“You’re doing great, buddy,” I said, ruffling his wild hair.
Damien rested back against my pillow with a smile. “Why are you dressed?”
I looked down at my clothes, then back to my brother, and said, “Dad has a job for me.”
Damien frowned. “What kind of job?”
“I don’t know,” I answered. “I have to meet him in the courtyard and find out.”
My brother yawned again. “I’ll go back to my room then. Dominic is probably still asleep, so I’ll play the PlayStation until he wakes up.”
I bumped fists with him. “I’ll see you later, okay?”
As we left the room, Damien said, “Thanks for letting me sleep with you again.”
His voice was low, and redness tinged his cheeks.
I squatted in front of him, and said, “Bro, I like having cuddles with you, so I don’t mind when you get scared and want to sleep with me. Don’t even think about it, okay?”
Damien smiled, his dimples creasing his chubby cheeks. “Okay. I love you, Ry.”
“I love you, too.”
I watched as he turned and ran down the hallway. I straightened to my full height when he entered his bedroom and closed the door behind him. I turned and made my way down the stairs and out to the courtyard, grabbing my coat from its hanger on the way. I zipped it up and shoved my hands into the coat’s pockets because it was fucking freezing outside. I could see my breath in the air when I exhaled. I followed the voices and found my father talking to a couple of strange men. I coughed so they were aware of my presence.
The last thing I needed was to overhear something that wasn’t meant for my ears.
My dad looked over his shoulder, spotted me, and waved me over. When I reached them, his slung his arm around my shoulder and to the men I had never seen before, he said, “This is my eldest son, Ryder.”
“No DNA test required.” The grey-haired man on my right laughed. “He’s your clone.”
My stomach churned. I knew I looked like my dad, and I hated it.
“Let’s see if he’s like me business wise, too.”
I looked at him and said, “What’s that supposed to mean?”
He snorted. “I want to see what skills you have, so I can decide where to place you. You’re good at numbers, so I’m thinking heading runs will be for you.”
I resisted the urge to close my eyes and sigh. A ‘run’ was what everyone in the compound called when someone was running a drug or weapons deal. I had noticed over the past year that my dad was on my case a lot pushing math my way for me to figure out someone else’s runs, but I didn’t think I’d actually have to head them myself. Marco and my dad were all about money. If they paid for product, they wanted to sell it for a decent profit. Falling short was never an option, and I knew a few men over the years who had disappeared after unsuccessful runs, or worse, having a shipment impounded by the cops.
“Can I talk to you?”
My dad nodded, before moving us away from the strange men.
“What?”
I cleared my throat. “What exactly am I going to be doing? I ... I don’t want to mess it up so give it to me straight.”
I didn’t want to head a run, or participate in one of any kind, but if I was going to do it, I wanted all the information I could get so I could do it correctly. I knew that if I disappointed my father, it wouldn’t bode well for me or my brothers. I had to impress him to keep him happy and to do that meant I had to do a good job during my run.
“That’s my boy.” Dad grinned and clamped his hand on my shoulder. “It’s a small run, considering it’s your first time. I’ve about twenty hundred pounds of heroine that I want you to sell.” He handed me a folded piece of paper. “This a list of the weight, amount I paid for it, and amount I expect you to sell it for during your run. Any less than the number on the paper and it’s not a job well done, am I clear?”
I swallowed but nodded my head as I read the paper, then folded it and tucked it into my pocket. He said it was a small run, but twenty pounds of heroin could run for over a million bucks.
“Will this just take the day?”
“No,” he answered. “You’ll be gone a week, at least. Runs take time, you know this.”
I froze. “But ... but Damien is sick, I need to take care of him.”
He wasn’t sick, but his nightmares and his bed-wetting might reoccur, and if that happened, then he needed me.
“You need to take care of him?” Dad snorted. “He’s not yours, Ryder.”