Page 39 of Mimic

“What the fuck are you doing up?”

Nav walked behind the bar and grabbed a bottle of whiskey. He took a long swig, and I envied him.

“Why are you up?”

Nav shook his head. “I’ve been going through the files from the Trick Pony. If I close my eyes, I’ll have fucking nightmares. Devlin Scott was one sick son of a bitch.”

“Find anything about Indie?”

“No. At least nothing about Indigo Cambridge. The truth is, I could be reading everything there is to know about her, but without knowing her real name, there is no way to find out if she’s in the files.”

“She’s in there.”

I knew she was. Her reaction to Daniel Scott’s name was telling. She knew who he was. And the panic that flittered across her face told me she knew him very fucking well.

The lack of reaction when I woke her up said a lot. The trance she appeared to be in, combined with the way she’d just slid to her knees like it was expected. Like she’d done it a hundred times.

I wouldn’t lie and say that seeing her on her knees in front of me didn’t make my dick hard. But it quickly deflated when her eyes focused. The look on her face was unmistakable.

Humiliation.

“How do you know?” Nav asked.

“I don’t. It’s just a feeling. Her reaction to Daniel’s name. Her reaction to the pictures of the Death Dogs. She knows more than she’s saying.”

The front door opened, and Johnny walked in. My back teeth clashed together as I thought about the way he looked at Indie. How friendly they looked sitting at the bar in town.

“Hey, Johnny, Grace get home okay?”

“Every night.” He walked behind the bar and grabbed a beer. “Either of you need anything?”

“Not from you,” I snarked. Nav’s eyes widened as he looked between the two of us. Johnny rolled his eyes at me and walked back around to a stool.

“Something I need to know about?” Nav asked.

“Not as long as he stays the fuck away from Indie.”

Johnny’s hand paused halfway to his mouth. “What?”

I narrowed my eyes at the prospect and snarled, “You fucking heard me.”

“Indie is a friend.”

“Not anymore.”

His bottle clanked on the bar as he stared at me. “She doesn’t have a cut.”

“Prospect,” Nav warned, shaking his head.

“Stay the fuck away from her,” I growled.

“Johnny, hit the sack. Now,” Nav ordered.

The prospected grunted and walked down the hallway without a word. I guess he wasn’t as stupid as he looked.

“He’s right.”

“What?”