Pull You In (Rivers Brothers #3) - Jessica Gadziala Page 0,60
of tables toward the back.
I'd never been able to sit in the booths in the back. They were the most sought-after seats in the place, given the way the sides curved inward, almost making little rooms for the diners sitting there, giving them privacy.
"I figure you'd prefer a booth," Rush said, reading the situation perfectly. "More private," he added, giving me a smile.
"Okay, spill," I demanded, lips curving up. "You're in the mafia or something, aren't you?" I teased.
"Or something," he grumbled under his breath, making my stomach tense.
"Wait... what?"
"We'll get into that, baby," he promised. "But pick out a drink first," he told me, pressing my menu open.
"I've never been much of a drinker," I admitted. "I kind of only like the super girly things full of sugar. And they're embarrassing to order."
"Like this apple drink thing?" he asked, pointing toward it on the menu, making me look it over.
"Exactly like that."
"Two of the girly apple drinks," he told the server after greeting him, getting a smile from her before she moved off to the bar. "You don't have to be embarrassed about what you like, Katie. And the girly drinks are usually pretty bitchin'."
"Do people still say 'bitchin'?" I teased, getting a wink from him.
We got our drinks and ordered our food, both of us falling into the awkward silence I'd been dreading."
"Rush—"
"Here's the thing," he said at the same time as me, head whipping up, looking at me, giving me that guarded expression again.
"What's the thing? You're a big-time mafioso who has fed several people to the fishes," I teased, swirling the straw in my drink. "Oh, my God... are you?" I asked when his eyes looked almost, I don't know, guilty."
"No," he said, giving me a humorless laugh as he took a sip of his drink. "Okay, look. Since moving to Navesink Bank, a lot has changed in my life. Everything, really. But before we all landed here, my siblings and I, we didn't exactly do something legal for a living," he told me.
"Okay," I said, reminding myself that a lot of people did things that were technically illegal, but didn't hurt anyone per se. "What did you do?"
"We robbed places," he admitted.
"What?" I hissed, feeling like someone had ripped the rug out from underneath me.
"Yeah," he said, nodding at my reaction. "I know. That's a lot to take in."
"I don't think I understand," I told him, sure there was something I was missing, something he wasn't saying. I mean, sure, robbers existed, but you never saw them in real life, had dinner with them at a fancy restaurant.
"You want it all?" he asked. "The whole story," he clarified.
I did.
And he gave it to me.
About his mom, about her sickness, the company that didn't stand behind her, the debt she got into for her treatments before she decided to stop treatment, to let her sickness take its course because she couldn't afford to pay anymore.
She left behind five children. The boys: Kingston, Nixon, Atlas, and Rush. And their little sister Scotti.
And a lot of bitterness about the whole situation. Most of it was directed—understandably—at the company that wouldn't give her medical coverage, that decided she was better off replaced than alive.
In that situation, especially most of them being as young as they had been at the time, I understood how impulsive ideas came to them.
But it hadn't just been bitter words shared during a period of grief for them. It was a plan. A plot for revenge. That they actively worked toward in and out of different cities and states, stealing back what the company owed their mother.
It was hard to accept as reality.
But nothing about Rush as he spoke suggested he was yanking my chain, that he was trying to get a rise out of me.
When he spoke of his mother, there was pain in his eyes. Even when he talked about their work—for lack of a better term—the years following, there were traces of anger over the situation.
"It was wrong," he concluded. "But it wasn't at the same time," he said, shrugging. "I know that is a lot to take in," he said, leaning back against the tufted booth back, taking a slow, deep breath. "If you want me to take you home, let me know."
"I... I'm processing," I told him. "So, you were in Navesink Bank doing a, you know, job?"
"Yes."
"And that was when Scotti met Fiona's brother-in-law?"
"Yeah. Mark Mallick. That's when the plan changed."