I stare at her, genuinely astounded. “I’m not just gonna walk away.”
“You should.” The words are pointed now, sharp as knives.
A chill goes down my spine, a prick behind my ears, warning: someone’s watching me, right here, right now.Let them watch.“This is my town,” I say measuredly. “Maybe Jockey and his asshole guys need reminding.”
“You can’t win this. There’s money in it for them. A lot of it. And money’s worth more than loyalty, Liam, you know that. You learned that.” Marnie’s eyes go over my shoulder briefly, and her hand tightens on mine. “Kiss me.”
“What?”
“Kiss me, or we’re both going to pay for this conversation.”
There’s a true current of fear in her voice that pits my stomach. I take her face in my hand and press my lips to hers. I regret it instantly, but in the same breath, I want it more: I want someone to see, I want Lexie to know. The impulse is so petty and pathetic the breath goes out of me, but by then Marnie’s lips are parting mine and her tongue is in my mouth, and she has her fingers running through my hair.
When we break apart, her eyes are wide, her breathing shallow.
“Margot’s gonna kill me for that,” I say, trying for a smile.
“Jockey’s guys would have killed you faster,” she says. I hear the bell above the door, and out of the corner of my eye, spot a couple guys leaving. Some of the obvious strain in Marnie’s spine goes out, and she plants both palms on the bar, releasing a breath. “Listen to me, Liam. Margot doesn’t know these guys like I do. She doesn’t hear the shit they say. When they found out you were free…”
“Yeah?”
“Let’s just say, they’re not planning on you being around for long. If I were you, I’d get Margot, and anything else you care about, and get out of town. OK?”
I stare into her face, trying to measure out the fear in her eyes, the weight of her words. Then I finish my beer and slap a 20 on the bar. “Thanks for the kiss.”
“Liam—”
“I’ll see you around.”
* * *
I’m half-expecting to get jumped in the parking lot, but when I get out there, there’s nobody but a couple of old smokers arguing under a greasy, flickering bulb down the strip mall. I’m reeling a little, half-buzzed, half-struck: it’s not fear, really, but surprise. I knew I’d be dealing with shit when I got out, but I didn’t think it’d be this deep, or this fast. For some dumb reason, I thought I’d be the only one in town who remembered—whocaredenough to remember—the day I lost Milo.
But apparently I’m not. And apparently Jockey has gotten serious. I’ll need backup if I want a real chance of spooking him, much less getting him the fuck out of town. Pat and Nick are good guys—they’ve both done time too, and we grew up together with Milo. It’s been a minute since I’ve seen either, but they’re old blood, and I know in my bones, they’ll be good for a little revenge.
I’m getting into the Miata when I realize I’m still hearing Marnie’s words in my head, echoing, over and over and over:and anything else you care about.
I grip the door handle, recalling, with painful clarity, the sound Lexie made when I kissed her in the woods. I have to remind myself: she doesn’t want me. Didn’t wait for me.
It hits me hard then, this obvious realization: it doesn’t matter.
Lexie Rynne could put a knife in my heart and I’d still do anything to protect her. This isn’t a fairy tale. We’re not gonna get a happily ever after. But no matter what, Lexie’s not going to pay formymistakes. As long as I’m here, she’s going to be safe, whether she wants my help or not.
I look up at the foggy sky, where a patch of it has worn thin and a few stars gleam, cold and distant. I have a compass now, and a purpose. Get Pat and Nicky on my side, and pay little old Jockey a friendly visit.
And, at all costs, keep the people I love safe.
6
Lexie
“Fucking unbelievable,” I mutter. I cock my hip against the water cooler, arms crossed as one of the newest guys yuks it up with Liza in her office. “What do you think, is she just sexist?”
Ramsay flicks on the fountain and fills up a paper cup. “She likes me less than you, so I’ll wager that’s not it.”
“Hm.” I’ve been working on a story outside of my usual columns—mostly housewife shit and book club reviews—late at night, when the girls are asleep and Mom has gone back to her nice little condo by the center of town.
I haven’t told Ramsay yet; he’d talk me out of it. Maybe I just like the digging. My working title:The Decline of Organized Crime Gives Rise to the Disorganized.A little wordy, but it gets the point across, and it means I get to look into Liam. His past, his dad’s past. His friends—and his not-so-friends, the guys living a town up who’ve been busted for drugs and arms and have barely done a few months’ time without parole.
