Page 3 of The Lies We Tell

But with Davis and Weicker breathing down my neck for results, I feel suffocated.

Now I’m cutting corners, not reporting everything that involves my friends. I’m letting trails go cool. I’m bending rules.

My guilt stops me from sleeping at night.

Sometimes.

“A month ago, you mentioned a large gun delivery. Has it been made yet?” Weicker asks.

It was. Last week. I was there. I rub a hand across my bicep, tracing the healing gunshot wound gently. “No. I’ll let you know when it does.”

I can’t explain even to myself why I lied.

I’m becoming Saint more than I am Ryker.

“Well, give me something I can tell him. Anything?”

“Niro has some weapons he’s hoping to sell, I believe they were from an earlier gun run. If we can get the cash from Davis, I can buy them, and they can become evidence.”

“Even if Niro sells you the guns, we’re looking at third-degree and fourth-degree crimes. Niro’s never been in prison. He has no record. Worst case, it’s five years. It’s a temporary removal of a gang member.”

The phrasegang membermakes me itch.

Niro, our penny-pinching treasurer, can be an asshole. But he’s also funny and a talented tattoo artist. Helped Track, one of the old-timers, build a pergola for his daughter’s wedding. Pisses King off with his one-liners. Got a scar down his face that he never talks about, but tells me he’s been through some shit.

“Understood,” I say, glancing at my watch. “I gotta be going.”

“Bring me something I can use.” And with that, Weicker hangs up the phone.

I’m fucking screwed.

I dial my favorite person, hoping she can brighten my day.

“Hey Rae-Rae,” I say when she answers. I have a million names for her. Rare-bear, Raester, Rae-parade, Hoo-Rae.

“Hey, Ike. I was just thinking about you.” My sister only has the one name for me. Ike. When she first started speaking, she couldn’t sayRyker, so she’d call meIke. It stuck. Anyone else calls meIke, they get a fist in the face.

“Yeah? Why’s that?”

“The kids across the street tried to build a skateboard ramp with a couple of pallets and some ply. Remember when you tried that?”

I laugh as I look down at the long white scar on my forearm. “I remember spending a miserable summer in a cast. You teased me and called mehalf-bakedwhen they took it off because I had one tan arm and one white one.”

She laughs, and her laughter makes me smile. Took her a long time to laugh again, after what happened to us. “You had to wear long shirts until your tan faded in winter.”

“Not sure my arms have ever quite matched since.”

There’s a moment of quiet. It’s not uncomfortable. Things never are between us. “You keeping safe, Ike?” she asks.

“Safe as I can ever be,” I answer honestly. She knows I’m undercover but doesn’t know where I am or what I’m undercover as.

“Yeah, well. Keep it that way, yeah?”

“I will.”

“Did you call for a reason in particular?”

I shake my head, even though she can’t see me. “Nah. Just checking in. It’s been a couple of days.”