“No, wait. Nigel called it a tablet. Said the necromancer used it as a script. Could that be it? Whoever these guys were, they wanted the necromancer for something. Something that isn’t nice, because they weren’t nice. And they will try again,” Hunter said.
“I will get a couple of these guys over there to watch the place. But tonight’s a full moon, so they’ll need a relief team for a few hours.”
“Hunter and I can be there at ten tonight,” I offered, looking across the console at Hunter. He lifted a shoulder and stuffed another fry into his mouth.
«±»
Back at my apartment, I lounged in my reading chair, sketching a profile of one of our attackers.
Hunter mumbled from the window where he was petting Archie. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have given you shit about firefighter dude. Do what you want.”
I put my sketch pad aside and went to open a can of tuna for Archie. It gave me time to form a response.
“He seemed rather insistent that I get his phone number as I would not give him mine. It felt rude to decline.” We both watched Archie wolf down his high-end meal.
Part of me wanted to explain my reasoning to Hunter. But he was right, he had no call to judge me on who I talked to or why.
When Hunter said nothing, I excused myself to the bathroom and took a quick shower. Emerging from the room, I found him sprawled and snoring on the air mattress.
Dressing in sweats, I stretched out on the futon, picked up my dog-eared copy ofFahrenheit 451, and read. It wasn’t long before my mind drifted from the page. My sightline moving to the prone form on the air mattress. To the sliver of golden skin as Hunter’s shirt rode up on his back. The slight rise of his arse under the baggy jeans. It was peaceful listening to his soft breathing.
It was easy. This moment was anyway. I felt safe and almost happy. Happier still if I moved off the futon to sleep next to Hunter. But I couldn’t do that. My eyes grew heavy, and I let them close. The book fell to the floor unnoticed.
Hunter’s voice floated in my head, his warm hand at my back. We were on the street outside Reckless Abandon—the first and only gay club I’d been to. I commented on the name, the rainbow-colored lights as they glittered over the people.
“Don’t worry, I won’t leave you.” His eyes had sparkled in the light, and I found him enticing in his tight-fitting club clothes.
Not far from the futon, Hunter snorted in his sleep and rolled over, rousing me from my thoughts. The man snuffled like an old beloved dog. He was adorable but also kind and smart.
I rolled to face the wall as I listened to his even breathing. In my former life, I would have used Hunter’s interest in me to my advantage, slight manipulations to get what I needed. Back in London, it had been a matter of survival. Seduction, manipulation, or even using one’s attractiveness to get ahead. But I was a changed man.
When I’d met Charlie Trumbull, I’d decided to stop nipping purses and try honest work. Life had been good. I had everything I needed. Bread on the table, a warm bed, and someone to share it with. A future.
Then Charlie died, and I found little reason to exist. Izzy had brought me here, to this time and this city, and Hunter had nursed me back to health. I figured it was incredibly rude to die after all that effort.
Physically, I was better now. Tip-top shape even. The ache of loss had eased, but inside, I was a jumble of bad feelings. Not simply the loss of Charlie, but everything. My past had been brutal, and I’d been brutal right along with it.
Things were different here, I knew that. But I went to work, smiled at the customers, and put on a good show when friends came around. Most of it was fake. I was too empty a shell for anyone. Especially not someone as nice as HB.
Chapter Six
Julian fails at so many things, including life
Julian Eskridge exhaled heavily through his nose. The old man always told him that keeping your cool was a matter of controlling your breath. He’d like to squeeze the breath out of the two idiots in front of him right now. “You left the car? For fuck’s sake, why did you leave the car?”
Shorty answered, his snake tattoo rippling on his neck. “Sorry, Boss, but the cops were on us right away. I thought it would be better not to get mixed up in an accident report so near the hotel.”
Julian didn’t remember the guy’s actual name. Ramon had always called him Shorty. God only knew why—as he was at least Julian’s height of six one.
“So you ran and left the car.” Julian pinched the bridge of his nose.
The two, both experienced bag men, their black suits straining across broad shoulders, nodded like errant children.
“Sorry,” Shorty answered. Behind him, his partner winced as he rubbed his bandaged wrist under a sleeve.
“The car is licensed to the casino. If the cops trace it back—which they will—they’ll look into the casino and its backers.” Julian sighed. “That’s us in case you two didn’t get it.” He waved his hand as though brushing them out of his office. Or rather Ramon’s office. It’s not like Ramon would care if he used it. “I’ll take care of it.” He picked up the desk phone and pressed one of the speed dial numbers.
“What will the boss say, do ya think?” Jake blinked his good eye, looking a little concerned. They were toughguys, Julian knew this for a fact, but nobody crossed Ramon Castenada or his father, Cesar, the head of the cartel. The old man was up in Jersey and rarely came to Philly, but nobody wanted his particular kind of wrath or attention.
