This isn’t the first time I’ve walked in on them fucking. It seems they hardly do much else these days.
“You saideight,” I tell Broadway when he enters the living room, hair disheveled, arms scratched, a half-empty bottle of water in hand. “It’s twenty past eight.”
“Hormones,” he says, a high-wattage grin almost tearing his face open from ear to ear. It loses some brightness when I don’t share his enthusiasm.
Was he expecting a high five?
Koby would.
Looks like they’re spending too much time together.
“I woke up with her hand wrapped around my dick.” He plops down beside me, running his hand through the rat’s nest sitting atop his head. “What would you have me do?”
“Fuck your girl on your own time.”
“I did. We would’ve been done in about ten seconds if you hadn’t shouted. You had to open your mouth, didn’t you?”
“Excuse me for offering you a heads-up and some privacy.”
His big hand lands on my shoulder, squeezing once. “Next time, I’ll send you a text.”
“No.” I grab the keyboard, tapping away to show him the footage he’s interested in. “Next time, you’ll come by my place.”
“Yeah, that’s fair.”
Of course, it’s fucking fair. I haven’t had time for a proper jerk-off session in two months. My balls are bluer than blue. Sparing me the mewls, moans, and gasps accompanying his sex life is the least he owes me.
I don’t need to hear them in the act while I can’t hook up because I’m on the lookout for the men Broadway desperately wants to kill.
For the purpose of this rant, we’ll pretend that locating the fuckers on his list fills the majority of my time, not the multitude of surveillance feeds I’m watching for any sign of Bianca.
“So? Who have you got this time?” Broadway asks, looking at the screen over my shoulder.
“Does it even matter who he is?”
“Makes no odds to me, but Carter needs details.”
“He’s a nobody. Deals drugs for one of Dante’s associates. Expendable.”
We watch said expendable, soon-to-be-dead dealer standing on one of New York’s many street corners last night. He clutches a bottle of liquor in one hand while toying with a small bag of white powder in the other. The image is grainy, as it usually is on city cameras, but clear enough that face recognition caught him.
That’s more than enough for Broadway.
“I traced his journey and got his home address.”
I don’t bother filling in the details. I learned in no time that neither Broadway, Koby, nor Carter care about thehow. They don’t give a shit that I metaphorically crawled out of my skin for hours on end while staying with this guy while he navigated Queens in his car.
They couldn’t care less that his street is not under surveillance. That I hacked his neighbors’ door cameras to pinpoint where he lives.
They want results. So, results they get.
Another pat and squeeze of my shoulder. “You’re the man, Ryder. You got a personal file on him?”
“Already emailed to Carter.” I switch the screen back to the program running Bianca’s details through hospital databases. “Got another horror-movie-worthy plan for the kill?”
“I’m sure I can think of something interesting. If I remember correctly, he’s the guy who duct-taped Violet’s mouth, then used a lot of objects on her that weren’t fit for purpose,” he says, his brows meeting in the middle. “She didn’t give me many details, never does, but she mentioned a wine bottle, a knife, a big wrench... If that’s him—”
“Let me guess. You’ll return the favor?”
