She’d finished cashing out but was caught up in the mass of bodies that were trying to shuffle out the door.
“Sorry, sir. Just dealing with car trouble,” I said, playing off my sour mood. That was my excuse for everything. No one questioned car trouble. “Gotta get someone to look at it again.”
He chuckled. “That’s what you get for driving one of those newfangled electric cars. The old ones might not be pretty, but they don’t have all the computers and shit. And you can work on ’em yourself.”
As if he had ever gotten grease on his hands.
I cracked a smile as Amelia slipped out the door. “Yeah. I’m tired of dealing with it. I need to find something different.”
“I know a guy. When you’re ready to buy, he’ll treat you right.” Valentineknew a guyfor everything. And when he needed something dealt with, I was that guy.
“Yes, sir,” I said, slipping out without another word.
I had worked for John Valentine for years. In that time, I had done my best to avoid casual conversations. I did my job and nothing more.
I was completely replaceable, and I was fine with that.
I slipped out the back and found the “associate” he wanted me to give a “reminder” to.
The guy had duct tape over his mouth. His hands and feet were bound behind his back, and he had been dumped by the five-gallon buckets the cooks sat on during their smoke breaks.
I wrinkled my nose as the lingering odor of stale beer wafted from the dumpsters.
“Let’s get this over with,” I said with a huff as I landed a swift kick to his ribs. From the sound he made, I probably cracked a few. Maybe broke one. But his vital organs would be fine and his blood would stay inside his body. Most of it, at least.
I would’ve felt bad for him, but if he was involved in one of Valentine’s backroom deals, he was a piece of shit.
Then again, I was a piece of shit too.
I landed a few more kicks, but I was growing bored. John Valentine constantly proselytized the old saying that you don’t have to speak to be heard. He preferred his soldiers to be silent while he was wheeling and dealing in money laundering, gun running, drugs, and prostitution. Being silent didn’t bother me.
I grabbed the ropes that bound the unnamed man’s hands and dragged him toward the back door like I was carrying in groceries and didn’t want to make a second trip.
I glanced over my shoulder as I yanked the door open and spotted Amelia slipping through the alley.
Rather, she had spotted me.
Her wide eyes would have been comical—like a cartoon rabbit who had just realized a falling anvil was careening down from a cliff—had the look on her face not been so fucking devastating.
Her sharp gasp drifted over the wind like shattering glass.
It’s for the best, I told myself as I stared her down while a grown man dangled from my grip. She should see me like this. She should know who she’s dealing with.
Amelia turned and ran as I slipped inside.
I had told her to be forgettable. Maybe she finally learned her lesson.
Unfortunately, she was the least forgettable person to me.
10
AMELIA
Thursday, May 22 | 3:42 a.m.
The image of Jude dragging a beaten and bloody man into the back entrance of the casino was as fresh in my mind after the drive back to Connecticut as it was the moment I saw it happen.
There was no way I’d ever forget how cold his expression was. But there was something else that lingered in his eyes that warmed the chill.
