Page 21

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

PERRY

There’s one thing that can be said about potentially walking into danger and your impending doom: I’m not thinking about St. Clare anymore.

Not him or his kisses or his dick.

When I woke up, it was all I could concentrate on, but sometime during my breakfast and talk of planning, that memory dripped away and was replaced by the reminder that today might not be a very good day.

I’ve had a lot of not-good days, and I’d like to have a whole lot less going forward. This new-perspective version of me probably shouldn’t be playing with fire, but what other choice do I have?

It’s fairly important that I know if I need to look over my shoulder from here on out, and the name of who’s behind these nefarious deeds would really help in that department. Thankfully, Luther is a good guy. I ran a few jobs for him, they didn’t work out, he’ll understand. Underperforming staff is a problem in every industry.

I’m really better suited to the cafe and should be left to my own devices over there. It’s the best outcome for all of us.

And paying the money back. I guess.

That part isn’t the best outcome for me , but in a choice between a padded bank account and my organs all where they belong, it’s a mostly easy choice.

I catch another whiff of myself as I huddle into my dirty hoodie.

Fuck, I wish Lars had washed my clothes with theirs. It’s too cold to wear my puppy shirt, so I’m back in my hoodie, hoping that the deodorant I coated myself with will cover the stench of yesterday’s dry sweat.

I mean, if I can’t reason with Luther, maybe I can gas him instead?

I stuff my hands into the front pocket, sort of wishing I’d thought to bring my gun. Even if I never plan to shoot it, the weapon is enough to intimidate someone until I can get away. Or at least it is in movies.

I dispel a massive huff of air and remind myself that I’ve got this. I wasn’t worried at all about going to Lethal Poison before Lars and St. Clare got in my head. Maybe this is part of their plan? Make me trust them, twist my thoughts, cut me off from my friends and family … WWJJD?

Judge Judy sure as fuck would not stand for that bullshit.

It’s a trying time, and I need to lean on my friends more than ever. Even if those friends like to pretend we’re not friends, I know them better than that.

If we’re getting down to the bare bones of it all, I could argue that Luther owes me damages for my mental well-being of the last twenty-four hours. When I went to work yesterday morning, I wasn’t at all prepared to be shot at, on the run, and coming my brains out with a man on top of me.

It’s hard not to think of yesterday as a glitch in the matrix, but my lack of underwear right now is proof that it happened.

Today has to go well because I’m not so sure I want to die while I’m going commando. That’s the kind of thing that might become the punchline of a joke. Like when people die on the toilet. I’m much more sophisticated than that, even if the chafing on my inner thighs is trying to tell me differently.

I pause at the side of Lethal Poison and tug down the crotch of my jeans again. All this talk of planning has gotten into my head when what I really need to do is what I do best: wing it. My whole life is run off vibes, and I’ve done okay so far.

I scrub my ratty hair back from my face, pull up my hood, and duck my head as I push my way into the bar. Like always, I get that happy warmth of a home as soon as I step inside. Even on the morning side of noon, there are a few people here, catching up or trading stories on whoever they killed/robbed/kidnapped last night.

Surprisingly, all three of my baddies are here, so I throw them a wave before I head toward the bar.

None of them wave back. We’re still playing the pretending not to be friends game, I see.

There’s a woman behind the bar who I haven’t seen before, and I turn my most charming smile on her. She’s pretty. A dainty little face, wavy hair framing either side, and eyes that shine, and I have to remind myself that I’m not here to hit on her. I’m here for super-serious business.

“Hey, is Luther around?” I ask, trying and failing to sound professional despite the way my voice squeaks. I really need to get Lars out of my brain.

Bar girl gives me a flirty smile. “Who’s asking?”

“His best friend, Perry.”

Her smile dims. “Oh. He’s, uh, in his office.”

“Thanks. Can I bother you for a Coke before I go?”

She pours one, smile completely gone, and then adds a wedge of lime to it. Looks like Luther has briefed her on what I like, and I’m not surprised—he’s a labradoodle dad. It’s just how they are.

“I’ll head on back.”

She nods, and I make a mental note to give Luther the heads-up that she might need more customer service training. I send my friends another wave as I head for the hallway that leads to the bathrooms and Luther’s office. Unlike Saint Clare’s, his office is small and windowless, like a storage closet, saving the larger back room for his staff. It’s a selfless choice that most employers wouldn’t make .

I’m halfway toward his office when I’m yanked backward, almost off my feet. I barely get a second to be surprised before I’m slammed into the wall beside me.

“What the hell are you doing?” a voice hisses by my ear. It takes me a moment to pick that it’s Arlie.

“Need a quick word with Luther.”

“Do you want to get killed?” She turns me roughly so I can see her, and the worry in her dark eyes throws me for a second. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

“I need?—”

She slams me back against the wall so hard my head bounces off it.

“Okay, I need you to stop manhandling me for a start. Damn, woman.” I rub at the sore spot. “I’ve had a rough day, and I’d really like to head home for a nap, but I need to talk to Luther first.”

“No. You really, really don’t.”

I finally pick up on her tone. “Why?”

Everett barrels into the hall. “What in the ever-loving hell are you doing here?”

“Like I just said?—”

“You need to go. Now.”

“Wow. And here I was, thinking my friends would be happy to see me.”

Everett pulls Arlie off me. “Your name came up, and you think it’s smart to walk into a bar of people like us and give them an easy payday?”

“My name came up?” I let that sink in. “Like someone wants me dead ?”

“Not someone .” Arlie’s gaze flicks toward Luther’s office. “Run. Go. Now.”

“B-but … he’s a doodle dad …”

She turns a disgusted scowl on Everett. “What the fuck does that mean?”

“Nothing that will probably make sense to us,” he replies. “ She’s right, Perry. You’ve got to get out of here before he sees you. Go through the back. We’ll distract him.”

“But—”

“Now, dimwit!” Arlie snaps.

I’m about to tell her that you catch more honey with bees than flies—or flies and honey? I don’t know—when their intensity sinks in. My vibes are gone. They’re acting like St. Clare and Lars were, and now I’m starting to feel a bit, well, stupid. Am I too trusting? Do I need to reassess my whole dog theory?

“He’s still not moving,” Everett says.

Arlie grabs the front of my hoodie and pushes me so hard I almost go ass over.

“Easy!”

With a growl, she pulls out a gun and points it straight at me.

My hands fly up. My heart takes off thrumming, and I glance between her and Everett in complete fucking betrayal. “W-what are you doing?”

“Don’t tempt me. It’d be the easiest shot I ever took.”

“But we’re friends,” I whisper.

“We are.” Everett pushes her gun away from me. “Which is why you need to get the fuck out of here. I won’t tell you again. I’m going to count to three, and if you’re still in view, I’m going to let her shoot you.”

“Ev—”

“One … two …”

I get the fucking message. I stumble backward over my feet but am still in clear view as he’s about to say three.

But a door opens just down from us before he can.

And a voice I very much don’t want to hear cuts in.

“I heard you wanted to see me, Perry.”