14. Jeremy

CHAPTER 14

JEREMY

Jeremy's boots thud against the linoleum as they march through the corridor of the hospital. Jessica, his baby sister, is a red-haired wisp beside him, her eyes shadowed with the traces of the chaos that's been happening around the siblings. His large hand is on her upper back as he gently guides her toward the reception desk. Once they reach it, he leans in—the words heavy as a concrete slab in his throat—and asks, "You want me to roll with you to see the doc?"

Jessica shakes her head, almost defiantly, while scribbling her name onto the piece of paper on the clipboard. He sees that her hand shakes. He doesn't comment.

"I'll be alright, J. Wait for me outside. Yeah?"

Jeremy doesn't want to, but he understands why she needs to do this alone. So, he doesn't insist.

"You bet," he grunts with a nod the same time she is called by the nurse. He watches her disappear behind the doors before he pivots on his heel, heading back into the world where the air doesn't reek of antiseptic and disease.

Outside, the sky is a bruised gray, ready to bleed rain, the weather fit for the fall. Jeremy finds an alcove away from the prying eyes. He flicks his lighter—the flame a brief mutiny against the rare Vegas gloom—and brings a cigarette to his lips. The smoke curls into the air, and he's already anticipating a fleeting reprieve the cigarette will give him from the noise in his skull—endless thoughts of the recent stint with the law, of gunfire that bites flesh and shatters bone, of Jessica trying to scrub the terror from her mind like a stubborn bloodstain.

He takes a drag, lets the nicotine hit his system like a fist. Pushes the smoke out. Takes another drag. It's then he spots a figure walking toward him from across the parking lot. He recognizes him immediately—Enzo. A soldier for the Italians with a face carved from stone and a history with Jeremy that stretches back to days when foster beds were their battlegrounds for a short period of time.

"Yo, what's up?" Jeremy jerks his chin, the greeting sparse. He knows it's dangerous to be seen with him. Especially right now. But something in Enzo's gait and expression has Jeremy's senses spiking.

Enzo's response is a curt nod, the kind reserved for those who share not just the streets but the silence that cloaks their dealings. His eyes are all serious business as he pulls out his phone.

"Got somethin' you need to see," he rumbles out.

Their gazes meet for the briefest of moments under a gray Nevada sky, and Jeremy already knows something is coming. Knows whatever Enzo's about to show him ain't gonna be sunshine and rainbows.

Enzo's brow is a hard line, his lips pressed thin as he fishes his phone from a pocket that's probably seen its share of shady exchanges and that'll probably be discarded after this exchange.

Jeremy braces himself, the smoke from his cig matching the clouds overhead. His eyes lock onto the screen as Enzo hits play, and the world narrows down to the pixelated image unfolding before him.

The footage is choppy, CCTV quality, but the chaos is clear as day. A man is there, in the thick of it, all lethal power. Familiar too. He moves with deadly precision until a lucky swing of a blade from a security guard slices his mask. It falls away, revealing the face beneath—a face Jeremy knows too well. Hawk.

"What's this?" Jeremy asks, still trying to wrap his head around the video. He stamps out the butt of his cigarette, grinding it into nothingness under his heel. His eyes never stray from Enzo's phone.

"My boys sent this to me a few weeks ago. Boss was trying to figure out who ransacked Tucci's unit."

Jeremy is quiet, his heart is quiet too. Not beating for a few seconds.

Enzo's boss works directly for Tony Morelli.

"Now check this out," Enzo's voice cuts through Jeremy's haze, and another image flickers to life on the phone—a Colorado State ID, complete with a photo that matches Hawk's unmasked face, but the name sure as hell doesn't.

"What the fuck?" Jeremy growls out. Impossible. The background check would have shown if Hawk used any other names.

"Owner of the storage joint got nosy, poked around some cop buddies," Enzo continues, and damn if his tone isn't as cold as the steel of a gun barrel.

Jeremy's mind races, trying to connect dots that don't want to line up. The name on the ID whispers a tale of deception, of secrets dressed in familiar skin. "I don't get it," Jeremy admits, frustration boiling in his veins. Could he have made a mistake?

Enzo's next words are a gut punch delivered with the calm of a confessional. "He's a Fed."

It's like a bullet, straight through the heart of everything Jeremy thought he knew. Rage flares, hot and blinding, a red haze that threatens to choke him. How many times did Hawk stand by their side, a wolf among the sheep?

He fucking shot Tucci!

"You sure?" Jeremy asks but he already knows the answer.

"Info checks out. Don't ask how he got it. I'm just a foot soldier. I don't mingle with the big shots… Sending you the vid and the snap." Enzo's thumb dances across the screen.

Jeremy's own phone vibrates. Message received. No. Not message. Proof that he was right all along. He pulls it out, taps the screen, and there it is— a digital Judas kiss.

Enzo's eyes, dark pits of knowing, lock onto Jeremy's. "We did our homework," he says, the words wrapped in the grim fabric of obligation. "You know I can get killed for sharing this with you if Tony finds out. But you've got a fucking rat in your house. And since you and I go way back, consider it an early Christmas present."

"Appreciate it," Jeremy mutters, but gratitude is a stone in his gut, heavy and cold.

"Take care, J," Enzo says, departing with a nod that carries the weight of their teen years in the system. The man's silhouette fades into the blur of hospital visitors and city noise, leaving Jeremy alone with a storm already brewing in his head.

He leans against the rough brick wall, the texture biting into his skin through his shirt, grounding him as his thoughts spiral. Hawk—a fucking Fed? No wonder the background check came back clean. Fucker prepared, wormed his way into Isaac's graces.

Jeremy takes a deep, shuddering breath. He got played. Fucked up big time. He can't fix what's been done, but damn if he won't make sure the rat bleeds for it.