“Go figure. Finally meet a nice guy and he’s off-limits.” She sighed.
“I don’t think he’s as nice as you think.”
“His dick says otherwise.”
I laughed and it reached my heart.
“Besides, the cards told me we would meet up again,” she said, a twinkle in her eye.
I rolled my eyes at her. “What does your Catholic mom say about you still reading tarot?”
She laughed again. “I think me playing at brujeria is the last thing my mom is worried about. Let me read for you?”
It was inevitable. She wanted to do it every time we met up. I didn’t say no, and she whipped out her deck. She shuffled them dramatically, ever the showwoman.
“For your past…the Star, but inverted.” Her lips pulled into a tight line. “Loss of faith, feeling overwhelmed, and falling into old habits for comfort.”
My pinky twitched, but I said nothing.
“Present…” She flipped over the card, and her lips twitched into a smile. “The Fool. A new beginning—or maybe, somebody new?” She raised an eyebrow at me with a smirk.
I scowled, even as a flash of blue hair swept through my memory. “Let’s hope not.”
She gave me a sullen look, then shrugged her shoulders and pulled the last card. Now I really saw her frown before she put it down.
“Your future…the Devil. Seduction by physical pleasures and bondage.”
“Why the long face? That sounds like a good time.” I wiggled my eyebrows at her, trying to lighten her mood. It didn’t work.
“I don’t know. E…for you—being trapped by anything…just be careful. You don’t have any otherjobslined up, do you?”
I shook my head, and she let out a relieved sigh. Before I could give her shit about believing any of this, the north wall of the shop—which was one giant screen—switched on.
“Well, speaking of the Devil…”
Levi Ameré was giving his grievances on the loss of POM’s CTO. The broadcast switched to footage of Beaufort Renard’s funeral.
Mercy’s eyes darted to the screen as she swept the cards off the table, my reading thankfully over. “So sad, isn’t it? He was so young—and kinda hot! Even the rich and powerful can’t escape death, I guess.”
Yeah, she was still too soft if she felt anything for some trillionaire she didn’t even know.
I watched a series of mourners on the screen, tears in their eyes. The scroll at the bottom said he had died from a heart attack. At his age, that had to be drug-related, and something in my stomach pulled. His wife came up and wept over the coffin. She was crying perfectly, her beautiful face not diminished in any way by the mascara-soaked tears that streamed down her face. She reached out to put her hand on his face.
That’s when I saw it.
The image pulled, just a for a millisecond—but it was there. A telltale sign that the footage was doctored.
Most wouldn’t have noticed, but I did. Whoever was in that coffin, it wasn’t Beaufort Renard. Nowthatwas interesting.
Mercy was still chatting as I turned back to her and smiled, taking a long pull of my drink—and almost dying when one ofthe boba hit me in the back of the throat. I coughed, and she patted my back, scolding me mildly about being careful.
If only I knew how to take that advice.
CHAPTER 17
CY
The apartment was bougie as hell—and I mean rich enough to get away with any crime bougie. It was all sleek metal and marble that you weren’t even allowed to mine anymore. Too bad the ambience was ruined by the entire place being coated in blood. It looked like a retro slasher film in here, with blood and guts smeared on nearly every surface in the kitchen and surrounding rooms. The ceiling was just as coated as the floor—a fuckin’ Jackson Pollock of someone’s insides.
