Inside (Bulletproof 1)

“I said there’s no way.” Now that he’d started this, he had to speak his mind, so he stopped in front of Ink with enough attitude to make it clear that he was ready to take this to blows, if necessary. He had no problem with a good brawl. Life in The Crew was filled with busted lips, black eyes, even knife wounds. Sometimes it felt like one glorious round of ultimate fighting. But he preferred to be facing a rival when he let loose, not a brother. “Skin would never flip.”

At this, Pointblank propped the pillows behind his head with one hand while holding a beer in the other, and crossed his ankles. Obviously he didn’t give a rat’s ass that he had his boots on the bed. Pretty Boy didn’t, either, but he noticed. And sometimes he noticed a few other things that made him feel just a little different from the men he’d joined.

“That’s what you keep telling me, man,” Pointblank said. “And I want to believe it. Skin’s a tough dude. He’s not someone I’d like to mess with. But if he’s going to disrespect me, I don’t have a choice. I’m responsible for keeping him in line. I got people to answer to.”

“Skin wouldn’t disrespect you.” But if he disagreed with Pointblank’s leadership, he might dispute it or simply walk away. That Pretty Boy wouldn’t put past Skin because Skin lived life by his own rules and he didn’t answer to anyone. His independence had created difficulties for him with The Crew before.

“So you’ve heard from him?” Pointblank taunted. “You can tell us where he is?”

Wearing his leather coat like a badge of honor, Pretty Boy shrugged to hide the discomfort in the pit of his stomach. Skin had already been gone a week, long enough to indicate that he didn’t plan on coming back. But Pretty Boy couldn’t give up hope. Not when it came to Virgil. “No. But…”

“What?” Pointblank demanded. “I’m supposed to cut this ass**le extra slack just because he used to be your cellie and you know his mind and shit like that? Come on, the man got a lifeboat. That gives him a clean slate. And a clean slate can change the way you think about certain…affiliations.” He tapped his skull before taking a pull of beer. “Skin knows too much. We can’t let him forget who his friends are.”

Pretty Boy ignored the sense of impending doom that’d crept over him the minute he’d been sent to Colorado to round up his old buddy. “I’m telling you he wouldn’t rat us out. Maybe he’d disappear for good, but he wouldn’t debrief.”

“Something’s going on,” Ink piped up. “And we’d better get a handle on it. Watching his sister’s place is a waste of time. He must think we’re all pussies, that we won’t really hurt her, because he hasn’t even called the bitch. Hasn’t even driven by to make sure she’s okay. What kind of ass**le doesn’t care about his own family, for chrissake?”

“He doesn’t think we’re pussies,” Pretty Boy said. “He only thinks you’re a pu**y.”

Pointblank nearly spewed beer across the bed, but Ink didn’t take the joke quite so well. His face grew mottled, and he jammed a finger in Pretty Boy’s direction. “I’ll show him what a pu**y I am when I gut his sister and her kids.”

Pretty Boy had never hated Ink more. “You think that’ll solve the problem? Killing the people he cares about?”

“It’s better than sitting in front of her house for days on end, jacking off. That ain’t gettin’ us nowhere.”

Ink was a bloodthirsty bastard who enjoyed abusing everyone and everything he touched. Pretty Boy had heard he maimed a couple of prostitutes before they left L.A. for Colorado. That was part of the reason upper management had given him this assignment. They wanted Ink out of the way until the flurry of interest surrounding that incident died down. His legendary cruelty gave him a degree of power in a group that prided itself on violence. But Ink had no loyalty, no honor, no soul. “You kill Skin’s sister or harm those kids and you’ll find him, all right. He’ll come to you in the middle of the night and string you up by your balls. Then he’ll pick off the rest of us.” Pretty Boy stepped closer so he could make a point of staring down at the shorter man. “Starting World War III is hardly gonna improve our situation.”

A flicker of fear danced in Ink’s eyes, but he quickly masked it. Taking his gun from where he’d jammed it down his pants, he made a show of unloading and reloading the cartridge. “Just because you’re scared of him don’t mean I am.”

Pretty Boy couldn’t help wishing he’d blow his dick off. “I see him, I’ll let him know how you feel.”

“Enough with the bullshit,” Pointblank said. “We’re all going stir-crazy on this assignment. We want it to be over, and we want it to end well. But this…thing between you two—” he motioned to make it clear that he was talking about their mutual dislike “—it’s not cool. We need to ignore our differences and finish the job so we can get the hell out of this dump.” He tossed his beer bottle at the garbage can and hit the wall instead. When it shattered, a woman in the next room screamed that they should have some consideration, and Pretty Boy wondered what she’d think if she ever learned that Ink would probably kill a woman for less.

“Shut up, bitch!” Ink yelled back. Then there was silence.

Apparently she’d gotten the point. Or she was busy calling the manager. Either way, the interruption had been timely because it allowed them to refocus without either of them having to back down.

“So what do we do?” Pointblank asked. “Do we go back to Skin’s sister’s or not?”

Before they could answer, Pointblank’s cell phone rang. “It’s Horse,” he said, checking the screen, and answered.

Pretty Boy walked to the window, parted the drapes and stared outside while listening to Pointblank’s side of the conversation.

“She’s there. She never goes anywhere but work…. She doesn’t know anything, hasn’t heard from him…. Ink went inside, confronted her. I don’t think she’s lying—he had a gun to her kid’s head…. We’ll do whatever you say, but…What? Who told you that?…Shit!” He threw down his phone.

They turned to look at him as he jumped to his feet, took his gun out of the drawer of the nightstand and began loading it.