Page 37 of Torched Spades

Owen snaps his head to the side. “Oh, so she’sBeccanow?”

“My apologies. Would you prefer me to call herMiss Reese?”

There’s a heavy pause as we stare at each other in silence. He’s waiting for me to hand him everything I know on a silver platter. I’m insulted. He, of all people, should know I never show my cards unless I have one up my sleeve.

“Don’t get her involved in this,” he warns, breaking our standoff. “If you want to fuck up, be my guest. But for Christ’s sake, don’t drag more innocent women into your bullshit.”

It’s a direct hit, and he knows it.

Frustrated, I tip my head forward. “What do you want me to do, Owen? Not show up to my new life?”

“Yes.”

What the fuck?

Glancing up, I collide with his stony green stare. Saying nothing, he tugs a piece of paper from between the roof and the visor and hands it to me. I only have to read the first line to lose my shit.

Because this fucker has definitely lost his.

“What the hell is this?”

“Exactly what it looks like. You’re officially retired from third shift dock duty. Starting tomorrow, you’ll report to your new first-shift foreman. Congratulations, you’ve been upgraded.”

“But, Alice—”

“Actually, you can thank Alice for the promotion. After all, it was her glowing recount of your heroics that allowed me to push this through so fast. Chin up, Johnny,” he says, giving my shoulder a pat. “You’ve just done in seven weeks what it takes most people years to accomplish.”

I grit my teeth, choosing to ignore that he just slapped my bullet wound. “No.”

“Excuse me?”

“I said no. Me not being there won’t stop those idiots from coming back around.”

“Maybe not,” he relents, “but at least you won’t be there when they do.”

“No, but Alice will,” I say, enunciating each fucking word. “They’ve been threatening her for years. Only now they’re greedyandpissed. If I’m not there to protect her…” Flinging the paper across the console, I stare out the windshield. “I’m staying on third.”

Owen sighs, and from the corner of my eye, I see him pop an antacid in his mouth. “You’ve given me an ulcer; you know that?” I don’t answer because I don’t care. At least not until I hear him pick the paper up and tap it against the steering wheel. “What if I arrange for Alice to be transferred to first shift, as well?”

Now he has my attention. “What’s the catch?”

“No more vigilante crap,” he states firmly. “Keep your head down and your mouth shut until I can get you transferred away from the port.”

I arch an eyebrow. “Anything else?”

He pops another antacid and glares at me. “Yeah, stop trying to put me in an early grave.”

“No promises.”

“Johnny…”

I hold up my hand. “Fine. Get Alice moved to first, and you’ve got a deal.” I’m reaching for the door handle when I realize what this “promotion” means. Narrowing my eyes, I glance back at him. “First shift runs from eight a.m. to four p.m.”

“Yeah,” he snorts. “Normal people hours.”

“I see Becca on Tuesdays at two-thirty.”

There’s a beat of silence, which quickly morphs into a chaotic drum line. Even with everything blowing up around me, the thought of not seeing Becca claws at the thin wall separating past from present and man from monster.