Page 16 of Dual Destruction

What he meant was this would lead to others if I was the first one to get it done. I tried to school my features, thumbing through the pages in the folder.

“Understood,” I confirmed, snapping the folder closed.

“I’m sure you’ll review, but since time is of the essence, do you want the highlights?” Sharp asked.

I stood up and tucked the file into the inside pocket of my jacket. “Sure,”

“Sandro Michael Rosetti,” Sharp said. “Age twenty-nine. Five foot nine. Dark hair, dark eyes. Also known by the nickname Sage.”

“Right.” A lifetime of practice and experience was the only thing that stopped my heart from exploding out of my chest and staining the file I held on the man whose name had evaded me for weeks.

“Let me know when it’s done.” Sharp waved at me dismissively.

“Sure thing.” I waited until I was in my car and a mile down the road before I let out a breath that shook so badly I could hear it as it left my lungs.

Sandro Michael Rosetti.

Sage Rosetti.

Fuck.

Chapter Six

Sage

The bar was filthy.

Considering Golden lived in a nicer part of the city, it was almost ridiculous that a bar this disgusting existed in the same zip code. I didn’t think Golden would frequent a place like this, but sometimes convenience won above all else, so maybe. Just maybe. I didn’t know if I wanted him to show up, though, or if I just wanted to be here and be close to him without him knowing.

It had been a week since I’d seen him and he was like a drug, like a fix I needed, but didn’t know how to find. I’d steered clear of my parents’ house, only stopping by on Wednesday to see my mother. My father had glared at me and slammed the door of his office when I showed up, so I didn’t bother trying to talk to him. Mama hadn’t said anything to me about how the meeting with the Molinaro kid went, and I hoped that was good. I didn’t want to think too much about that.

I wanted to think about my golden boy and the four red welts I’d left on his ass before leaving him in the alley.

And that was how I found myself at a dive bar four blocks from his house, nursing my way through a bottle of bourbon I’d convinced the bartender to leave with me.

“You look like you’re drinking to forget.”

I raised my eyebrows and glanced out the corner of my eye at the man who’d taken the seat beside me. He looked too clean to be at a bar like this, but I bet Golden would have stood out here, too. This guy was tall and slim, dirty-blonde, with flat brown eyes that matched the bar top.

“Maybe,” I said, raising my glass in a one-sided toast.

“I could help you.”

I sighed outwardly, turning my full attention to the man who dared to interlope on my fantasizing about Foster Golden.

“I’m not looking for help.”

The bourbon bottle was treacherously close to empty and I turned away from the stranger, searching out the bartender so he could bring me a new one. He looked doubtful as he twisted the top off the bottle, but left it for me anyway. I polished off the rest of what was in my glass and refilled, smacking my lips and thanking him with a smile.

“You’re still here?” I shifted my stare to the man beside me. He had a beer and his eyes held mine to the point of discomfort.

“I’m here.” He set his drink down. “And I know how to keep a secret.”

I cracked my neck and frowned down at the bar. He picked up my bottle and poured me a fresh glass of bourbon, giving me a fleeting wisp of a smile before setting it back down.

“You look like you’re in the market for someone discreet,” he said.

“I’m not in the market for anything.”