Page 9

Dante

I ease my truck into the gravel lot of Sinner’s Notch, the bar’s neon sign flickering red against the night, a beacon for every degenerate in Ashthorne. This place is a fucking sewer. A one-stop shop for dope, blood, and quick fucks in the shadows. The air hits me as I step out, thick with the stench of stale beer and cigarette ash but it feels like home.

The mixture of dealers, drunks slurring their words, hookers sizing up marks, and the occasional someone visiting are the sweet spot of Sinner’s Notch. It’s a chaotic place but I love it. Ronan runs this shithole, an old bounty hunter buddy who trades info when it’s worth his while. Most of his work’s legit or so he says. I don’t ask questions. Keeps my hands clean enough to sleep at night, not that I do much of that.

I cut through the crowd, eyes sliding off me like oil. They know me—ex-cop, or whatever bullshit label they’ve slapped on me. They don’t trust me, don’t talk to me, but they don’t snitch either. I’m a ghost they tolerate, a shadow they avoid. My spot’s in the back corner, a small section of the bar reserved for me alone. Ronan’s king of this dump, but I’m his right hand, the bastard everyone knows not to fuck with.

I slide onto the stool, scanning the room for anything interesting but it seems a low-key night for the most part. Nothing that would give me insight to the bastard who brought back a dead body, the case Harley’s currently on and dragged me into. Ronan glances up at me from behind the bar, throwing me a wild boyish smile as he polishes off one of the glasses. He moves toward me when he’s done, grabbing a bottle of whiskey and pouring a fifth into the glass.

Setting it down in front of me, it doesn’t even take two seconds before bullshit comes out of his mouth. “You smell like her,” he mutters, a smirk curling his lips.

“What the hell are you talking about?” I scowl.

Most guys would flinch but Ronan doesn’t. He’s dealt with some of the worst bastards I’ve ever known and having to drag them in alive isn’t a feat I’d wish on anyone. Ronan quirks his head to the side, studying me. “That spiced coconut shit. Perfume, body wash, something. Every time you’re with her, you come back stinking of it.”

A sharp laugh tears from my throat, the sound lost in the bar’s drone. “Yeah, well, Harley had some questions,” I say, taking a swig. The whiskey burns down my throat, just the way I need it to.

Ronan props his elbows up on the bar, still trying to search my expression for something. “When’s it gonna be official?” he teases. “Don’t feed me crap, Tay. You don’t care about anyone, but I see how you get around her. Well, I’ve never seen her, but I see how you get when you come back from her. I don’t even know what she looks like or what she does for a living. Hell, you’ve never even mentioned her name but I know that it’s her.”

I drain the glass, slamming it down harder than I mean to. “I care about Malik,” I retort, staring Ronan down. Selene is mine which is why I’ve never mentioned her to anyone that didn’t need to know. Ronan doesn’t need to know and Malik definitely doesn’t need to know, that crazy bastard.

He snorts, pouring me another. “You and Malik got the most fucked-up relationship I’ve ever seen,” he says, shaking his head. “Where’s he at, anyway?”

I manage a shrug, sipping from the glass again. God, that’s good. “Hell if I know.” Malik’s out there, probably hunting some lowlife who crossed the wrong guy, his hands twitching for something to break. I don’t track him unless he’s in my bed, fucking me like it’s the only thing keeping him sane. Ronan isn’t wrong, though. We do have a fucked-up relationship and it’s toxic as hell but there’s a twisted part of me that knows I need Malik just as much as he needs me.

However, some part of me also needs, craves Selene which just makes all this shit messier.

Ronan leans forward, his eyes narrowing. “Rough shift?”

I nod, my fingers tightening around the glass. “Got another player in town. Not the Reaper, no leads. Definitely a player, though—dropped the body back at the crime scene, right where it went down.” My mind flashes to the case, the corpse laid out like a taunt, just a middle finger to me and the precinct. I want to internalize it, believe that this is a message to me or even The Reaper but it can’t be that twisted.

Ronan’s brow creases as he pours himself a glass, downing it in one gulp. “Hold up, didn’t something like that happen a few months back?” he asks, setting the glass down with a clink.

“Yeah, no one bought it then, but they’re digging now.” The police are scrambling, Harley’s bitching, and I’m stuck chasing a ghost while Selene’s out there, carving her own bloody path through Ashthorne’s guts.

“And your girl?” he presses.

I tell him a lot of things, like the fact that my girl was being questioned tonight. If he truly wanted to dig, he could find out who Selene Banks truly was but it’s a mutual trust between us that keeps him from doing that. “She was in the area. Harley’s got a thing for her, thought dragging her in for questions would get him a date.”

Ronan lets out a loud, barking laugh, his hand slapping the counter. “Jesus, shut that down before you gut him for touching your girl.”

I lean back, the chair creaking. “Whatever,” I mutter.

Ronan’s eyes glint, calling my bluff. “Lock her down, tie her up, do whatever. Drink your whiskey and go home so you can fuck some sleep into Malik. Or maybe let him fuck you and tire him out. He’s not sleeping again.”

My stomach twists, worry creeping in. “He’s not sleeping?” That’s never a good sign.

Ronan shakes his head, pouring himself another shot. “Nope. Been chasing one of Phil’s short-changers. Some kid gave us nothing but air, so now he’s wired, looking for something to choke. Go let him strangle your cock or whatever you two do so he doesn’t end up in tomorrow’s paper.”

I wave a hand, brushing it off, but the concern sticks. Malik’s a powder keg, one bad night from blowing up, and I’m the only one who can pull him back. “Yeah, I hear you,” I say, downing the rest of my drink. I stand up, patting the counter as a goodbye but Ronan leans in, his expression suddenly turning serious.

“When you gonna tell her the truth? About you and Harley being brothers?”

A growl tears from my throat before I fix my face, knowing that Ronan is not my enemy. “ Stepbrothers ,” I correct. “And she doesn’t need to know. My mom marrying his dad when we’re grown doesn’t make us family. I don’t share shit with him—blood, ties, nothing.” Harley and I have never even lived in the same house. I made it to the ceremony, scowled the entire time, and somehow Harley thought that this new connection meant I’d always have his back.

“Sure, sure. But what happens when Harley finds out you’ve been balls-deep in his girl?”

“She’s not his girl.”

Ronan laughs, completely unbothered by the fury in my expression. “See? Knew she was yours. I know you, Dante. You claim what you want. You did it with Malik, did it with me, even if we don’t screw. Now, go home and fuck Malik. I don’t want his creepy ass haunting my bar when I close up.”

Ronan’s right. I claim what’s mine, always have. Selene’s mine, her kills, her chaos, her fucking soul, and I’ll be damned if Harley or anyone else gets in the way. Malik’s mine too, in his own fucked-up way, and I need to find him before he burns himself out. I nod at Ronan, who’s already turning back to the bar, and head for the door, the noise of Sinner’s Notch fading behind me.