“It doesn’t matter. Who’s the next one?” I urge him to move on, because I might actually lose it if I see Dylan’s pudgy face again. He was the youngest of the guys who came around, and one of the creepiest. He was probably only five or so years older than me, but it’s not like he told me his age. Hell, I only know most of their names because I heard Shelby use them.
Winger looks at me for a moment too long, then swipes the photo to the left. I scan every inch of the new man’s face, but there’s no flare of recognition. “No.” I breathe a little easier.
He moves through two more pictures of the same man slowly, then stops on a familiar face. “That one.” I stop myself from touching him this time, but only just. I have no idea why seeing these men would have me reaching for Winger, but it does. The awkwardness came when I realized I was doing it and still didn’t release him for several seconds longer.
“Kyle Wooster. Shelby called him KW.” I always thought that was such a dumb nickname. It doesn’t even sound good together.
“He’s dead,” Winger tells me and moves to the next picture, an obituary. There’s a picture of Kyle with his arm around a young woman who could be his granddaughter, while a woman closer to KW’s age is standing just off to the side with a practiced smile on her face. The background shows a crystal clear lake with a bunch of sail boats in the distance.
“Tell me he had a freak accident and a dumpster fell on his head.”
“Cancer,” Winger tells me.
“I hope it was long and painful.” I really am going to hell.
“I’ll let Iron know to keep looking for the other two.”
“I can’t believe he found half of them in a few days.” I’m a little in awe to be honest. “How do I become a baby don? You seem to have some pretty stellar contacts.”
“Youdon’t.”
“Not planning on retiring any time soon?”
“It’s not a position you retire from, and I’m not a baby don.” He sets his phone down.
“A full-fledged one then?” I can’t believe I’m teasing him. I know it’s partly to get my mind off the memories of my past, but there’s also the small fact that I missed him not being here. Now I hate being alone, when that’s how I’ve spent the last seven years.
“No don, since I’m not in the mafia.”
“Might as well be though. You own a bunch of shit. You’re probably laundering money through the club. Potayto, potahto.”
“How do you know what I own?” He squints at me.
I let him know I can do some of my own research. “Your house, cars, and the club are all listed under Rex Holdings.”
A half smile tips his lips, but he drops it quickly. “Are you trying to make sure you never get away from us?” He seems genuinely curious.
“Do you offer benefits?” I’m only partially joking.
“Are you looking to diversify your portfolio and maybe expand your retirement investments?” His bantering question surprises me.
“You’ve seen my credit score, right? I’m lucky I got my shitty condo. It’s hard to build credit when your only income is dirty cash you steal from scumbags.”
“You just need to know the right people,” he tells me.
“I see that.”
“I’ll let you know if we’re accepting any applications.”
He didn’t outright shut me down, which is a good thing. What the hell am I thinking?I really want to work for the guy who kidnapped me. A little voice reminds me,He also saved you when anyone else would have let you bleed out on the street.
“One less name on the list.” You’d think I’d get some satisfaction knowing there was one less person I needed to kill, but I don’t. Instead, there’s this sense of unease creeping up, as if when they are all gone, I’ll cease to exist too. “Who’s next?” I ask.
Winger picks up his phone again and looks at the black lock screen. “It’s too early to call Iron. He’s been working on getting me some info on the others,” Winger tells me without hesitation.
“I have some preliminary notes on Ian Myers. He was next,” I tell him. I hadn’t put the effort into infiltrating his life like I normally would have while I was tracking down Eddy, because I was too busy obsessing over the man right next to me.
“I know.”
