.m. Don’t be late. Make sure the drop goes smoothly. Treat it like a care package.”
“Got it,” Joy replies, tone more serious, which calms any concerns I could possibly have. “We have one care package, Mardi Gras–style, for recycling. Metal shop pickup. Corner of Canal and Bourbon at 7:05 p.m. sharp for drop-off.”
“Perfect. Thank you, Joy.”
“Have a blessed day. Thank you for using Joyful Cleaning Services, where your business is always appreciated.”
I hang up the call, hand the phone back to my brother, and shift the Camry into drive. We’re on the move again before he speaks.
“The boy goes free?”
I turn left at the first light and nod. “That was the deal. Marchand made good on his end, which means I live up to my word.”
Out of my peripheral vision, I catch a glimpse of Marco crossing himself. Glancing over at him, I ask, “Did you think I wouldn’t?”
