“Memorize that. Give it to your cop friend. Say you heard me talking about a man I killed while waving this gun around. You got close enough to rip the serial. Have him run it—”
“Won’t that just lead back to you?” Better yet, it would give Grey probable cause to get a warrant for either his arrest or a search of the club.
Arno just laughs. “Trust me, sweetheart. It won’t lead back tome. I know the fucking rodeo. But, whatever they find, you bringback to me. I want a name. I want a fucking dealer. You give me that…” He cracks his knuckles in unison. “Give me that, and I don’t throw you out on your ass. For now.”
“Done.” It’s a logical headache I’ll figure out later. All that matters is…
Hell, what does matter? Running should be my primary focus.Notmaking sure a certain little angel doesn’t get too burned from his attempt to save a demon from the flames.
Though it’s not like I have much of a fucking choice now.
“Wait. I can’t be seen at the station if I’m associated with you.” Considering my status as an actual informant this time, I don’t think chatting with Grey in the open would be a good idea. “How should I—”
“Here.” Arno pulls something else from his pocket and tosses it to me.
A burner phone. One of many, I suspect.
“Call him on that. Then toss it. Now, get the fuck out.And one last thing…” His eyes flash with a sober-like intensity. “Just so we’re clear—Stay the hell away from Espi. You got that?”
I hold his gaze without flinching, ignoring the clenching sensation gripping my chest. Maybe it’s relief. “Deal.”
Arno accepts the answer with a nod. His blazing expression doesn’t reveal any ulterior motive for the request, other than concern for his friend. The fact just feeds the cruel part of me whispering that someone else is behind the sudden need for boundaries. Espi? Perhaps I’ve disgusted the angel so greatly that he can’t even tell me himself to back off.
My jaw tightens at the possibility. I pegged him as reckless, but never a coward.
Alone, I find the upstairs hallway deserted and use the silence as cover to call Grey. He’s pissed by the protocol breach but accepts the serial, promising to call back within a few days.
“The damn analyst is backed up to shit,” he tells me.
I reenter the barroom and discover that it’s packed. Frombehind the bar, Domi tries to meet my gaze, but Francisco sighs. He’s relieved. I guess he knows what happens when Arno doesn’t approve of a guest.
“Get back to work!” he shouts above the din of chaos.
Already, there’s more broken glass on the floor and spills to mop up. While I set about conquering the busywork, it’s almost enough…
I almost forget. I almost stop eyeing the doorway every five fucking minutes in search of a familiar pair of eyes. Blue or dark brown?
It doesn’t fucking matter.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
ESPI
Some people claimthat blood is thicker than water—but they don’t know my family. To my brother, Dante, blood can be poison. He learned to cut it out and never look back.
Call me naïve, but I just never thought he’d do the same to me.
Even now, I can’t seem to call it what it is—him skipping out for nearly half a year. Abandonment? No. It’s just Dante being Dante.
He’ll come back. He always does.
Though maybe I’m as delusional as Arno. Rather than drown my memories with booze, I exorcise them in streaks of paint over canvas. Black for hate. Red for anger. Blue for pathetic, old Espi, the one always left behind.
It’s only when I’m knuckles-deep in acrylic that I let myself think about what I’m doing. It’s not too late to take more jobs and save up enough to skip town. Run. Hitch a one-way ride on a plane and never look back. I could pull a Dante-esque move, only I wouldn’t be self-righteous enough to pretend like I was doing it out of anything other than selfish greed.
I’m almost twenty-one years old, and I don’t know what itfeels like to want something. Not really. Something real. Something worth turning my back on the whole fucking world for.
Maybe if I find it, I’ll finally understand what it’s like to be him.
