It’s raining, a gentle drizzle, and as we head toward the side of the club to stand beneath the awning, I glance at him.
His deep brown eyes are scanning the parking lot. The man is always on alert, and when he’s like this—working—I consider what it might be like to marry him. It would help both of us, I know that, but at what cost?
He’s taller than me, tight muscles and covered in tattoos. Curly brown hair, olive skin, fucking gorgeous.
But he’s a man whore and I don’t want to become a jealous, murderous wife.
I know what these men are like.
I was raised by one.
“What is it?” I ask him as I keep my eyes on his, but he’s still ensuring we’re alone even with our spines to the side of the building.
He finally looks down at me and pulls me closer.
I turn my body, one palm pressed to his hard chest.
“What did you do last night, Lydia?”
I smile at him. “What are you, a fucking narc?”
He doesn’t smile back. “You’re getting too much blood on your hands.”
That isn’t true, but he doesn’t need to know anything about this. “Tell me what you wanted to say.” I curl my hand into the fabric of his shirt. “You said it was about Lele which is the only reason I’m out here talking to you.”
“The only reason, huh?”
I roll my eyes but breathe him in despite myself. He smells like cigars and expensive cologne and it might not sound like it, but it’s a heady combination.
He rests a hand on my hip.
Part of me wants to melt.
Let him fuck me against this wall.
But that’s my libido talking.
I narrow my eyes and he grins, his handsome face more open for it. But in a heartbeat, the smile is gone, and he says, “Your uncle went to Astor.”
The hospital.
My pulse thrums fast in my chest. Lynx didn’t tell me he stopped by.
It seems as if Lynx isn’t telling me a lot of things. He’s been dead silent. If he died, I wouldn’t know the difference.
But the guards around Lele’s bed aremine.
“When?” I ask Berlin, my mouth gone dry.
His fingers curl against my hip, right there at the waistband on my trousers. It’s not sexual. It’s like he’s keeping me grounded.
What I didn’t ask was,how do you know?
And we both know that.
“Last night.”
I think of Fox asking when the last time I spoke to Lynx was. Of the damaged windshield. The strangeness.
