Page 122 of Dancing in the Dark

He grabs my shoulder and yanks me back. “I’ve watched you lap this street for the last half an hour.” He curls his fingers into the fabric of my shirt and forces me to stay right here in front of him. “You’re trying to let this shit burn out, but you’re getting more heated with every trip, and this is the one I can tell you’ve decided you’re going inside.”

“So?” I slap his hand away and bring mine up. Left foot forward. Right foot back. I grew up wayyyy on the wrong side of the tracks not to know how to fight my way out of a tricky situation. “I’m going home, cos it’s really fuckin’ late. I’m done with this bullshit day.”

“You’re Fletching all over the place!” He slaps my lifted hands and grins at the growl bubbling inside my chest. “As your best friend, it’s my duty to make sure tonight’s pissy mood doesn’t lead to tomorrow’s really shitty reality.”

“Don’t use my name as a fuckin’ verb! It was funny the first time, but now it’s annoying.”

“You started it.” He slaps my hands again. “You’ll stand here and take your bad mood out on me, or you’ll sleep in the street because I knocked you the fuck out. What you won’t be doing is going home to those girls and fucking shit up.”

“It’s hilarious you think you get to stand between me and my daughter.” I shove past him and feel zero remorse for the way his shoulder collides with the solid brick wall. “Foolish of you to think you get to do that shit and live to tell the tale.”

“Foolish of you to think I’ll let you screw over something I know you won’t survive losing again.” He grabs the collar of my shirt and wrenches me around, swinging like he’s gunning for a home run, and sending me hurtling into the brick wall. It’s my turn. “You’re pissed. I get it.” He follows me in and slams his palm to my chest. “I’m pissed too. But it’s all a game, Fletch. It’s small-dick energy dressed up in big wigs and expensive suits.”

“Get the fuck off me.”

“Brush it off!” he snarls. “Brush Markum off. Fabian. Bower. Let it go and find your common sense again.”

“He’s burying us!” My temper snaps and explodes. The exact outcome he’s saving Sera from experiencing. “He’s got IA up our assholes! He’s got Bower threatening formal reprimands.”

“Who gives a shit? Why are you putting so much stock in the crap that dribbles onto that pissant’s chin? Just fall in line. Follow the rules. We’ll close out this case, and then he won’t be a problem for us anymore.”

“That’s easy for you to say! Were you even listening back there? Internal affairs, Arch! I need this job. I need this income because I have a kid and absolutely no fucking safety net.”

“You have more net than most, but you’re so fucking busy feeling sorry for yourself, you have no time to pull your head out of your ass and actually look around.”

“Look around at what? At the millions of dollars I have socked away in the bank? Oh wait. That’s you. At the massive, mortgage-free house I have stacked up on the hill? Nope. That’s you again.” I shove off the wall and stalk around to face him. “Life comes really easy to guys who don’t have to worry about filling the fridge each week. Taking it up the ass by a motherfucker in an expensive suit and a twenty-thousand-dollar watch probably doesn’t sting as much when your tax bracket sits way above his.”

“My tax bracket?” He barks out a taunting laugh. “Bitch, I don’t pay taxes on that money. My crooked daddy made sure his sons knew better.”

“Great!” I throw my hands up and swallow the poison. Push it down. “That’s why the rich stay rich and the poor get poorer. Meanwhile, I can’t sustain a formal reprimand in my file. I can’t cop a demotion without it biting into my baby’s grocery money.”

“Is that why you’re doing something on the side? Working for someone you shouldn’t?”

Alarm bells clang in the back of my brain. “What?”

He scoffs. “You’re insane if you think I haven’t noticed. You’re taking secret phone calls, Fletch. Replying to mystery texts. Too busy to come to the house for dinner. Not available when I call.”

“That’s not⁠—”

“But you’re also buying lunch and bragging about socking a few dollars away in your savings account.”

“I—”

“We’ve had IA up our assholes since the moment we came out of the academy together. You walked into this job knowing who I am, where I came from, and that the stench of my family’s past would always follow me. You’ve had a thousand opportunities to walk away from me, but you come back every fuckin’ time. IA’s been our third wheel since we got our badges, so don’t stand there and screech about them now unless you wanna tell me why, specifically, having them around is stressing you out more than usual.”

“Anderson’s filing formal complaints! He’s making a mess of this case, talking shit to every reporter he can find, and swinging your name around like he’s not afraid of the repercussions. Nobody likes it when internal affairs are sniffing around, stupid. But you expect me to laugh it off and act like I don’t care?”

“You don’t care. Remember?” He stalks forward, deadly serious and just as dangerous. “Way back when we got our shields and I told you hanging with me would mean always having eyes on the backs of our necks. I told you to look elsewhere. Find a new partner, since this was about as high in the department you’d advance for as long as your name was tied to mine.”

“I don’t care,” I grit out. “Loyalty matters to me more than bars on my dress blues.”

“Mmhm. And then the time we nabbed that serial… what was it? Eight years ago?” He comes another step closer. “They wanted to give us a medal of bravery or some shit. Ya know, since we nearly died tying that one up.”

I swallow the bitter memory I thought I’d long ago moved past. “Bower said bureaucracy excluded us from getting those medals.”

“Being Malone excluded us from getting those medals. I said it’d been a good run and that we’d had fun. You were married. Thinking about babies. It was time to get serious about your career, so parting ways while we were on top was the best way to cut the cord.”

“Loyalty matters to me,” I repeat through tight teeth. “No matter what.”