Poor Boy Road (Jake Caldwell #1) Read Free

to come along for the ride. We were going to make it a family business.”
    “Shane, please,” Danny blubbered. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think he’d kill Dom and Marco. It wasn’t supposed to go down like that.”
    “It’s okay, big brother. I forgive you.” With a quick thrust, Shane shoved the letter opener into Danny’s throat, holding his convulsing body as the blood spilled down his last brother’s shirt. Danny’s red eyes bulged, then grew dim. The twitching stopped and Shane stepped back, dropping the letter opener into the pooling blood on the floor.
    In the office bathroom Shane washed his hands, then smoothed his hair in the mirror. He took one last look at his brother and walked out the door, pulling it shut behind him.
    Antonio hung up his cell phone as Shane strode across the bar toward him.
    “Dexter is all set with the supplies. It’s going to be a very lucrative load,” Antonio said. The red head sipped her drink and flipped through a magazine.
    “Good. Send him to Warsaw.”
    “How’d things go with Danny?”
    Shane shrugged. “My brother has decided not to continue with the family business. He left a little mess in his office on his way out.”
    Antonio looked over his shoulder at the closed office door. “I’ll take care of it.”
    “I’ll take her to the strip club. Call me when you’re done and we’ll head to Warsaw. Keats needs a message.”
    “What kind of message?”
    Shane glanced to the red head, leaned in and whispered into Antonio’s ear. Antonio drew back, eyes widening for a split second before resuming his normal stone faced appearance.
    Shane’s lip curled. “Keats just started a war he’s going to wish he never even thought of.”
     
     
     
     

CHAPTER THREE
    Jake wove his black F150 to the River Market north of downtown Kansas City, through streets bordered with squat red brick buildings hosting bars, shops and offices. He turned down an asphalt drive and parked in front of the warehouse, its parking lot cracked like a broken mirror, determined weeds rising through the slits. He grabbed the envelope containing the two grand Carlos owed. Taking the cash from his diminishing personal stash was easier than going to his boss empty handed.
    The stairs to Keats’ office creaked under Jake’s reluctant footsteps. He hated meeting with his boss. During his last visit, he tried not to squirm as Keats turned a guy’s knuckles to powder with a nutcracker. Jake could still hear the man screaming, like his cries were embedded in the wood-paneled walls.
    “Jake,” Jason Keats said as if greeting an old friend. The room reeked of earthy-toned cigar smoke. Keats pulled his black-suited frame from a leather recliner. His skin was cold and clammy as they shook hands. His peppered hair slicked back with too much gel. “How’s things?”
    “Been better. I need to bail for a few days. My old man’s dying and my sister needs me back home.”
    “Sorry to hear it. You close with your dad?”
    “No.”
    “Any particular reason?”
    “He’s an asshole.” He handed Keats the envelope. “Two grand from Carlos.”
    “He had it, eh?”
    “Yeah, shocked me, too.”
    Keats thumbed through the money in the envelope and raised it to his scarred nose, sniffing.
    “Doesn’t smell like Carlos. Smells like you.”
    Jake shrugged. “Smells like two Gs.”
    Keats smacked Jake on the chest with the envelope. His inviting mood dissolved. “What am I gonna do with you, Caldwell?”
    “In terms of what?”
    “In terms of you not doing what I fucking tell you to do.”
    “I got your money, Jason. Count it.”
    “I know it’s there.” Keats tossed the envelope on the mahogany desktop. “I told you to break this guy’s kneecaps. You going to float every piece of shit I send you to collect on?”
    “Isn’t breaking kneecaps kind of a stereotype?”
    “It’s effective.”
    “Guy can’t work if he can’t walk.”
    Keats sighed. “Are you trying to piss me off?”
    “Look,