Page 98 of Silent Ties

This conversation isn’t out of the ordinary. Max insists on a guard at all times, though, I try to push it.

We walk in silence, Sergei giving me space. Max’s favorite bookstore looms in the distance, a type of beacon.

Sergei’s the one who told me about it and I’m sorry for what I’m about to do.

I point across the street at a coffee shop. “I don’t suppose you’ll get us some coffee.”

He quirks a brow. Normally, I go before or after I peruse the bookstore. If he’s perturbed at the request to make a coffee run he doesn’t show it. And worse, he trusts that I’ll be okay in the time it takes him to order my caramel macchiato.

He always was such a great bodyguard.

Shouldering his way into an overflowing coffee shop, I know the line will take him ages. His eyes remain on me as I enter the bookstore. I take the stairs and go up, letting Sergei think I’m slipping away to the cookbooks.

I ignore a sign that reads employee only, barging into the dark. There’s a fire exit that doesn’t trigger an alarm, a convenient spot for employees to duck out to an outside stairwell for a cigarette break.

Marching down the metal stairs, I dip into the alley before appearing on the streets. Buses and traffic camouflage me.

I dial the number without thinking.

“Well, hello, Russet. To what do I owe this fav?—”

I list off ten digits. “If you want to make up for all the trouble you caused with pizza night, do yourself a favor and call this number.”

I can’t do it myself. I can’t spend time arguing on the phone about what I’m about to do. I’m counting on Elijah’s clinical ruthlessness to get the job done.

“And what should I say, when I call this number?” he asks.

“That I asked you to call.”

Elijah’s stunned silence is all I hear.

“And hey… do me a favor and look after Max, yeah?”

I flag down a cab.

“Call the number,” I order Elijah before turning my phone off. It’s all but useless now.

The cab driver drops me a block away and wishes me a good day as I pay in cash.

My strides remain purposeful. Until my back slams against a brick wall.

The only rule Marissa lives by is everyone comes in through the front door of her bar. From around the corner I peek at the large, black door. One guard stands to attention, albeit nonchalantly considering it’s midafternoon.

He’ll be the first to go.

This time of day, Marissa’s will be empty, except for one bartender. He has no idea what’s about to come his way.

But he’ll still have time to trigger the alarm. If I’m lucky, there will only be five people, the minimum always stationed here. If I’m not. . . then there will be a hell of a lot more guns to deal with.

One thing I can guarantee, since it’s a Thursday, Gloria will be here. I’m rather looking forward to it.

The girls will be asleep because of the amount of drugs forced on them. The only risk I run is if they’ve changed which locked doors they keep them behind.

Marissa will be in her office. Either counting money or figuring out how to make it.

Know every exit, every door, every window.

The eerie calm doesn’t leave me. The hesitation isn’t because I’m scared.