Page 22 of Refrain (Beautiful Monsters #2)
He stopscracking his knuckles and resorts to resting his clenched fists on the table.
I’m not sure which action alarms me more.
UnlikeEspi, he’s easy to read yet impossible at the same time.
A bit like an open flame—You know it’s burning, you know it’s hot, but where will it go next?
That depends on which way the fucking wind blows.
“If you’re worried about me, don’t be. I can’t go back,” I say. Not yet. Not without answers. Not without Anna.
“So, why are you here ?”
“My handler wanted information on a gang.” I leave out the part where the gang in question just so happens to be his. “In return, he pulled some strings to get the other girl out of holding.”
“So you thought you’d spy on me? Is that it?”
I don’t bother denying it. “A girl’s gotta eat.”
He swipes his thumb across his chin. I know the look. I doubt they’re related by blood, butEspisidohas picked up a few of his mannerisms. That glowering, thoughtful stare is one of them.
“All right. Let’s say I believe you. What shit were you gonna feed your boss?”
“Nothing to blow your operation. Just enough to get him off my ass.” I let him sense the part of that sentence I don’t say out loud— for now.
“Hmph.” The grunt resembles a genuine chuckle. “You do this often, huh? Just admit that you’re a fucking narc?”
“And let’s say I did go running to the cops with damaging intel,” I propose.
“I killed a man in cold blood. Even if he was a criminal. Even if he was Vladimir Olshenkov —I still killed him. Any investigator worth their salt would be able to prove it. I wasn’t exactly careful.
I turn you in, and no prosecutor in the country could offer me a deal of immunity.
If I’d used a gun, it could have been self-defense.
But I didn’t. Not only would anything I said against you be laughed out of a court as hearsay, but I’d land my own ass in prison once some justice-happy prosecutor decided to get their name in the papers. ”
I wind up holding my breath in anticipation of his reaction. Coming clean to him is more than just risky. I’m laying everything on the line—my life and Domi’s. But, when everything goes to shit—and it will —only one person will be caught in the aftermath.
It won’t be Arno or me. But therein lies the real question. Why do I care?
“I take it you don’t plan on sticking around for too long?” he asks.
“I just need to make sure my handler doesn’t pay for my fuck-up.”
“I guess you need something good to feed him, then?” All at once, Arno pushes back from the table and draws his gun.
I don’t have the time to blink before he aims it squarely over my chest.
“Here. Read this.”
Pathetic bursts of air trickle into my lungs as he turns the weapon, allowing me to make out the serial numbers carved into the side.
“Memorize that. Give it to your cop friend. Say you heard me talking about a man I killed while waving this gun around. You got close enough to rip the serial. Have him run it—”
“Won’t that just lead back to you?” Better yet, it would give Grey probable cause to get a warrant for either his arrest or a search of the club.
Arno just laughs. “Trust me, sweetheart. It won’t lead back to me . I know the fucking rodeo. But, whatever they find, you bring back to me. I want a name. I want a fucking dealer. You give me that…” He cracks his knuckles in unison. “Give me that, and I don’t throw you out on your ass. For now.”
“Done.” It’s a logical headache I’ll figure out later. All that matters is…
Hell, what does matter? Running should be my primary focus. Not making sure a certain little angel doesn’t get too burned from his attempt to save a demon from the flames.
Though it’s not like I have much of a fucking choice now.
“Wait. I can’t be seen at the station if I’m associated with you.” Considering my status as an actual informant this time, I don’t think chatting with Grey in the open would be a good idea. “How should I—”
“Here.” Arno pulls something else from his pocket and tosses it to me.
A burner phone. One of many, I suspect.
“Call him on that. Then toss it. Now, get the fuck out.And one last thing…” His eyes flash with a sober-like intensity. “Just so we’re clear—Stay the hell away from Espi. You got that?”
I hold his gaze without flinching, ignoring the clenching sensation gripping my chest. Maybe it’s relief. “Deal.”
Arno accepts the answer with a nod. His blazing expression doesn’t reveal any ulterior motive for the request, other than concern for his friend.
The fact just feeds the cruel part of me whispering that someone else is behind the sudden need for boundaries.
Espi? Perhaps I’ve disgusted the angel so greatly that he can’t even tell me himself to back off.
My jaw tightens at the possibility. I pegged him as reckless, but never a coward.
Alone, I find the upstairs hallway deserted and use the silence as cover to call Grey. He’s pissed by the protocol breach but accepts the serial, promising to call back within a few days.
“The damn analyst is backed up to shit,” he tells me.
I reenter the barroom and discover that it’s packed. From behind the bar, Domi tries to meet my gaze, but Francisco sighs. He’s relieved. I guess he knows what happens when Arno doesn’t approve of a guest.
“Get back to work!” he shouts above the din of chaos.
Already, there’s more broken glass on the floor and spills to mop up. While I set about conquering the busywork, it’s almost enough…
I almost forget. I almost stop eyeing the doorway every five fucking minutes in search of a familiar pair of eyes. Blue or dark brown?
It doesn’t fucking matter.