Page 94 of Tricked By Jack

“She’s my wife,” I growl.

The words taste weird when I’m not saying them in a scornful way. But for better or worse, I’m married to Dr. Death. The ring on her finger and vial of our blood around her neck, proves it.

We roll to a stop in the shadows behind Aces Fly. I’m out of the vehicle before Ned’s even fully turned the engine off. With each step, I feel my body shift into something harder, colder. The rage that’s simmering crystallizes into something focused and deadly. Every sense sharpens.

I don’t need to look back to know Ned’s following closely as I approach the door. Aces Fly hasn’t changed since I stopped coming here. The air still reeks of stale beer and cigarettes ground into the floorboards, decades of vices compressed into a single, sour note.

Bodies part for me without conscious thought, sensing the purpose in my stride, the violence I’m barely containing. I scan the room once—habits die hard—marking exits, threats, obstacles. But there’s only one person in here who matters.

“Willy,” I call, knowing the man has to be here. “Willy, get your fucking ass up here and make yourself useful.”

The man I’ve shared more gin with than I care to admit grins as he walks toward me. “Jack,” he drawls. “It’s been too long. Are you here to win back some of your money?”

“I’m here for information,” I clarify.

He scratches his chin. “Information, huh? On what?”

I let him lead me over to a table near the back, one that’s almost completely hidden in the shadows. “Someone burned down one of our hotels,” I say, pulling a chair out and sitting down. “But the curious thing is that no one knows about any new players in town.”

Ned grunts as he takes a seat. “Start talking.”

Ignoring my friend, Willy shoots me a mostly toothless grin. “If no one’s heard about any upstarts or new folks moving in on Knight territory, maybe it’s an old enemy then.”

“This isn’t a game, old man,” Ned shouts, slamming his fist into the table and knocking off Willy’s glasses. “They took my fucking sister.”

Cursing, I bend down and retrieve said glasses while kicking Ned under the table. Shouts and threats don’t faze Willy. The way to get him to open up is through fucking talking. Making him feel valued.

I feel like fucking punching Ned for not realizing that. Someone took Eve. If I thought I’d get answers faster by using my gun as incentive, I wouldn’t be sitting at this fucking disgusting table, across from a man whose breath smells like death.

“Did they now?” Willy smirks. Fucking smirks. “How can you be sure?”

That gets my attention. “Talk, old man.”

“Not with him here.” He points at Ned. “He doesn’t respect my establishment. Tell him to wait in the car, and I’ll tell you what I know.”

“He stays,” I growl, not in the mood for this shit. “Stop wasting my time.”

Willy huffs and puffs as he gets up and disappears out the back. When he comes back, he’s joined by a guy wobbling on his crutches, bumping his broken leg against almost every table he walks by.

“This is Junior,” Willy says proudly. “He heard some rumors when he was at the Gowanus factory yesterday to fight the reigning champ.”

“Is that so?” I ask, eyeing Junior as he flops into a chair.

He nods. “Yeah. Normally, I’m not one to fucking snitch. But that cheating bastard and his bitch deserve it after what they did.”

“Well, come on, boy. Spit it out.” Willy scoffsimpatiently.

“What bitch?” Ned asks. I notice the way his hand disappears into his waistband, probably fisting his gun.

Junior clears his throat. “Yeah, so, I was there to fight Caleb Shore. But he—”

“Caleb?” I interrupt.

“Yes,” Junior confirms. “Anyway, he used to have this hot piece of ass with him. But I don’t know, man. I guess he traded down.”

“Go on,” I demand.

“Right. Right. She’s umm… not as curvy, and she’s always sneering—”