“Personal space, Dog? You still smell like paint,” Milk pointed out, biting on a fry, her hair pulled up in a rough ponytail.
Dog directed his glare at her. “And you smell like toilet, but you don’t see me pointing it out.”
“You just did,” she said, offering him a blank look.
“I just did,” he repeated, his gaze lingering before looking away and shaking his head. He reached for one of the burgers on the table, and took such a big bite out of it that his mouth was too full to chew properly.
Upper didn’t speak; when he got to the table, he just started feasting on his burger like it was the last food on earth, grumbling occasionally. Devil was the last to join us after escorting Elio out of the building.
Elio was flying back to Milan early due to work, and I had convinced him to call back Angelo and Casmiro. He had promised to think about it, but I highly doubted he would, as he informed me that Casmiro was back in his hometown with his family and it would be good for him to visit since he almost died recently, and they had been worried. He also said Angelo had recently gotten into a relationship, and he wanted him to cater to it adequately.
I didn’t push further after that. I let him be, and he promised to call when he landed, leaving me to deal with Street.
“Did he get off okay?” I asked as Devil took the space beside me, reaching for one of the chilled Cokes in the middle of the table.
“Yeah, a whole parade and shit—they just came out of nowhere like they were waiting for him to exit the building or something—said he’ll call when he lands.” He flexed his shoulder, taking a swig of the Coke, but kept drinking and drinking and drinking like he couldn’t get enough.
Milk rubbed her neck, tired.
Upper looked like death.
Dog was angry-eating, and Devil kept drinking until the bottle was almost empty.
“What kind of drug did you give us?” Upper asked. “I have urges to throw up, but I cannot throw up, and I’m so bloody hungry, but I’m so full.”
Guilt gripped me. “I’m so sorry, guys. I don’t know what I was thinking.”
Dog—not being able to talk—just gave me the middle finger.
I deserved that.
“I mean”—I cleared my throat—“at least we got the painting? Right? And now we have a map—”
“And security twenty-four seven while we’re here,” Devil supplied. “I am not happy you drugged us. But I’m happy we’re back in the game.”
“Right after I try not to die from the effects of the drug and scrubbing toilets all freaking day,” Milk said, the side of her head dropping to the table, cheeks pressing flush against the flat surface.
“I helped out?”
Her gaze shifted to me, eyeballs huge like she was possessed, thanks to the stern glare she shot my way.
I shifted closer to Devil, shrinking from her stare—the guy in question threw his hand around my shoulder, pulling me tighter into him.
“What’s the plan now?” he asked.
“We study the map and watch our six because I don’t think it will take people long to figure out we have what they want.”
Dog swallowed, drinking his Sprite and burping loudly.
Milk’s face scrunched up in disgust. “You are so disgusting it hurts my eyes.”
“You love me still, pinky brain.” He smirked her way, and she delivered him the middle finger this time as she raised her head. “The map is all colors of messed up; it will take ages to figure it out.”
“You only think like this because you’re all drugged up. Wait for the fog to clear,” I told her.
“At least we have the penthouse,” Dog injected. “Though Zahra claimed she rented it with invisible savings we all know shit about.”
“Yes.” Upper tilted his head, studying me. “Why did you serve your boyfriend that story, and why did he buy it?”
