I hate that he sees the weak me of the past and the bitterness that’s morphed me into what I am today, but deep down, it’s freeing. I don’t have to hide or pretend. I don’t have to worry about what he’ll think about me when he finds out how much was stolen from me, and how I’m still letting their filth permeate my life, making me feel unworthy and scared of anything and everyone.
How fucked up is it that I trust a man who has held me captive in my cushy little cell more than I’ve ever trusted anyone since the first time Shelby sold me? He’s an admitted killer, a criminal who wears his scars like badges of fucking honor, and he opens doors for me, tells me he wants to protect me, and has. He promises to make everyone pay. Is it so bad that I want him to? That I want all of this to be more than just the need to make an example of someone who encroached on his turf?
“He’s next,” Winger says, his eyes still locked on mine. It’s not a question, and he’s not waiting for confirmation, but I want him to know I’m completely on board.
“I’m in.”
His lips twitch, and I think he’s going to deny me, but after a breath, he gives me the slightest of nods.
“I’ve taken a page from your book, little stalker, and compiled all the shit you like to track—properties owned, vehicles, and employment.” Iron makes a point of looking over at me. “He has none. He seems to live off family money and habits.” He taps on the keyboard again, showing me my notes app, the same one with all the shit I observed about Winger. My stomach flips and lands firmly in my throat, but I try to act cool, like the things I noted about him were no different than the things I took down about Eddy or any of the others, but it’s not true.
I never once commented on the others’ appearances and how attractive they were or questioned why they lived alone. I can feel my face getting red, but I ignore that too.
“Okay, you two crazy kids, I’ll leave the murder plans to you for now, but you know who to call if you need backup. I updated the info on Dean ‘Can’t Keep It in My Pants’ Nichols.” Iron steps back from the computer. I don’t know which is more alarming—his curious need for nicknames, or the fact that he seems completely willing to help with murder plots.
To distract myself from either notion, I question, “How did you find him?”
“I can’t give away all my secrets, because then Winger might never need me and I’d be forced to bug the hell out of Rex, and he mightactuallykill me.”
“Rex?” I question, recognizing the name, but I didn’t realize it was the name of a person.
“Ignore him.” Winger sends a meaningful glare toward Iron.
“Was he supposed to be a secret? Oh damn, well, he’s expecting both of you tomorrow evening at The After Party. Did I forget to mention that?” Iron grins mischievously, pleased with himself.
“What?” Winger’s lips move, but his teeth are clenched.
“Come on, you couldn’t expect to keep her a secret forever, could you?” Iron gives Winger a skeptical look.
“I should have known, since you gossip like an old fucking lady.”
“Do you even know an old lady?”
“I know you, which is as good as,” Winger retorts.
My gaze volleys between them as they banter.
“Who’s Rex?” I ask, thinking I’ll have a better shot getting answers from Iron. They both look over at me.
Iron gets right to the point. “Top of the food chain.”
“Expensive Taste with the pretty girl?” I surmise.
Iron’s lips curl down in an appreciative mien. “Nailed it. You are observant, but you’re better off not mentioning Fel. He’s a bit finicky when she’s involved.”
“Finicky?” Wringer deadpans.
“Like you wouldn’t be the same and already aren’t,” Iron counters as they share another look I don’t quite understand. The prolonged silence and stare off stretches until I’m the one to break it.
“What about Ian?” I slip next to Winger, avoiding getting too close to Iron. I give them plenty of time to tell me not to touch the computer before turning it in my direction. My intent was to break the tension, but I forget all about their weird silent conversation when I see one of the addresses listed for Ian.
“He lives in the Polaris building?” I confirm with Iron.
“Not sure, but he owns a condo there. Why?”
“Edward Mitts visited that building. It’s in Cleveland, right?” I glance back down to confirm the address myself, realizing I didn’t get any further than the building name and unit number.
“So they had recent contact,” Winger concludes.
