Page 13 of Himbo Hitman
“Bad traffic in Seattle? Wow. I’m sure glad you had your horoscopes to give you the heads-up.”
“Yours was better.”
“I’m sure it was.”
He’s bouncing on his toes, and I know it’s killing him. I don’t believe in horoscopes. I know they’re wild guesswork and vague enough that you can interpret them to any aspect of your life. The errands and traffic thing was specific, but those aren’t a huge reach. All it takes is Lars remembering he needs to do something, and suddenly, he remembers his horoscope and dubs it right. Self-fulfilling prophecy and all that.
Even with all that rationalizing, it doesn’t dim my curiosity.
Lars is downing his coffee like the faster he drinks it, the easier it will be to keep his mouth shut.
I sigh and turn to lean against the counter. “Tell me.”
“Fine. Apparently, you’re going to get into an altercation with a business or romantic partner, and you’ll need to try and see things from their point of view before turning it into a bigger deal than it is.”
Okay, that was almost as specific as his was. “I don’t have a romantic partner …”
“Could be a good sign that Colin will show back up though.”
I’m not going to put all my hope about that into a horoscope. “Sure. Some random person on the internet said it, so it must be true.”
“We’ll see, I guess.”
Considering I’m missing my brother, need to look at hiring someone to balance our books while he’s MIA, and have a club to run and a potential rival to keep on top of, his horoscope is low on my list of concerns. I’d gladly welcome a fight with my brother because then he’d fucking be here. In fact, the second he shows back up, I’ll hug him, then chew him out for ditching without notice.
There has to be a simple explanation for where he’s gone. Thinking about missing people and crime and his life being at risk is too much for my feeble brain to wrap around, and the only way to keep my cool is to remind myself of how unlikely it is.
We’re two unknown brothers who opened a business. We don’t have a lot of money, we’re not important, we don’t get involved with bad people.
Colin has just forgotten to check in. And charge his phone. And return to his place. They’re all totally normal things that can be explained away.
Without a word, Lars puts down his mug, then steps closer and pulls me into a hug. “He’s okay.”
“He fucking better be.” I refuse to think of the alternative.
***
Come the fuck on, Colin, we have a horoscopic altercation to get to. Another night, another full club, another day of looking over my shoulder, sure I can feel eyes on me.
I’m frustrated, worried, and so damn horny with no desire to get that energy out.
I fucking hate it here.
Lars has been gone longer than he said he’d be, and I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s getting some distance from me moping over my brother.
I scrub my hands down my face, frustration getting the better of me. Where thefuckis Colin? All this worry can’t be good for me—doesn’t he care about my health? It’s almost like he’s forgotten that he’s supposed to be the considerate one. He’s left me to flail. I don’t like flailing. Especially in a club we’ve put our whole souls into that has only just opened. This is a flail-free zone.
“Brothers are the fucking worst.” I stalk back to the desk, glimpsing the irritating feature about Saint Clare’s still open on my computer screen.
It only pisses me off more.
The guy did his job. The write-up is a glowing review of the club and everythingI’veaccomplished. It doesn’t matter how many times I mentioned Colin in that fucking interview, he was only given one small line at the bottom. Every time I reread what’s on the screen, my anger creeps higher, and I’m fully expecting to rage email that journalist at some point.
The following feature can be all about how fucking unhinged I’ve gotten.
I pinch the headache growing between my eyes and consider, again, whether I need to reach out to this guy and—instead of biting his head off—ask if he can get the word out about Colin. The police are doing sweet fuck all, so that might help?
The most frustrating part is that I’ve given the police their answer. It’s no coincidence that we got threats not to open the club, opened, and then Colin went missing. It has to have been those assholes at Rev. There’s no other answer. No one else has anissue with us. As much as I’d like to hope that Colin took himself on a vacation, I know him. He wouldn’t leave like this. Which means that he was forced to.
