"Then that means that Bry..."
"Fuck," I said, hanging up and bringing up my contacts, finding the call from Bry and hitting call.
"I don't have any update..."
"Wherever the fuck you are, you need to leave. You need to find somewhere no one will look for you and lay the fuck low."
There was a long pause. "Why?"
"Because it seems more likely that Dom's guys were the ones in Dusty's apartment, taking back the product. That's why you can't find it on the street. That's why no one is recognizing these fucks."
"Jesus Christ," he said and I could actually hear him booking it, the whizz of cars as they passed, the huff of his breath. "Why the fuck would he come after me?" he asked after I heard something slam.
"Only you can tell me that. Maybe it's as simple as him not liking you keeping the product in Dusty's place. Maybe it's someone you're connected to that he doesn't trust. Maybe he thinks you're skimming. Who the fuck knows. Guys in positions like his get paranoid and do stupid shit. To them, better to take you out than have to worry about you."
And then he said something that proved just how much the poor fuck cared about her. "Dusty. You need to..."
"Don't worry about Dusty. I will take care of her," I said.
"I get that maybe she's more yours than mine now, man. But you listen to me, you better fucking make sure that..."
"I like that you care about her this much and want to make sure she is safe, but you don't need to tell me how to handle my shit. I can protect my people. You worry about yourself."
Again, a pause, likely not liking having to take back seat with Dusty, but knowing there was nothing he could do about it. "So what the hell am I supposed to be doing? Laying low and sitting on my hands for the rest of my life?"
That wasn't a bad point.
Getting him and Dusty to safer places didn't solve the problem. It was a temporary bandaid over a giant, gaping wound.
"Do it until I can think of another way around this," I said, hanging up.
Fact of the matter was, Bry's problems were not my problems. That being said, if they had been watching him, they watched her. If they watched her, they knew she and Bry were at least somewhat close. Then they would figure that if they got to her, they could maybe get the whereabouts of Bry.
There was no way I was going to let that happen.
But to make sure of that, I was going to have to do something I knew she wasn't going to like, would hate in fact.
If I could think of any other solution, I would.
But safe was what she needed to be, even if it meant she hated me for it.
I sighed, picking my cell back up and dialing my father's number. "Mallick," his voice clipped, being someone who never checked the ID before picking up.
"Pops, got a problem," I started, exhaling hard.
"On New Years Day?" he scoffed then let out a humorless laugh. "Only my boys would ring in the new year with a problem. What is it?"
"Yeah, no this is something we all need to get together and talk about."
There was a short pause then, proving once again that he had some kind of sixth sense, "This has to do with your girl, doesn't it?"
"Yeah."
"And, again, only one of my fucking sons would find themselves a sweet, nice little shut-in who brings heaps of trouble along with her from the privacy of her apartment." That was Charlie Mallick- used to a life of uncertainty, of chaos, of accepting shit and dealing with it and moving on. "Alright. When do you need to talk to us?"
"I need to get Dusty somewhere safe first and then I will be in touch. No later than tomorrow. This needs to be handled before it escalates."
"Alright. Text one of your brothers about it and we will set it up. Get your girl safe."
He ended the call and I climbed back out of my car, locking the doors, and hitting the remote start so it warmed up. It looked like I wouldn't be going into work after all.
"Hey, what are you doing back so soon?" Dusty asked, giving me a smile from the couch where she had propped herself up after I left with two bottles of water, an icepack, and Tums. Apparently, she wasn't at the point with us where she was willing to admit she had a wicked hangover because she had been making breakfast when I left like nothing was wrong. A breakfast that was still sitting on the counter, uneaten.
I moved across the room, sitting down by her feet and pulling her legs over mine.
"So serious," she said, brows drawing together. Then, when I didn't immediately say anything, she curled up, her perfect green eyes looking worried. "Is something wrong?"