Petey did what he could do to nod as tears welled and started to fall from his bulging eyes. Whether that was emotion or the precursor to him going empty-socket, it was impossible to know.
“You hear me, Big D?” Bob took out his cell phone and waved it in the guy’s general direction. “If you hurt him, I’ma have to call the police. So let’s not escalate this—”
Petey’s eyes rolled back in his head, only the whites showing, and his boots abruptly stopped kicking.
“Devlin, you gotta let him down!” The wind was so loud, Bob had to shout over it. And then there was the alarm that had started to scream in his own head. “Come on, man! You want to go to jail for the rest of your l—”
The metal-on-metal creaking was the kind of sound that, after twenty years working construction, you instantly knew meant two things: One, it was something big. And two, gravity had a helluva hold on whatever the hell it was.
So a different kind of danger had just shown up to the chat.
And it was on such a scale that everyone, even Big D, looked to the roof of the building next door.
It was that goddamn purple billboard, the one with that brunette’s face on it and some stupid logo. The vicious wind had caught the panels, turned them into a sail—and was in the process of peeling the bitch right off its support scaffolding.
Bob did a quick trajectory check. The gusts were going to take it away from the construction site and the bib’d-up, hard-hatted men who were standing around watching the show.
That was the good news. The bad news? Those people clustered around the glow of that club Bathe’s entrance were fucked.
Not his problem, though.
Bob went back to whatwashis issue: “Put him down, Dev. Or I’m calling the police.”
CHAPTER FOUR
Allhan, stop!”
Lyric tripped and flipped her way through the salted slush and frozen snow of the alley, knowing full well that it was going to be a miracle if she didn’t break all of her ankles—because surely she had more than two if she was still upright.
“Allhan, hold up—”
With a squeak, she went full modern dance, her rhythm chiropractic, her sense of balance far outstretching her coordination. The damn Louboutins were somehow backup, though, the spiky heels like stakes on a tent, anchoring her even as she blew all around. Meanwhile, Allhan spun to a halt at the head of the lane, the crazy wind billowing his baggy shirt out from his soda-straw body, his frizzy hair remaining utterly unaffected by the maelstrom.
“Are you okay?” he shouted as he ran back for her.
As soon as he was in range, she grabbed on to his arm and yanked her heel out of its hold in the slush. “Yes, sorry—”
“Here, lean on me.”
Grabbing on to his other shoulder, she went wisdom-tooth extraction on her stiletto, and then settled onto some salted pavement.
“Look, I’m sorry about my manager. She just is—”
“It’s okay.”
“No, it’s not.”
Allhan shrugged. “I’m used to people being like that with me. It really isn’t a problem.”
Lyric opened her mouth. Shut it. Then she cleared her throat. “Were you meeting someone here?”
His eyes drifted away. “No.”
“Then why did you come?” When he didn’t immediately answer… that was clearly the answer. Especially as his face tightened with a fragile composure. “Oh… it was for me?”
“I’ve got to go.” Allhan started stepping back. “Have to be at work. Very busy.”
The cold wind swirled around them, and she had a sudden thought that she had missed it. Somehow, she’d missed the crush he’d developed on her. Then again, though she’d never been cruel, she had certainly neverseenthe male properly.
