He doesn’t answer.
I’m silent for as long as I can be, which is only probably about five minutes. “I don’t understand what—”
“You’re the one who came looking for me. You wanted my attention. Now you have it.”
“I didn’t,” I lie.
“Be serious.” He speaks in that same dismissive, bored tone he used so effectively against our bully of a teacher all those years ago.
I swallow, my uneasiness intensifying. Why did I let myself get talked into helping Milt with this? Who do I think I am to mess around with a guy who’s reportedly killed half a dozen men?
“I just want to be let out of the car.” My voice is no more than a whisper now. “This is all a mistake. You can drop me anywhere. I’ll call for a ride.”
There are a few beats of silence. “What was it?”
“What?”
“In the drink.”
Oh, God. Did he see me spike his drink? I was smooth. He should’ve missed it.
“And who put you up to it? With Enzo, what you see is what you get. Packs an extra gun. Brings some extra muscle. Thinks he’s got it all under control because he managed to show up unexpectedly. That’s Enzo. Drugging me by getting a girl to slip something in my drink? Not Enzo. Actually I doubt even Murphy would do it in that setting. To what end? With Gibson, Mo, and the dealer there, he’s not gonna carry me out in front of witnesses to kill me elsewhere. And risk the feds and my crue getting the story? Nah. Murphy’s smarter than that. He’d lie in wait for me somewhere, kill me, and then blame it on someone else. That’s his family’s style.”
My head jerks to look at him. What’s he talking about? And why is he saying anything at all unless he’s decided I’ll never be able to pass it on?
“So tell me who sent you to set me up?”
My stomach sinks, and my voice is mostly breath. “No one.” This is more than a disaster. I have no idea what he’s planning to do. Kill me?
All he says is, “Wrong answer.”
Chapter 2
Trick
She could have gotten me killed. Trying to drug me when I’m in a room full of enemies? For fuck’s sake. Then again, maybe that’s what she had in mind. Was the drug meant to do the job straight up? Because what else? If I’d passed out, it’s not like Laurel here was going to carry me out without help. The thought of Laurel kidnapping me almost makes me smile. That would’ve been one for the books.
It pisses me off that she got something in my drink without my seeing her do it. That’s what I get for trying to ignore her.
I get to the garage of the apartment building that I own and live in. I shoot C a text that I’ll holler at him later.
First, the girl. And second and third, the girl.
“Trick?”
“Yeah?” Putting the truck into my parking spot, I glance in the rearview. Haven’t spotted company so far. Killing the engine and pressing a button that lowers a metal wall, I seal the truck inside the space. I get out and use a code to open another metal divider to reveal the elevator to the penthouse. Opening her car door, I find her still belted in. Reluctant to get out. Smart.
“Come on.”
She unbuckles and gets out, pushing down on the dress’s tight fabric to keep it from riding up. That won’t be a problem for much longer. It’s coming off when I look for a wire, and staying off during her punishment. For a few seconds, I circle around that thought. She’s not mine. If she’s on the Palermo payroll or associating with Murphy’s gang, she’s fair game. If they didn’t want her to face consequences, they should’ve worked a lot fucking harder to stop me from taking her from that basement. But if she’s got some other deal, say with the feds, teaching her a certain kind of lesson would be ill advised.
“What are we doing?”
Ushering her into the elevator, I activate the keypad with a fingerprint and press the call button. I don’t seriously consider that she’s working on her own because why would she be? The stuff that happened in high school was a million years ago, and my guys know not to sell product to her little sister, Monet, who’s a recreational addict these days.
Laurel bites the corner of her lip. It’s sexy, but I doubt that’s the point. Her expression’s pensive.
On my floor, we walk down the concrete hall to the metal door. My print unlocks the electronic keypad on the door, but I still have to use my key. C insisted on layers of security if I was going to live in a marked building rather than in the C Crue compound. He wasn’t wrong to lay down the law on that account. A lot of people want us dead.
