Page 71 of Fight for You

"He's Kaleo's?" I ask.

Quan nods, his lips compressed into a grim line. "He knows Isaiah is his but has no interest in raising him."

"Unless you step out of line," I guess, putting the pieces together. "Fuck."

"Some things are worth putting up with all the bullshit, Kincaid," Quan tells me, his eyes on his boy. "Isaiah may be his by blood, but he's my son. Keeping him out of Kaleo's hands is worth it."

I can't say he's wrong. If it were my kid, I'd make the same choice. The last thing that kid needs is Kaleo trying to step in and play daddy. Doesn't make the situation any easier to swallow, though, because I can't count on Quan to help me bring Kaleo down. I can't even count on him not to get in my way. He stands to lose too much by siding with me. I can't ask him to take that risk when I could fail.

"You know he's pimping out girls?" I ask him anyway, hoping like hell he's willing to give me this much.

He jerks his head in a nod, anger flaring in his expression. "Don't agree with it, but I'm doing what I gotta do to keep my family safe. Don't ask me for help you know I can't give you."

"I won't, but word to the wise…I'm doing what I gotta do to keep mine safe, too. He came after January. I'm not going to let that stand. If you're riding with him when we come knocking, I'll take you down with him. Won't enjoy it, but it is what it is."

"I get it," Quan says, and I know he does. Maybe better than anyone. "He knows what you did."

"I know," I tell him and then shrug. "Like you said, some shit is worth it. If fighting for January is how the truth comes to light, I'll live with it."

"I always hoped you'd come back for that girl. Think she's always hoped you would, too. Take care of her, Kincaid," he says, then clasps my forearm. "She's been through enough."

"I know," I whisper.

"I hope like hell you come out on top of this one, brother. Good luck."

"Thanks, brother." I watch him jog back across the park to his son, and then I climb back on my bike. For a long minute, I just sit there, not sure what to do now. The last thing I want to do is go back to Ma Lucia's when I know damn well January is right next door, expecting answers I'm too fucking afraid to give her.

There's not much I'm scared of anymore, but looking in those emerald eyes while she realizes she should have hated me all along? That thought terrifies me as much now as it did back then.

Eventually, I decided to go check on Tristan and his wife. After checking on them, I spend the next three hours running around Los Angeles with Roman, helping him look for the DEA agent who helped kidnap Tristan's wife. By the time I get back to Ma Lucia's, it's almost ten, we still haven't found that son of a bitch, and I'm dreading spending the night alone. The last two nights were bad enough. I didn't sleep at all.

"What the fuck?" I growl when I pull up outside the house and see the front door to Ma Lucia's cracked open. January's car isn't at her place, and the lights are all off. It doesn't look like she's been home at all since she left this morning. I park my bike on the curb down the street and contemplate calling for backup before clearing the house but decide against it. I don't want to wait that long.

Pulling my Glock out of my saddlebag, I creep toward the house, keeping to the shadows. With most of the streetlights still out on the block, disappearing into the dark isn't hard. I strain to hear any movement coming from inside, but there's nothing.

I move up the steps, placing my feet carefully to avoid giving myself away in case someone is still inside. The door frame is cracked where it was kicked in, and the front windows are smashed. Most of the glass is outside, meaning whoever broke them wasn't trying to get in that way. They broke them from the inside just for the hell of it.

Fuckers.

I scan the living room as best I can through the crack in the door but don't see anyone inside. I push the door open with my foot, keeping my gun steady just in case.

The living room is completely trashed. All of Ma Lucia's knick-knacks and shit are on the floor. The tables are flipped over. Someone threw paint all over the furniture, destroying it.

I'm going to fucking murder Kaleo and whichever of his people he sent over here to deliver this little message.

I clear the house quickly, moving from room to room as silently as possible. The entire house is in the same condition as the living room. Everything except Ma Lucia's room, anyway. Seems whoever broke in has a little respect for the dead.

My room is completely trashed. They used whatever paint they had left over to leave me sweet little messages on the walls. None of them are particularly complimentary to law enforcement. Most aren't even spelled correctly.

Once I'm satisfied no one's in the house, I call Roman and ask him to send someone over to take the report. He offers to come himself, but there's no point in dragging him back out for this shit, especially when I already know who's responsible. Curtis motherfucking Kaleo.

I leave the mess where it is so LAPD can take whatever pictures they need, and I jog back outside to check January's place before she gets home.

"Fuck," I mutter when I see her pulling into her driveway. My heart aches at the sight of her, but I suck it up and jog across the yard.

"Stay in the car," I tell her when she looks over at me.

She frowns, her plump lips turning down, and then her gaze falls on the gun in my hand. Fear slides through her expression. "What's going on?" she whispers.