Fuck.
That could not work, and I had to find a way to dismiss the possibility without arousing suspicion. Perhaps it was a fucking impossible ask, but it was something I had to figure out.
“Would be dangerous to my mission. Black Reapers think I’m on their side. They see me go there in quiet, they’ll know what’s up. Let’s meet gas station or coffee shop.”
I was being too loose with this, too casual. I was no genius. I needed to give myself more time to breathe and think of an actual answer. I was fucking this up by trying to get through it so quickly.
But thank fucking God, when the answer came back, it wasn’t the kind of shit that would get my ass murdered.
“Tell me where then.”
Perfect.
“Starbucks at seven. It closes at eight. Will give us enough time for me to tell you everything and you can be on your way. It’s a public place so it won’t arouse suspicion of anyone and let me continue my work.”
God, I really hope I fucking know what I’m doing.
“Deal. See you Thursday. Don’t make me waste my time.”
A threat, sure, but a moderate one. I breathed a sigh of relief. One problem had finally been taken care of and figured out.
And now I just needed to figure out each step as it came!
This seemed like a fucking dangerous approach. I didn’t know how I’d extract info from Crush or get him to turn. Figuring it out on the fly was like learning to fly a plane on, well, the fucking fly. If I fucked up at any one step, I was dead. If I said something wrong, I was dead. If either side—fucking either side—thought I was selling them out, I was dead.
I was starting to think that just laying low in the streets and bumming around place to place was the safest thing I could have done. Or at least taken a bus to someplace like Oregon or Arkansas, somewhere far fucking away from this madness.
But like many things in my life, it was too fucking late for that. And crying over that would have made me a fucking pussy—something that was non-negotiable.
I stood up from the table. I’d already spent too much fucking time here. Someone was bound to recognize me—the hope was just that it wasn’t a King’s Man and thus someone who would eventually turn me in for whatever shit. I walked outside, into the fresh air, and made my way toward my bike parked in a different lot.
I got to the bike, pulled out my phone to see if anything had changed, and saw a text from Sonny. Immediately, I assumed the worst. These types of things just never went according to plan.
“Call me when you’re alone.”
That was encouraging, I supposed. If they thought I’d betrayed them, they probably would have just jumped me at some point. I looked around, confirmed no one had followed me or was nearby, and called Sonny.
“Asher.”
“What do you need?”
“I hear your girlfriend has a place in Vegas.”
How the fuck did…
“My wife, you mean?”
“Oh, right, yes.”
“Did you fuck Callie?” I growled, the intensity of my voice surprising even me.
“Hell no, I’ve got an old lady, and I’m very happy with her. Asher, no, fucking listen. I ran into her yesterday. Your girl, I mean, your wife works with my girlfriend. She mentioned that you two have a place in Las Vegas still.”
I was surprised at how jealous and protective I was feeling about all this. What fucking right did Sonny think he had to talk to Callie, much less learn about us still somehow having our old apartment in Vegas? What sort of fucking backstabbing, seductive bullshit was this?
“The fuck does that have to do with anything?”
“It has everything to do with anything,” Sonny said back. “Asher, I know you’re not an idiot. You know that King has his headquarters back there. You know that Crush and Prince alternate between there and Phoenix. If ever there is a time to get them separate from King, it’s when they are in separate cities. We have our spaces here in Phoenix. We need them in Vegas.”
