Page 118 of Hellbound

“You can start this apology off by getting me a drink. You know where the fridge is,” he said over his shoulder as he fluffed his robe before sinking into the corner of the couch, knees spread.

Marian sure did know where the fridge was; it wasn’t the first time she’d fetched his drinks for him. But it would be the last.

She opened the door and grabbed the first brown bottle she saw. Muscle memory led her to the wall-mounted bottle opener. She caught the cap before it hit the ground and tucked it in her hoodie pocket.

“You were right,” Marian said in a small voice as she walked toward the couch and passed the bottle to Greg’s outstretched hand. “I chose a side. The wrong one. I want to go back to the way things were.”

Greg sneered. He sat forward; elbows braced on his knees.

“I told you so, dummy.” He cupped a hand around his mouth, then said louder. “I fuckin’ told you so!”

Marian frowned. “Yeah, OK, you—”

But he learned forward, nearly shouting in her face through that cruel smile of his.

“I told you so-o-o-o!”

Then he sat back with an ugly, triumphant crow and slapped a knee. “That never gets old with you. I’ve got decades on you in this business. When are you gonna learn that means I always know best? You were a real bitch to me, too.”

Deep, deep breaths.

“I should have known better than to try and do this without you. You’re smart. I’m not. But I …”

She’d cast her eyes downward, doing her best impression of a penitent woman. Every glance she stole assured her that Greg was buying it wholesale. He’d puffed his shallow chest out like he’d always done whenever he’d browbeaten her into defeat.

“I’m going to get you that eight grand, but before we work together again, I just have one question for you.”

“We’re doing a seventy-five twenty-five cut this time,” Greg declared as he pointed at her with his bottle. “No more of this even split bullshit. Not when I’m carrying the team.”

“Deal,” Marian said flatly. “What happened to Arthur Falk?”

Greg’s hideous smile collapsed.

It made her hate her past self a little bit for letting this scarecrow shithead hand-wave her questions away. For believing him when he said the past didn’t matter. If it didn’t matter, then why did Greg Bjernsen look at her like she’d accused him of a crime?

Her shaky hands could barely grip the phone as she pulled it from her pocket out of sight and sat across from Greg on the opposite segment of the couch.

“The fuck is your obsession with that guy?”

“I just need to hear the story again. I’ve been all screwed up about what happened to me in Hell and the Remnant. It snuck up on him, didn’t it?”

“Yeah, that’s right,” Greg said as he crossed his legs. “Poor bastard.”

“And you didn’t make a dime off that dive?”

“Not a fuckin’ penny. Lost my partner and paycheck all at once.”

Marian nodded and glanced down at her phone. A text bubble illuminated the screen.

TORI:

HE’S LYING.

Marian schooled her features carefully as she slowly reached over to type out a one-handed reply. Was any of it true?

TORI:

NO.