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I nod, pulling open the door. “Always. Lock up and set the alarm. I’ll send some of the guys over to stay with you, and I’ll call later.”
Rocco follows me and my dad outside. “Uhhh…”
I roll my eyes. “We’ll take my truck.” I unlock the doors and help my dad into the backseat. “This is a bad idea,” I murmur to him.
“It’s actually the best one I’ve had in a long time,” he answers, letting out a deep sigh as he settles into the leather seat.
“Thank you,” I murmur. “In case I forget to tell you later.”
“Save it. I want you to tell me later. Give me something to look forward to,” Dad manages a half-smile before resting his head on the seat.
I nod, a pang assaulting my chest. “You’ve got it,” I say, my voice thick.
We both know there won’t be a later.
Not for him, anyway.
But still, we pretend.
I close the back door and jump into the front seat, turning on the ignition. “Okay, where am I going? And where the hell is Nico?”
“He had to make some arrangements first.”
“What kind of arrangements?”
Rocco turns away. “I think you’d better talk to him about it.”
I slam my hands on the steering wheel. “Are you fucking kidding me? Sloane is being held somewhere with Christ only knows how many other women. If we don’t find them, they’ll be lost. For fucking ever! And he wants to have a goddamn meeting?”
“Look, I get that you’re frustrated, but he makes the rules. You know the deal.”
“Fuck the rules!” I yell, stomping my foot on the gas and speeding around cars. “So where the hell are we going, Rocco? You know, since he actually tells you things!”
“There’s an abandoned factory in East Rutherford.”
“Is that where they’re being held?”
“No, that’s the meeting spot.” Rocco shrugs. “Dude, he doesn’t tell me everything.”
“You’re driving like a lunatic, Max,” Dad grumbles from the backseat. I can see him wincing as I swerve left and right, and I release a shaky breath. “Calm down. We can’t help anyone if we’re dead.”
“He always pulls this shit! Do we really need a meeting to talk about how we’re going to rescue the girls? I don’t remember him holding a fucking kumbaya session before we stormed that warehouse looking for Shaye when Frank Cappodamo kidnapped her!”
“This is different.”
“How? Because it’s not someone important to him?”
“Relax,” Dad mutters. “Just follow Nico’s lead. You’ve gotten into enough trouble before handling this shit on your own, always wanting to storm the castle.”
My fingers grip the steering wheel so tight, I lose feeling in the tips. My breaths are ragged, my pulse throbbing against my neck and ready to explode like a ticking time bomb. I screech to a halt at a red light.
I clench my teeth, impatiently tapping my left foot against the floor. This damn light takes fucking forever. A couple holding three little kids by the hands, all bundled from head to toe in huge puffy jackets, jogs across the road. I narrow my eyes at the group, laughing as if they don’t have a care in the world with their perfect family and their perfect fucking life. My lips stretch into a tight line as the seconds tick pass and the woman gives her husband a quick kiss when they reach the sidewalk.
The light turns green and I slam my foot on the gas, the wheels screeching as they skid forward on the pavement. East Rutherford is still a few minutes north, and I have no idea why the hell he needs to call us off-course to sit on our asses for a goddamn strategy session.
There’s one strategy, and it works every time.
Storm in and fuck their shit up.