Page 22 of Smoke

“Holy shit, he’s just destroying everything. What did he even take?” I ask, dumbfounded that one person could cause that much havoc in such a short time. And get away with it.

“Not a fucking thing. He’s not a thief, just pure chaos. A vile fucking vermin who’s only goal is to wreak havoc.” Omen reaches over the bar to help himself to a shot glass and a bottle of whiskey.

“I can get that for you, you know?” I’m not as irritated as I should be.

He nods. “I don’t need you to wait on me, mama. Just keep looking at the footage. Tell me what you see.”

I grab another shot glass and place it on the bar. To my surprise he pours me one after he does his.

When I turn my attention back to the screen, I see the guy’s sleeve slip up for a second, revealing a tiny peek of ink. “Can you zoom in?”

Omen nods and enlarges the frame.

My stomach drops into my ass. I grip the edge of the bar to keep my knees from swaying. The visible part of his tattoo is the tip of a sword pointing toward his wrist. What Omen doesn’t know is that the rest of it goes all the way up his forearm and past the crook of his elbow.

Fuck.

He’s right. This is personal. And it has everything to do with me. I’m going to fucking kill Kane.

I loosen my white-knuckle grip and down the whiskey.

He pours me another. “You know who that is?”

I can’t fucking tell them the truth. Not yet. I need to fix this first. Fuck. I shake my head. “Sorry. Looks like every other drunk asshole I’ve seen in here.”

He glares at me as he snaps the laptop shut. “You know what we do to rats, Cherry? We cut them open and string them up by their entrails.”

I swallow hard. “Sounds messy.”

He nods and pours himself another whiskey. “But you know what I hate more than rats? Liars. When I find out who’s been lying to us about all this, blood will fucking spill. I promise you that.”

Omen doesn’t trust me to begin with. I just hope I didn’t give anything away in my face. If he suspects I know something, I’m fucked. I will tell them. But not yet. I need to have a word with Kane first.

I hold up my glass. “Well, cheers to everyone getting what they deserve.”

He doesn’t clank his glass to mine. Instead, he knocks it back and slams it on the bar. “I’m gonna finish my work upstairs while you close down the bar. If that’s all right with you, that is?”

Wow. Is he actually asking me this time? Now I know something is up. He’s being too nice. “Yeah, sure. Just keep your nose out of my panty drawer.”

He snickers. “Don’t flatter yourself, sweetheart. I’m not in the least bit interested.”

Maybe he’s finally warming up to me. He can hate me all he wants, but I’m not blind to the way he looks at me. Deep down there’s a part of him that aches for my lips on his.

The thought of him upstairs in my apartment actually stirs something really fucking primal in me. But he’s stubborn. I could walk past him naked and he wouldn’t break. Not yet at least.

I reach under the bar for my phone when I realize I left it upstairs. I threw it on the bed and never picked it back up after Omen came in and nearly gave me a heart attack.

Fuck.

Omen.

He’s upstairs with my phone. And every single vile text message I’ve had with Kane in the last three weeks.

She knows who the rat is.

After being an interrogator for four years in a special unit, and then two years in forensics, reading people is in my blood. It’s what I’m good at. Well, fucking, fighting, and reading people. Sometimes all at the same time.

It didn’t take me long to spot her tells. Everyone has them. Some people laugh when they’re nervous. Others avoid eye contact. But for Cherry, the throat bob, hitched breath, and her iron grip on the edge of the bar let me know she’s hiding something. It was subtle, and she recovered fast, but I’m ninety-nine percent convinced she recognized the guy in the footage.