I acted on impulse, out of habit. Old habits.
And I can’t help but think it was some divine fucking intervention.
Today started out like every other day; wake-up call from Justine, dragging ass to work, hating every second I was there. Then it took a nosedive. That Collinsworth asshat did something to my brain and I’m not sure if I should thank him or smack him, but either way I feel different. Iamdifferent, and I’m about to have a reunion I never wanted because of it.
Fate is such a conniving little bitch.
I light a third cigarette as I hear the squealing of tires come peeling up the ramp, the roar of an engine rumbling through the structure at a speed that is extremely illegal. My heart launches into my throat as it gets louder, and I’m sure as fuck praying I choke on it.
Theblack beastcomes flying toward me, hauling ass through the almost empty lot before the E-350 cargo van slams into the spot across from me.
And my legs are mush again.
The driver’s side door swings violently open, almost hard enough to bend it backwards and when the long limbs ofLuckyLucius De la Grange come pouring out in an almost frantic motion, I suck in a sharp breath.
I see his dark mahogany high fade—the haircut he’s had forever but longer than he used to keep it—first as he rounds the van followed by his olive, tattoo covered skin. His giant body isadorned in his staple solid black t-shirt, solid black skinny jeans and solid black Chucks, a blast from my not-so-distant past.
Lucky has always dressed that way, he never wears anything else, and I can’t help but smile to myself when I see him, looking the exact same as he did thirteen years ago when we first met.
He looks up, his stormy gray eyes flashing my way briefly, those long lashes twitching as he shifts his stare from me to the van. I caught a glimpse of the scar on his face where his lip ring was ripped out, that knife leaving Lucky with a permanent smirk that extends all the way to just under his left ear but he looked away too quickly for me to really see more than that. Because he’s not looking at me.
I follow his line of sight as he sticks his head back in the van, apparently talking to someone.
Someone in the van.
Multiple someones in the van.
Fuck.
I light another cigarette at this slow-to-happen realization.
That motherfucker brought someone with him.
I don’t know who but I can guess, and if I still know Lucky at all, I’ll put money on there being exactly three someones sitting in that big ass hunk of metal.
And that really has me feeling some kind of way.
Before I can turn and run my sorry, panicked ass back to my apartment, the passenger door flies open and so does the cargo door on the passenger side. A blur of arms, legs, tattoos and black clothing come spilling out, confirming my suspicions and fears.
And it makes me gag again.
My vision is literally blurring.
I start to get dizzy, but I refuse to black out. I’m not taking my eyes off the scene playing out in front of me for one secondbecause this could very well be the last time I see any of them based on how I feel right now.
That rat bastard brought them.
I should have known, shouldn’t have expected anything different. Of course Lucky brought them, why wouldn’t he?
Which has my fear suddenly morphing into anger, white hot as the fury twists in my gut.
Mark, Pete and Norm walk around to the back of the van, Lucky meeting them there before the four exchange what I can only assume are horrified looks, but it’s hard to tell through the red I am now seeing.
Who the hell do they think they are?
Why the hell did they all come here?
Without thinking—again—I start walking toward them. Every step makes me angrier, every slap of my boots on the pavement closing the twenty-foot gap between us is a war raging on my insides.
