Page 4 of City of Love
I thought about telling her. I almostdidtell her. I wasn’t trying to be a creeper or anything. But she really seemed like she needed a friend, and with the way Marcus was treating her, she didn’t seem to have high faith in men at that point in her life. I got the feeling that if I told her I was a guy, she’d stop writing.
So…I didn’t. I let her believe I was a girl.
Three years later, we’re still going strong, and she still thinks I’m of the female variety. I never expected us to still be writing. I definitely never expected that I wouldenjoywriting to her. We’re as different as it’s possible for two people to be, personality-wise. But somehow it works.
I run my hand through my dark hair, flattening it absently, though that’s a lost cause. Then I toss my computer down on my futon, looking around my flat. It’s a studio apartment, tiny and bare. Even though I’ve still got a room at my parents’, I needed my own space. Somewhere I could meet with the guys—a place no one else knew about or had access to. Somewhere I could escape to when living with my parents got to be too much. This flat was the best I could find two years ago, but it works.
My gaze drifts to my computer while my mind flits back to Lydia. I push away the sense of trepidation rising in me; when provoked, Lydia’s temper is fiery and quick. She’s going to be angry at me when she learns I’ve been lying about who I am. Really, really angry—although the good part of Lydia’s temper is that it cools down nearly as quickly as it flares to life. I don’t know what I’ll do if that’s not the case this time.
But I guess there’s no point in worrying about it right now. I’ve got other business to take care of, anyway.
Even though it’s just past midnight, I shoot off a text to Luc, asking him if he’s gotten the donations—for lack of a better word—from everyone in the group. We need to liquidate those assets before I go to the shelter later this week; Maurice wouldn’t appreciate our monthly donation in its original form. He’s always grateful for whatever we can give, but things like jewelry and leather wallets are going to do him little good when it comes to keeping people fed.
A few seconds later, my phone rings, and I look at it with surprise. I didn’t expect to hear back from Luc until tomorrow morning.
“I’m listening,” I answer in brisk French.
“We have a problem,” Luc says. His voice, devoid of its usual mischief, makes me tense up.
“What happened?” I say.
Luc’s hesitation speaks plainly of his reluctance, and I tense further.
“Luc,” I say warningly.
He sighs. “One of the guys targeted the wrong mark this morning.”
Great. “Which one of the guys?” I say, rubbing my temples.
Another pause, then, “Vic.”
“All right, explain,” I say.
“He swiped a Rolex—”
I let out a low whistle.
“From one of the Saint Clan,” he finishes.
Zut. I swear under my breath, my mind churning.
This is bad.
Our street gang coexists relatively peacefully with the Saint Clan. We don’t encroach on their territory, and they don’t encroach on ours. But we’re significantly smaller in numbers than they are; if they wanted to do damage to us, they could. Not to mention they prefer more violent methods than I allow my men.
“Where did this happen?” I say.
I hear Luc sigh. “In the seventh.”
Crap. The seventh arrondissement—one of the twenty that divide Paris—is firmly Saint territory. We stick to the eighth and further north. It’s not that we can’t go to the seventh, but we don’t do any pickpocketing down there—which means we’re blatantly in the wrong here.
“What was he thinking?” I say, trying not to get angry, because it’s not Luc’s fault. Still, my voice is hard as I speak. “And why is this the first time I’m hearing about this?”
“I’m sure he was thinking that a Rolex would bring in good money,” Luc says, and I know he’s right. That’s exactly what Vic would have been thinking. He’s passionate about what we do, but sometimes that makes him a little reckless.
“And I wanted to make sure I had the facts correct before I said anything to you,” Luc goes on. He hesitates. “Vic was scared to tell you, so he told me instead. I was going to tell you in the morning, but since you’re awake…” He trails off.
I nod, rapidly going over all the ways this scenario could play out.
