On Best Behavior (C3) by Jennifer Lane Read Free Book Online Page A

realized Ricker was talking about Grant—of course Enzo had protected his son. It had nothing to do with Grant’s looks. How could they not know Grant was Enzo’s son? He wondered if these three wolves had given him the same treatment on his first day at Gurnee.
    Ricker leaned in, and Tank smelled powdered eggs on his breath. “Why is Barberi in the hole?”
    He bribed a corrupt politician to try to get a pardon. Tank glared at him, saying nothing.
    Ricker inched closer. “Tell me why Enzo is in the hole, or bending over to pick up the bar of soap will be an entirely new cleansing experience.”
    He felt tension radiating in his shoulders as Ricker smiled.
    “Speak now, or forever hole my piece,” Ricker added.
    “Just try it.” Tank ignored the giggles of Ricker’s minions.
    In an instant, Ricker pinned one of his arms behind his back, and Elf-Face and Ponytail seized the other.
    Tank strained against their hold, gaining some ground against the two boys but surprised by Ricker’s strength. “Get the fuck off me,” he panted, “or the family will kill you.”
    “The Barberis?” Laughter rumbled in Ricker’s voice. “Do not think so. They are not saving you now , are they?”
    To his consternation, he noticed Jewels and the other guy sticking to their spots, watching him and obviously aware of his predicament. Maybe they were testing him, seeing if he could keep his mouth shut about Enzo’s private affairs?
    Ricker laughed as Tank dipped his shoulder, trying to break free. “The family is real tight, huh? They don’t give a fuck about you. Madsen either, at first. Barberi was letting me have that beautiful ass, just handing him over to me. Too bad the door slammed shut once the boy got out of solitary. No idea why.”
    Tank pondered that, careful to keep his face neutral.
    “I repeat—why is Barberi in the hole?” Ricker wrenched his wrist. “You think you can fight us off with a shattered wrist?”
    “I don’t know why!”
    “Bullshit.” Ricker twisted harder.
    Despite the frigid wind, Tank felt beads of sweat on his forehead.
    “Out with it!”
    “Why don’t you ask Madsen?” Tank managed.
    “Why the hell would I do that?”
    “Grant…” Tank rasped. “He’s Enzo’s son.”
    The arm Ricker had been jerking back abruptly snapped free, and the others stepped away. The three con blonds circled around to stand before him. Ricker’s eyes flashed with excitement. “Madsen is the son of Barberi? Why the different last names?”
    Tank took a step back and pulled down his jacket, smoothing the crumples. “Grant’s uncle adopted him when Enzo came here, twenty years ago.”
    Ricker rubbed his hand down his chin. “He is his son. Of course. Very interesting.”
    Ponytail pouted, speaking for the first time. “Madsen ain’t here anymore—who cares about him?”
    Tank watched Ricker’s eyes cloud with hostility, and Elf stammered, “Shut up!”
    Ponytail’s mouth clamped closed.
    A loud buzzing noise preceded an announcement that yard time was over. Tank wasted no time returning to the cellblock.
    “You did not answer my question!” Ricker called after him. “I’ll be back.”
    “I’m sure you will,” he muttered, fighting the urge to rub his throbbing wrist. He could see Enzo’s men shuffling into line far ahead of him. Why the fuck hadn’t they come to his rescue? Had Madsen ratted him out to Enzo? That once-gnawing fear now exploded and chomped him in the ass. If Madsen sang, Tank would hang.
    ***
    Grant held the last note extra long, looking into the eyes of a platinum blonde in the audience. She gave him an alluring smile. Then she turned to her boyfriend and spoke in his ear, likely yelling to be heard over the roar of applause as he and Andy finished the set.
    “That’s Andy Beecham on piano.” He extended his arm, and Andy gave a little bow from the bench. “We’ll take a short break now—the perfect opportunity to try our special drink for a cold night: Russian