T-Bone - L. Wilder Page 0,69

pocket, Shadow glared down at him and said, “Just remember. You brought this shit on yourself.”

“You killed KeShawn in cold blood. Did you really think you’d get away with that shit?”

“He, just like you, thought he could fuck with Fury. That’s on him, and tonight is totally on you. Every man you brought into this club of yours is a dead man, and you are the man responsible. For every gunshot you hear, just remember that. You did this. You—and only you.”

Before Booker could respond, Shadow stormed out of the office. I followed him downstairs, and neither of us spoke as we got into position at the door. We were all ready and waiting when the next group arrived. We followed this same cycle over and over, and like we were killing a line of fucking ants, we picked them off one by one, putting an end to the Genocide.

I’d like to say our work was done, but it wasn’t. Not even close. In order to make it look like a gang attack, we had to bring each of the bodies back inside the warehouse, then torch the place along with all the cars. It took a hell of an explosion to ensure that there would be little left of their remains, but Riggs came through, yet again. The place looked like a fucking war zone when we were done, and rightly so. We’d taken out the very army of men who’d tried to rise up against us, and we’d done it together—as brothers. Even though he hadn’t been able to fight alongside us, Gus was there in our hearts, urging us on, and for him, we’d do it all again—and again.

16

Alyssa

I’d like to say that everything in my life was going great, that I was happy as a lark and things couldn’t be better, but if I did, I would be lying. In truth, I was a mess. I was exhausted all the time, barely able to get out of bed in the morning, and even when I was up and going, I felt like I was in a fog. I couldn’t eat. I couldn’t sleep. My mind was always racing. When I told my mother how I’d been feeling, she convinced me that I was just depressed. She told me over and over that it would pass, but it had been two months since the night I broke it off with Beckett and I was still feeling like an unyielding weight was bearing down on me. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t seem to shake it. Out of concern for my well-being, my mother came down for another visit. She’d already come two times before, and while it was nice to have the company, it did little to help. But, if anything, my mother was persistent. She was determined to get me back on track.

We’d stayed up late the night before watching some romantic comedy on TV, so I expected her to sleep in. Unfortunately, that wasn’t the case. She was up before eight, and from the racket she was making in the kitchen, I could only assume that she was trying to get me up as well. With a heavy sigh, I tossed the covers back and forced myself out of bed. Dragging myself into the kitchen, I found my dear, sweet mother washing the dishes by hand. I plopped down on one of the stools and groaned, “You do know I have a dishwasher, right?”

“I do.” She continued scrubbing away as she said, “There weren’t many, so I decided to do them myself.”

“Suit yourself.” I rested my head down on the counter and asked, “Did you make coffee?”

“I did.” Instead of offering to get it for me, she suggested, “Why don’t you get up and make yourself a cup?”

“Ugh … Fine.”

With an agonizing groan and acting like an overdramatic zombie, I stood up and shuffled over to the coffee pot. I knew I was being childish and needy, but I felt like I was on my last limb and just wanted to crawl back into bed. Mom glanced over her shoulder, watching silently as I poured myself some coffee and then shuffled back over to my spot at the counter. With an exasperated sigh, she shook her head and fussed, “Alyssa, you’re gonna have to snap out of this mood of yours. It’s gone on for too long.”

“I’m well aware of that, Mother. I’m trying.”

“Well, you’re not trying hard enough,” she scolded. “It’s just