"You hear about that Ghost Clinic?" He's cleaning his Glock, methodical and calm like he's not about to destroy my world. "Mobile medical unit. Helps the underground. No questions, no insurance, no cops."
"Yeah?" My voice stays level. Twenty years of violence has taught me to hide everything, but my pulse is hammering.
"Run by some angel nurse. Cruz girl, I think I heard. Or maybe Gonzalez? Fuck, I don't know—someone said she's connected to Coyote but keeps the clinic neutral. Parks everywhere—Home Depot, Walmart, wherever people need help. Patched up Rope's kid last week when he split his head skating." Ghost looks up. "We should put her on payroll. Keep her safe. Woman like that, doing God's work in devil's territory."
Cruz. Gonzalez. Not her, then. Can't be. Phoenix has thousands of nurses. The odds of my Angel being the Ghost Clinic angel are—
But the brother. The protective brother with the key and the bike and the barely controlled violence.
"I'll look into it," I manage.
"Good. Anyone fucking with medical angels in our territory gets dealt with. Even if Coyote thinks she's theirs."
The irony tastes like copper. I'm the enforcer who's supposed to protect angels while corrupting one with voice notes and phone sex.
My phone buzzes.
Dylan:Need to talk. Emergency.
Fuck. Kid never says emergency unless it's real.
Where?
Dylan:Your place. 20 minutes.
I make excuses to Ghost, drive home with my head spinning. The Ghost Clinic. Coyote connections. Meeting her tonight while lying about everything.
Dylan's already at my garage when I pull up, pacing like a caged animal. Kid looks wrecked—pale, shaking, the whole works.
"Jessica's pregnant," he blurts out. "Maybe. She took a test. It was positive. She took three more. All positive."
Jesus Christ.Another fucking complication.
"How—"
"I know how!" He's almost crying. "We were careful, but that one time—fuck, Z, what do I do?"
I think about Emma. About the choices she never got to make. About the baby she talked about wanting someday, the future that died with her in that bathroom.
"What does Jessica want?"
"She doesn't know. She's scared. Her parents will kill her. Actually kill her."
"Dylan." I grab his shoulders, make him look at me. "You stand by her. Whatever she decides. You don't run, you don't panic, you don't make this about you. You stand by her."
"But what if—"
"No what-ifs. She decides. You support. That's how this works."
The hypocrisy tastes like blood. Here I am preaching loyalty while planning to meet someone whose brother would probably put me in the ground if he knew. Kid, take advice from literally anyone else.
"Mom's gonna lose her shit."
"We'll deal with that when we have to."
"We?"
"Yeah, kid. We."
