Page 67 of Madness & Mercy

“Always a possibility.”

“Then let’s see how good you are at not getting caught.”

I step out, zeroing in on the guy we tracked; grey cap, black jacket, walking like he owns the fucking pier but keeps checking over his shoulder like maybe someone’s figured him out.

He doesn’t see me.

I blend in. Shadow the bastard like I was born to.

“You tailing me?” I mutter low, not looking back.

“Not this time,” Nico says behind me. “But I’ll be watching.”

And then he’s gone. Just… gone. Like smoke off a barrel. Like he was never fucking there in the first place.

Which means I’m alone now, twenty yards from a maybe-assassin, maybe-messenger, maybe-dead-man. And somewhere behind me, Nico’s eyes are burning a hole through my back like he already knows how this ends.

I steady my breath. Adjust my grip. This isn’t new. I’ve tailed worse under shittier conditions.

But this time, the barrel’s pressed to both sides of my skull. And no matter which way I turn, I bleed.

The guy ahead of me doesn’t walk like muscle. Too lean. Too twitchy. He’s either low on the food chain or real good at pretending to be. He stops every few feet, pretends to light a cigarette he never actually smokes. Keeps glancing over his shoulder like paranoia’s baked into his spine.

He knows something’s coming.

He just doesn’t know it’s me.

I keep my pace casual, like I’m just another asshole at the docks.

My fingers twitch toward the pistol inside my coat, just in case. Because the guy looks like he might bolt. Or shoot. Or both.

He turns down an alley tucked between two abandoned shipping offices. A dead end. Dumb move, unless he’s leading me into a trap.

I wait a beat.

Then follow, careful and quiet.

My footsteps echo soft against the cracked pavement as I edge around the corner. But when I round it…

There’s nothing but empty space. A rusted dumpster. A broken pallet leaning against the wall. No sign of him.

Fuck.

I spin, checking behind me.

A shadow moves.

But it’s not him.

It’sNico.

He steps out from behind a cargo container like he’s been there the whole time. Watching. Waiting.

So heistailing me.

I should’ve known.

He doesn’t say a word, just lifts his chin in the direction of a service door up the alley. Slightly ajar. Like someone was too rushed, or too cocky, to close it.