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The rest of the color drained from Vic’s face. “That’s not true.”
Nox cursed. “That’s his M.O. Otherwise, Nash would’ve had Vic’s replacement put a bullet in him.”
“No, no, no,” Vic chanted.
“What were ya looking for in the apartment?”
Gulping, he choked out, “None of your business.”
“He doesn’t even know.” Pissed I wasted my time, I asked, “Did you just tag along with who he actually sent?”
“No, I know what he’s after. We can work together. I can report back to you, tell you everything I hear.”
Using my anger at him, at Nash, at the fucker from Rye, I pulled back and punched him hard enough to tear his cheek. “I fuckin’ hate liars.”
Vic shook his head, but he wasn’t disagreeing.
He was clearing the cartoon birds flying around his head.
“It’s true. I only went back ‘cause the chick who lives there is hot,” he tried, lying again.
Or half-lying.
My voice was calm. Cold. “What?”
He went alert but wasn’t smart enough to keep his mouth shut. “I—I think she works for Nash. He’s got some high-price whores who work a different market than his clubs. I figured she’s one of them. I left a surprise on her panties last time and—”
“Well, that was fookin’ stupid,” Nox said, his tone indifferent.
“Seriously.” Taking out my gun, I pulled the trigger, barely glancing at Vic as his worthless life drained out of him.
Once the ringing in our ears faded enough to talk, Nox said, “Beck’s here.”
“Saw him.”
“Looking like a lad at Christmas?”
“Yeah.”
Shaking his head, he asked, “How’s the lass?”
“Got drunk at Rye tonight, kicked a dude in his balls ‘til he puked, and is probably passed out now.”
“So, good then.”
I grinned thinking about how my violent, ruthless princess kept me on my toes. “Fuckin’ perfect. How’s Gus doing?”
As if on cue, his cell rang and the smile on his face said exactly who it was before he answered on speaker. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” Gus said with a laugh. “You still doing Batman things?”
“Just finished. What do ya need?”
“Uh, the baby is demanding tacos. And Twinkies, but not the kind in the box—the packaged ones from the bodega. If that’s okay?”
“The baby wants it, she gets it, mo chuisle.”
“We don’t know it’s a she.”
