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His smile taunts. “You work for them.”
My fingers curl into tight fists and the final veil of pleasure flies away. “I do the most basic administrative work when I’m not doing my regular job. The public shit. I don’t have access to what’s beneath that, the private stuff.”
“But,” he says, “you do have some access, don’t you?”
I narrow my eyes, trying to work out the meaning behind his words.
“Why does it matter? That’s what you’re thinking, right?” He leans in close, his eyes firing into me like the hottest lasers. “If you want me to be able to protect you and your cousin… I need information. I need to know what they really do, the shit you claim you don’t know.”
“I don’t.”
“Then you’ll help me find out.”
The words play in my head as we pull to a stop. The area is ominous and dark, streetlamps burned out. I have no idea which bridge we crossed leaving the city, so I couldn’t even hazard a guess as to where we are right now.
Wherever we are definitely isn’t a trendy part of town. It’s warehouses and old boats and a dock, from what I can make out through the window.
Behind us are apartment buildings and dilapidated houses surrounded by high iron fences that give the area an isolated, abandoned feel.
He hands me a black tote bag, one of those relaxed bags that could be for the beach or casual evenings or work. I don’t even open it because he’s exceptionally good at nonverbal communication, and right now, his expression is a big flashing neon sign that screams “don’t even think about it.”
We get out of the car and it rolls away from the curb, the driver taking it slow, lights off. I tilt my head back and look up at Malone, the shadows casting a darkness over his features. A shiver shimmies down my spine when he threads a hand through my ponytail. He wraps his arms around me and dips his head. His lips feather against mine.
I sigh, melting into him despite all the warning signs begging me not to fall deeper under his spell.
“You keep in my line of sight, and you do what I say, got that, Red?”
I nod, and we take a few slow steps toward the dock, sticking close to the deep shadows of the warehouses as our cover.
He pushes open a door to the third one in and we step inside. The air is stale and dank, and a chill grabs hold of my heart and squeezes.
Something brushes against me. I bite down on a scream right as a hand clamps over my mouth. I’m spun around, whoever it is hauling me in farther by tugging on the handle of the bag. I stumble forward on the concrete floor with a yelp, skidding to a stop as I stare down the barrel of a gun pointed right at me.
FIFTEEN
malone
The stupid fuck who pulled the gun has no idea who he’s messing with. I press back into the shadows. I’ve got time. No matter what the hammer of my heart and the adrenaline spike in my blood say.
I’ve got time.
He’s a guard, I’m guessing, most likely underpaid by the Herald Bros. company that runs these docks out here in the armpit of Brooklyn. So he’s going to ask her some questions. He flashes a light into Scarlett’s face and I grip my gun.
One wrong move from me and she’s toast.
Not something on my agenda. I need her alive.
Fuck, I want her alive. And?—
I have time.
Everything about this dude screams low-level. There’s no big business being handled down here right now.
The Herald Bros. do get shipments in, usually drugs, but never by water. Those shipments are by land, and they’re stored far away from here. But they just happen to run this area because storage is a big business for them, too.
So I’m very interested in what’s being held here. Because I know who rents this warehouse.
Which brings me right back to the guard.
