“My dad’s a drunk, but he never hit me. He liked to yell a lot. Break stuff. Mom’s a wino, at least, that’s what she became after Dad got locked up. I was an oops baby. She reminded me every time she drank too much.”
I wasn’t good with words, but I nodded, acknowledging his share, recognizing his need to relate. A fucking drunk and a wino. An oops baby. No wonder the kid was a mess.
“I always wanted a dog,” Darcy continued, rambling like we were having a casual lunch. He squinted out the windshield and pointed. “Is that your… buddy’s car?”
Blinding headlights turned into the parking lot. Only after they were aimed away from me could I make out Tallus’s Jetta.
“Yeah. That’s him. You can call him my boyfriend, you know. It’s who he is.”
“Yeeeah. I don’t think so. That just sounds super gay.”
I deadpanned.
Darcy shrugged. “What? It does.”
“Grab the package, brat.”
Darcy grinned shamelessly and removed a small manila envelope from the glove compartment. I had stuffed it with cut paper from a magazine. The feel and shape mimicked bills, and I had sealed it so the barista—who I assumed worked for Luke—couldn’t peek inside prematurely and warn him of trouble.
“You know the drill?”
All bravado vanished, and the kid fidgeted, his nerves surfacing. “Yeah. Go inside. Order a dark roast with cinnamon and cardamom and give this to Olenka.”
“Cinnamon and cardamom?”
“Those are Luke’s instructions for when I’m seeking payment. He said to use the same order.”
“Okay. Then, when you make the hand-off, you’ll—”
Tallus rapped on the driver’s window.
“Hang on. Let me set him up.” I lowered the window, admiring the look of indignation on Tallus’s face, the slant of his groomed brows behind his come-fuck-me-frames, the perfect turn of his collar and knot of his tie under his high-fashion coat.
“Hey, sexy. What took you so long?” I asked.
His mouth curled into a flirty, sassy smirk. Mischief and mayhem. God, I loved him. “Traffic was stupid. But, while waiting through three fucking reds, I looked something up. I think our friend Luke is Russian.”
“Oh? The accent?” I’d heard it too, but wasn’t knowledgeable enough in foreign dialects to pinpoint its origin with any accuracy.
“Yes, but it was what he called Darcy that made it possible for me to confirm.Myshka.”
Darcy leaned forward, invading my personal space to speak to Tallus. “He’s called me that before. When I first met him. What does it mean?”
“It’s a term of endearment. From what I read, it either means little mouse or little bear, depending on the spelling and pronunciation of which I know nothing about.”
Darcy scoffed. “Gross. Why would he call me that?”
Tallus ignored the question, asking, “Where do you want me, Guns?”
He looked good enough to eat, and I wanted to say something inappropriate, but held my tongue. Tallus read between the lines anyhow, and his smirk grew.
“I’m going to sit here,” I said instead. “I have a direct view of the counter through the front window, and I’ll be able to keep an eye on Darcy as he makes the exchange, but I want you around the corner there.”
I indicated a side street that joined the main road beside the strip mall. “When Darcy makes the drop, he can exit and go toward you. It will break line of sight with the barista, and we can get him off the street faster.”
“I don’t wanna go with Tallus,” Darcy whined.
“Too bad.”
