I still. Wait, I was meant to Google something. Shit, what was it? I remember it’s something really important. I narrow my eyes at Bella, hoping she’ll inspire my memory.
Oh, that’s right.
I pull my phone out and type my question into the search bar. Pursing my lips, I tip my head from side to side. Three to four days until she’s recovered. I can live with that.
Barely.
Bella doesn’t waste time running to me, darting her watchful gaze up and down the street until she settles on Damien. Other than him, the only people around are the kids biking and playing farther up the street.
Rico’s brother nods at me. It’s a good thing Damien looks nothing like his annoying ass brother. Different mothers or something like that.
Damien’s all slicked-back hair and dead eyes. Whereas Rico’s got a buzz cut, and he’s like a dog that doesn’t know how to shut the fuck up.
I stand up straighter when Bella grabs onto me, leaving no more than a foot between us.
“Who is that?” she whispers under her breath.
“An acquaintance.” I’m sure as shit not about to call him a friend. I doubt he’d call me anything other than a person he knows. But I’ve got to admit that I still trust Damien more than his punk of a brother.
I’ve known Damien for five years. He’s a runner of some kind (I like to call himbitch boy, which he doesn’t appreciate) for the Alvarez Cartel, traveling over state lines for one thing or another. Damien got me doing some jobs for him on and off for extra cash; get money from this guy, fuck up that guy, win this thing, drop that thing off.
In principle, I don’t fuck with gang business, and he knows I have no loyalties with the Alvarez, but there’s no questioning that it pays damn well. It’s the only reason I’ve been able to spoil Bella.
And because I wouldn’t trust the cartel with two-week-old pizza, let alone personal information, until yesterday, I’d never mentioned Bella to him. Rico probably told him, though, and Damien strikes me as someone smart enough to do his research before getting into business.
Damien makes no move to greet us as we approach. He doesn’t need to take his glasses off for me to know he’s staring at me blankly. The man only has two settings: bored and angry.
“Riviera.” Even his voice sounds bored.
“Reyes.”
He looks at Bella for a beat too long, so I glue her to my side by an arm around her shoulder.
Actually, hey, that’s an idea. Maybe I could cuff us together so she can never leave my side (aka, she’ll have no choice but to shower with me). I’m a genius. Why didn’t I think of that earlier?
“Your contact?” I grind out when Damien continues to stand still.
Typical fucking criminals refusing to share their contacts so they can get a cut. I mean, Damien won’t expect anything, but he’ll want the person to know he referred me to them.
Without another word, he walks toward one of the three-story apartments. The guy unnerves me with how quiet he is, but at least he doesn’t run his mouth like Rico. And Damien can actually throw a decent punch. I’ve been in the ring with him a couple of times and became intimately aware of how good it feels to have my nose broken by his fist.
Bella sidesteps the trash and random shit on the stairs as we climb up the three-story building. Laundry hangs over balconies, and people sit on plastic chairs next to their open doors, smoking and having their morning beer.
On the third floor, Damien removes his glasses and leads us down the walkway to the second apartment from the very end, which happens to be the only apartment with a camera in front of its door. Whoever owns it painted the camera the same color as the walls, but it's hard to miss when a single, black, beady eye is staring right at you.
I tug Bella behind me to get her out of view. Damien tracks our movements but, as expected, he doesn’t say a thing.
Before his knuckles hit the door, it swings open, and I instinctively reach for my gun.
“You’re late,” the little thing behind the door snarls, hands on her hips, teeth bared, looking more murderous than I feel.
She’s a five-foot-something package of loathing, with bleached white streaks at the front of her hair, glaring daggers at Damien. Bella’s pretty tall for a girl—small compared to me—but Damien’s contact must come to Bella’s chin. Hell, she looks about our age, too.
Her freakishly blue eyes snap to me, and her scowl deepens. The fuck is her problem?
“Come in,” the aspiring demon snaps. “I’ve got better shit to do than wait around for you two assholes.” She narrows her eyes at my girl, who’s stepped out from behind me. Her scowl drops, and she dips her chin at Bella. “The name’s Connie.”
Oh.So the Oreo-haired girl knows how to play nice, after all?
