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“If she did,” I say with measured patience, “we’ll leave well enough alone.”
Again, he doesn’t say anything but the silently raised eyebrows say it for him. He thinks I’ve lost my fucking mind.
He can think that, as long as he does what I tell him.
We’re two minutes out when my phone buzzes again. I growl, glancing at the screen to see another text from Armand.
It’s important, I think you should know
Jesus.
“Text Armand, tell him I’m driving, and ask him what the hell is going on that’s so urgent.”
Joe scowls and mutters a “yessir,” already texting. No response at first. I pull up to Violet’s house and park at the corner.
“You see anything?”
“No. You?”
I shake my head.
“But you don’t know if it’s one person or several we’re looking for, what they look like…” his voice trails off.
“Correct.”
A woman laughs on the other side of an open window, and a few teens sit on the stoop licking ice cream cones. A dog barks in the distance, and someone’s lighting off fireworks a few blocks away. It looks just like any typical late summer night.
I walk up to her front door when the dumbass we saw earlier comes out. He’s unsteady on his feet. Drunk.
“Ahh, Violet’s lover,” he says. Joe looks at me sharply.
“I’m her boss.” She’d kill me for that, but she’d kill me faster for pretending to be her man. I’m not playing games right now.
“Right, like that matters,” the asshole says with a snicker. “Why are you back?”
“I need to get into her apartment.” There’s no way on God’s green earth he’s going to make this easy on me. He’ll need to be persuaded.
“And?”
“And I need you to let me upstairs.”
He smirks at me and leans against the railing. “Can’t do that without the pretty lady’s say so. How do I know you didn’t get into a fight and you’re using me to get to her?”
Joe glances at me, ready to spring into action. I shake my head at him.
I want him all to myself.
Every second that passes places her in greater danger than before. The asshole that took those women moves fast, and I’m not fucking around.
In two seconds, I’ve got him by the collar, and I yank him inside the entryway where no one can see us. My MK3’s pushed up to his neck, a bead of blood coloring the blade.
“Hey, man!” he says, panicking like a girl. “Hey!”
“Let me in and do it now. You do not call the cops unless you want a building inspector here by Monday. I’ve got connections in places you really,reallydon’t want to go and will have this place condemned before you can wipe your ass.”
I press the knife harder, drawing more blood.
“Jesus! Go!” he says in a strangled voice, stepping aside and handing me a set of keys. “Her key’s the purple one, 208.”
