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“Nope—too dark. Do you think maybe he was a shadow? Like
not a real person? Like he’s the shadow of a serial killer that ripped himself away from his master? I think I saw an old Twilight Zone episode on that once. I bet that stuff is real and they say it’s fiction so people don’t freak.”
“Pity on not seeing.” Linus never plays with me. Ever. I like Logan because he plays.
“Maybe he was a ghost or a demon.”
Another toss of the ball. Another bounce. Another catch. “Your boy Logan says he didn’t see your shooter, either. I don’t believe him.”
A wave of ice slowly freezes the blood in my veins. “What do you mean my boy Logan?”
Linus’s eyes smile and that’s like watching the devil commit murder. “He went hero and charged into the alley. He even thought about trying to take me out. Swooped you up, brought you to the street, and cradled you in his arms like you two honestly care for each other. It was all fucking tragic.”
“Leave him alone.” Pissed-off Abby is about to pop out and do some playing herself.
“I don’t plan on meddling. I’ve kept my mouth shut, you’ve been under twenty-four-hour Isaiah surveillance, and your boy played it cool with the cops. Him holding you tight on the street, smoothing your hair away from your face, and kissing your forehead over and over again played nice with his story to the police. As I said, fucking tragic.”
This is why I opted to see Linus—not like Linus would accept no. “What story do the police have?”
“They talked to Logan twice. Once at the scene and then right before he was about to leave the hospital. Both times he said you were on a date, he left you outside the club to get his truck, you went after him, got lost, and got caught up in some evil people’s drug wars.”
There’s an unsaid but. “I’m about to get pain meds for free thanks to the state’s insurance and your continual blabbing is holding it up.”
“You don’t like being high, plus it goes against rule number six.”
Rule number six: don’t use the drugs you sell. I sigh. I’m tired, I’m in pain, and I didn’t get red Jell-O nor a bunny. All that adds up to cranky. “Why are you here?”
“Ricky shouldn’t know there was a possible witness to your shooting yet he’s searching for the witness so he can find out who took a shot at you.”
My heart stops beating right as the blood pressure cuff tightens. “You said you were going to stay silent.”
Linus catches the ball and looks at me from the corner of his eye. “I have stayed silent. So have you and so has Logan.”
My heart starts again, but it’s at a rate that’s too entirely fast. “Which means the shooter is talking and he knows there was a witness.” My mind trips over itself as I attempt to force my brain cells to work again. “I was shot hours ago.”
“Street gossip doesn’t move this fast from Eric’s camp to Ricky’s. We either have someone with ties too close to Eric’s people or this was an inside hit.”
Nausea crawls up my throat. “Which one was it?”
“If we’ve got a traitor in our ranks and your boy is a witness to things they didn’t want anyone to see Logan can help me.”
“Help you?” I shout. “When did this become about you?”
“It’s always about me. My instincts have been telling me that we have a spy in our ranks for a while, but I could never sniff out who. If your boy saw the shooter, then maybe I can link back your shooter to whoever is causing problems for us.”
I blink, repeatedly. “I don’t want Logan involved in our world.”
Like always, he ignores me. “Two of my guys will be posted in the hospital, watching your back while you’re here. I’ve bought myself twenty-four hours until I meet Ricky face-to-face and I owe you for saving my ass last year. You’ve got that much time to figure out what story I’m telling him involving your boy. Any way you look at it, he’s falling down the rabbit hole. Just up to you how far.”
And if he gets killed. Great. No pressure. None at all.
Logan
We play. Abby and I play.
She’s a drug dealer. She’s chosen her path and she’s asked me to fill in and make sure a deal is done. Sure sounds like it. An address. A hidden envelope. A specific drop time. Bet she asked me to do this because I’m crazy.
In the end, I don’t know her, she doesn’t know me, yet I’m here. Because I need a release from this itch under my skin...because I think of her—often. More than I want. More than I should. Maybe I like her because I’m insane.
