I salute lazily. “Aye, aye, captain.”
As I head back inside, I can’t shake the feeling that I’m missing something. Maybe D’s paranoia is rubbing off on me. Or maybe…
A low rumble catches my attention. An SUV, sleek and black with windows tinted darker than my future, crawls by the diner. It’s moving slowly, too slow for the mid-morning traffic.
I freeze, my hand on the door handle. The SUV comes to a stop right in front of the diner, engine idling.
For a long moment, nothing happens. Then the passenger window rolls down, just a crack. Not enough to see inside, but enough to make the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.
I can feel eyes on me, boring into me from behind that tinted glass. My heart’s pounding so hard I’m surprised the whole street can’t hear it.
“Wren?” Rosie’s voice seems to come from far away. “You okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
I open my mouth to respond, but the words die in my throat as the SUV’s engine revs. It peels away from the curb, tires squealing on the asphalt.
As it speeds past, something flutters out of the cracked window. A piece of paper, dancing on the wind before settling on the sidewalk.
Before I can think better of it, I’m moving. I snatch the paper off the sidewalk, my fingers trembling slightly as I unfold it. The handwriting is messy like it was scrawled in a hurry:
“1408 RIVERSIDE DRIVE. 10 PM. COME ALONE IF YOU WANT TO SEE JOHN DAVIS AGAIN.”
Fuck.
44
Dimitri
My thumb swipes across the phone screen for the hundredth fucking time. Nothing. No new messages. No sign of her.Blyat, what the fuck is wrong with me?
I should be focused on business, not waiting for a goddamn text like some lovesickchyort.
“D, you trying to burn a hole through that thing?” Erik’s voice cuts through my thoughts.
I tear my eyes away from the screen, glaring at him. “Shut your fucking mouth and drive,mudak.”
Erik’s sprawled in the driver’s seat like it’s his personal throne, one arm draped over the steering wheel. His blonde hair’s pulled back in that stupid man-bun he thinks looks so cool. Fucking peacock.
“What’s got your panties in a twist?” he asks, that cocky eyebrow of his shooting up. “Wren not texting you back?”
My fist clenches, itching to connect with his smug face. “You want to walk home,suka?Keep talking.”
Erik holds up his hand in mock surrender, but I can see the laughter in his eyes.Yob tvoyu mat, I hate how well he can read me sometimes.
I drag my eyes back to the fucking encrypted messages on my screen. My muscles tense as I shift in my seat, thinking about how fucked we are. And then I catch sight of last night’s text from Wren.Suka. Just what I need, to be distracted by that hot piece of ass when I’m already neck-deep in shit. I grit my teeth. She’s fucking with my head. I can’t afford to think about her every goddamn two seconds.
“Blyat,” I growl, shoving the phone into my pocket. “Someone’s fucking with our shipments. Big time.”
Erik’s eyes flick to me, then back to the road. His fingers drum against the steering wheel, a steady rhythm that grates on my nerves. “How bad we talking?”
“Bad enough to make me want to put my fist through something,” I snarl. The leather seat creaks as I shift, my hand instinctively moving to the gun at my waist. “Three shipments hit in the last week. Whoever’s doing this, they’re organized. Professional.”
Erik goes quiet, his eyes fixed on the road ahead, but I know that he’s spinning his gears, thinking, plotting. Suddenly, his lips twitch into a half-smirk.
“Skull Collectors, huh?” he drawls, the words dripping with amusement. “They’re not some street gang looking to make a quick buck, I’m guessing.”
“No fucking kidding,” I mutter, watching the city blur past the window. The afternoon sun glints off glass and steel, making me squint. “Where the hell are you taking us, anyway?”
That smirk plays at the corner of Erik’s mouth. “What’s wrong, D? Don’t trust me?”
