Page 4 of Darkness and Duress
I laughed and gave a quick appraisal of his appearance. The pants, the chunky boots, the weathered jacket, and his driving gloves were all black leather. The shirt was the only anomaly—charcoal grey button-down satin. His shaggy black hair and fawn colored skin shone in contrast. It was a good look.
He situated the last buckle on King’s muzzle and attached the leash to the spiked collar before swiping his keys from the table beside the door. I stepped in and did the same. My car was parked under the d’Ambrosio building. We’d need the whole convoy for our adventure today.
“Do you want to grab coffee or maybe, I don't know, brush your teeth first?” Jer eyed me with a smirk.
“Shit, right.” His reminder triggered my bladder’s protest and I scurried to the shared bathroom with a laugh. I was a little more hungover than I realized, evidently.
Once I ran through everything I needed to do in the bathroom, we finally managed to hit the road. Technically, we were running behind schedule, but I wasn't worried. Not with Jericho behind the wheel of his souped up street racing vehicle. We all had hobbies, I guess. I liked to party and sleep around. Jericho liked to modify cars and take part in illegal street racing. As soon as he started the car, the low rumble of the engine reverberated in my chest and had me grinning like an idiot.
“Anything coming up for this beauty?” I slapped the dashboard and earned myself a wicked glare for it.
“Maybe. I’m waiting for the text. Why, you want to tag along again?” He deftly navigated the low-riding vehicle into the street and the car quickly picked up speed, smooth as butter.
“Fuck yeah. Maybe we can drag our new boss along.”
“Ha! Marco at a meet. That’ll be the day.” Jericho flexed his hands on the steering wheel and settled into the bucket seat with a grin. “Dead ass, that man never smiles.”
“He really doesn't. Instead of betting on your next race, we should bet on how long it takes for him to kill one of us.” I reached up and grabbed hold of the oh-shit-grip as a clear stretch of road appeared in front of us. I knew what open road meant when riding with Jer.
“You mean kill you? Marc’s got a target on your back that’s visible from the space station.” As expected, the car picked up more and more speed over the few blocks of traffic-free pavement. With a squeal, it rapidly decelerated as we drew up on a stoplight. The belt dug into my chest and forced a grunt from my throat. My knuckles were white on the handhold as the carstopped with a jerk and barely an inch between the front bumper and the vehicle ahead of us.
“No clue why, either.” My other hand reached out to brace against the dashboard as the open acceleration turned into bobbing and weaving recklessly between slower cars. Jericho beamed like a little kid over the thrill of dangerous driving. Meanwhile, I was glad for the fact that I emptied my bladder before climbing into the passenger seat.
“Maybe you should ask.” Snickering, he darted around a taxi and blew through the intersection as the light turned from yellow to red.
“No thanks. I'll pass. I don't actually want to die.”
“Fair. I'm still pissed that you get to be the driver.”
“Jer, how many traffic tickets have the d’Ambrosio family gotten you out of? This really shouldn't come as a surprise. They aren’t about to let you and your lead foot be responsible for one of their little princes.” My body rolled in the seat as we banked a hard left. “Fucking slow down, Jesus.”
“Shut up, you're fine.”
I glanced into the backseat and met the beady eyes of the muzzled German Shepherd. The beast was secured in a three-point harness that put our standard seat belts to shame. Judging by the intensely concentrated expression on the dog’s face, I was the minority vote in convincing my friend to drive at a normal speed.
Not surprising in the least, we pulled into the underground garage with time to spare. It was one small benefit to riding with Jericho, even if it likely took a few years off my life expectancy every time. A few of the other guys were already here, but I sighed under my breath when I realized Gianluca wouldn't be joining today. We’d worked together for so many years, but now that he’d gone and gotten himself hitched, we saw less and lessof him on the streets. As much as I liked to chill with him and his husband, I missed the thrills of our old routine.
“Poncho! Gramps! How the hell are you?” I jumped out of the car and advanced on the two guys leaning against one of the SUVs. Gramps got his nickname because he was the oldest of the group by five years. Poncho because… well, he always wore a gaudy old poncho in faded green, white, pink, and black. We weren't very creative with nicknames. Mine came from a love of Hennessy, after all. Ironically, Jericho was the only one without a nickname, but that was because Jericho was the name he chose for himself. None of us even knew his legal name.
“Henny, my man. Big day.” Poncho clasped my hand and pulled it to his chest in a quick hug-slash-back-slap. Gramps repeated the greeting and the cycle began again with Jericho.
“Interesting day at the very least. You boys ready to head to Brooklyn town?”
“Ready as we'll ever be. Which is never. You strapped?” Poncho flipped his poncho over his shoulder to show off his piece. I shook my head and laughed at the comical gesture.
“Of course. When am I not?”
“When you're ass up, slut.” Gramps shoved my shoulder with a cackle. “Which is like, most of the time.”
“Fuck off, you're just jealous.” I pushed him back while grinning ear to ear. He was not wrong.
Another car rolled up, but they didn't get out. It was Molly and Big Red. Yes, named after the party drug and the chewing gum, respectively.
“Hey, fuckers!” Molly rolled down the driver’s side window of the Caddy and leaned out. “Red and I are riding together.”
“Dibs on shotgun in Jer’s ride!” Gramps jerked his chin toward the car I had just gotten out of.
“I'm with them,” added Poncho.