Wallace pulled out his cell phone and showed Virgil the text he’d received. “See for yourself. They’ve been moved out of Colorado and are in protective custody again.”
Virgil stared at the floor for several seconds before speaking. “How’d they get away?”
“There were three men who came to the house. One ended up turning on the others.”
Confusion drew his eyebrows together. “Who turned?”
“You can’t guess? You were one of them.”
Virgil didn’t appreciate Wallace’s smirk. “I don’t even know who was there.”
“Pretty Boy, Pointblank and Ink. You recognize them by their nicknames, don’t you?”
“Pretty Boy.”
“That’s right. He told Laurel he was your best friend.” Rick looked at Peyton. “You have yourself quite a man here. He keeps company with the crème de la crème.”
“Are you trying to completely ruin my opinion of you?” she muttered.
“Why not?” he replied. “You’ve ruined mine of you.”
If Virgil heard their exchange, he didn’t react to it. Was he regretting his decision to leave The Crew? Was he tempted to put an end to all of this by returning to the gang? Had Rick convinced him that he was reaching too far by wanting more than he had, by wanting her?
Virgil was so hard to read; it was difficult to say. But Peyton knew she ran the risk of losing him to The Crew as much as anything else. He was a good man, but he was still a product of his past. Changing his life that drastically was almost impossible. Everyone he knew, everything he’d done, even the people he met now—people like Rick who judged him by his past—worked, like gravity, to hold him in place. And if he went back, those he loved would no longer be at risk. That had to be the biggest draw of all.
“Where’s Pretty Boy?” he asked.
“If we knew that, we’d have him arrested,” Rick said.
A muscle jumped in Virgil’s cheek. “For saving Laurel’s life?”
“For killing the marshal.”
Virgil stared down his nose at the smaller man. “Too bad you weren’t still standing guard.”
His meaning was too clear to miss. Rick’s cheeks grew mottled. “Pardon me?”
Virgil didn’t bother repeating it. “What about Pointblank and Ink?”
Rick’s voice was sulky. “Pointblank’s dead. Ink’s in the ICU, with two police officers guarding him.”
His mind filled with God knew what, Virgil squared his shoulders. “Does it look as if Ink will recover?”
How much did he care about Ink? Peyton wondered. And what about Pointblank, who’d died? Those men had been his friends. What he was feeling couldn’t be pleasant. People he’d once cared about had shot someone named Eddie, who seemed important to him, and tried to do the same to his sister. The casualties were mounting….
“Who can say?” Wallace replied. “Right now he’s hanging on by a thread.” To add more emphasis to what he was about to say, he stepped closer. “So does this change where we’re at? Do you still want to play it without bringing Weston Jager into our confidence?”
Peyton didn’t appreciate the challenge in his tone. “Wait a second. You can’t expect him to go back inside after learning that Eddie—”
“Eddie didn’t tell them,” Virgil interrupted. “And if I give up now, Eddie’s pain, my sister’s fear, that fight in the dining hall, what Pretty Boy did…it’ll all be for nothing.”
“But even if Weston didn’t know about you before, he probably does now,” Peyton argued. “Maybe Eddie didn’t tell them but they found your sister somehow. There has to be a leak.”
“It’s a gamble we’ve got to take.”
She shook her head. “No, it’s not. The odds have gotten worse. Much worse.”
He brushed off her concern. “I’ll just have to be more convincing.” Chains rattling, he gestured toward the phone with his cuffed hands. “Call for an escort. I’m going to my cell.”
It wasn’t easy to concentrate. Virgil was playing chess with Buzz on the tier, trying to keep up appearances, but his wound hurt and his mind kept returning to Peyton and what had occurred in that conference room. He had so much to worry about—and yet she overshadowed it all. Was Rick Wallace right? Would he be able to keep her? Considering their circumstances, he had little faith in that, and yet…he couldn’t stop wanting her, couldn’t stop hoping.
At least thinking about her helped him escape the guilt that plagued him. Pretty Boy had done him the biggest favor in the world, had saved the people he loved most, and by doing so had put himself in a terrible position—all for the sake of a friendship Virgil couldn’t even maintain. Where had Rex gone after leaving the safe house? He didn’t have anywhere to go, did he? He couldn’t go back to The Crew. They’d be looking to put a bullet in him.
I’ve made a mess of the lives of everyone around me, everyone I care about. But there was no way to tear himself from the fabric of The Crew without making a hole. Had he been wrong to accept the government’s offer? He’d justified it by telling himself he should put Laurel ahead of his brothers in The Crew. He’d never believed in their ideology. He didn’t want to be like them or continue to associate with them. But that didn’t mean he didn’t care about certain members. Pretty Boy had been part of his life for fourteen years, Pointblank for six. It wasn’t as if he saw them as bad people. In prison the line between good and evil blurred too much, especially in that length of time.
He’d believed that certain sacrifices would be worth the reward waiting on the other side, or he wouldn’t have done it. Now he wasn’t sure he or Laurel or Rex would even make it to the other side. By grasping for a better future, he’d let his loved ones down. And they deserved more. Rex was just as decent as Eddie, only he came from a shitty family that had basically driven him away, and he’d fallen in with a gang instead of going to college and getting a job.
Virgil pictured Peyton again. Would he let her down, too? At the very least, he suspected Rick Wallace might go after her job because of him.
He should’ve left her alone. He’d known that all along. But just the taste of her made him feel drunk….
“Hey, you gonna move or not?” Buzz asked.
Did he care about the game? No. Buzz wasn’t much of a challenge. But goaded into action, he slid his queen down the diagonal and took Buzz’s rook. “Oh, great. Thanks.”
Virgil had no sympathy for him. He couldn’t allow himself to like his cell mate or anyone else he met inside Pelican Bay, couldn’t form any bonds. He’d already learned that lesson the hard way by growing attached to people he’d had to turn his back on. “You don’t want me to take it? Protect it.”
His cell mate slid his own queen over to shield his bishop. “Someone’s in a piss-poor mood.”
“How do you know I’m not normally like this?”
“Because you weren’t like this last night, even after the fight.”
“Maybe I like to fight.”
“Four on one? You’re jokin’, right?”
“Nope.” Virgil summoned a cocky grin, but it was all a front. He was feeling worse by the minute, could feel rivulets of sweat pouring down his back.
Buzz shook his head. “Dude, you’re crazy.”
Several members of the Nuestra Family hung out on the fringes of the tables, eyeing them and talking in loud voices. “One-on-one, he would’ve pounded all their asses!”
“I’d like to see him go at it with Whitehead himself.”
“If he was smart he’d clique up with us, you hear what I’m sayin’? This here’s a gang that can appreciate that kind of talent.”