Page 11 of Play The Game

With a groan, I unlock the door before I chicken out. Before I open it, I meet Harley’s gaze over my shoulder and say, as calmly as I can, “I know you disagree with me, but I swear to you, he’s a good guy. I trust him. Just stay calm and hear him out. It must be important if he’s here.”

And then Johnny Illium, the Butcher of the Bay, or just plain Illi to me, sweeps me into a bone-crushing hug. It takes a whole lot of restraint not to punch the ass in the ribs for it, or stick my knife between them, but he doesn’t seem to notice my efforts at all. I do not care that he’s the most notorious cage fighter and enforcer-for-hire amongst the Twelve; I don’t do hugs.

“What the fuck are you doing? Get off me,” I gasp out, and he grunts at me.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m not exactly a hugger, either, but Odie insisted. Think of it as payback for going AWOL on her when you went to school and didn’t send any updates. She sent me up to that ugly fucking convent a dozen times last year to be sure you were alive, you’ve had her worried half to death. She told me to tell you to fucking call her, she misses listening to you bitch her out for doing things that normal people do.”

He finally decides I’ve been tortured enough and sets my feet back onto the ground, kicking the door shut behind himself as he barges in. Then, with the arrogance only the infamous Butcher could have, he flicks the lock and wiggles the handle to be sure it secure, like this is his house to keep safe.

Harley, honest to God, looks like he’s going to kill me and then himself.

Illi makes a big fuss of looking around, the room suddenly feeling too small now that he’s standing in it. “This place is better than the one you got for winter break. You trying to impress your boyfriend?”

I shoot him a look but he’s grinning back at me teasingly like the ass he is, sprawling himself down into one of the dining chairs like he’s a regular visitor to the townhouse. He wiggles his eyebrows at me in a way I’m sure he’s hoping will piss said boyfriend off.

Harley does look fucking livid, but there’s a queasy air clinging to him that makes my own stomach clench in response. The longer I look at him, the more unease roils in my stomach. I didn’t realize how much his reaction to my status in the Bay had affected me, but I can still feel that gut-wrenching fear sitting just under the surface, waiting for this entire mess to blow up. The real problem here is that I might have a good argument in Illi’s favor, I can’t blame Harley for losing his shit about the guy; that’s just survival instinct, one you don’t survive in the Bay without.

If the Wolf is whispered about on the streets of Mounts Bay, then the Butcher is the man screamed about at parties and bars when people want to instill fear in their audience of choice. Every last one of the rumors about his blood-soaked deeds are, at their core, true. He’s the highest ranked cage fighter in the underground rings that are insanely popular in the Bay. He’s a killer for hire whose skill with knives made him notorious the moment he hit the scene, and I can only guess what Harley’s heard about him that’s got him so riled up.

Illi either can’t read the room or, more likely, doesn’t give a fuck what it’s saying, because he shrugs out of his leather jacket and hangs it over another seat. He sees the laptop and the open chat room that I’d almost forgotten about, leaning forward in his seat with a smirk to give the camera a little mocking wave before snapping it shut. Ash is going to lose his mind.

When he looks back over at me, I raise an eyebrow at him, but his smirk stays firmly on his face. “I thought I’d stop by to be properly introduced to the boy the Jackal is willing to risk everything to kill.”

I roll my eyes at his antics, but I probably should’ve expected this. “You couldn’t just call me? Or warn me you were coming? I do actually pick up the phone, you know, despite you chewing me out over it. Now isn’t really a great time, we’re just about to head out.”

I wave a hand in front of myself, like I’m offering him the evidence though God knows why I’m even explaining myself right now. Harley shoots me a glare, probably for pointing out said outfit, which only proves how very little he knows about the situation we’re in. If I had to pick a label to describe our ‘relationship’, I’d go with foster brother. We were technically in the group home together for a month, so it counts, but we didn’t actually speak a single word to each other until years later.

It’s also the best explanation for why he’s being such a confrontational, shit-stirring dick about Harley right now, too.

He nods cheerily, evil sparkling in his goddamn eyes. “You know I’m always down for a night out.”

I practically hear Harley’s restraint, and grip on his sanity, snap.

“Like fuck we’re going anywhere with you,” he snarls, and I give him what I hope is a stern look. He ignores it, and me, completely.

Illi smirks at him, the sign of a predator who’s successfully snared prey. “That temper of yours is adorable but the Wolf doesn’t need a fucking keeper, so cut your shit.”

I’m starting to think I’m in hell right now because this is actual torture. Worse, we’re going around in circles, so I don’t see it ending anytime soon, and my fingers start itching for my emergency bottle of whiskey to numb myself to it all.

Whether he sees just how done I am, or if he’s gotten all the fun he can out of the situation, Illi finally drops the shit-stirring act and pegs me with a serious look. “I’ve been hearing some whispers about you, enough that I started looking into some shit. Then, this morning, I got a call and it forced my hand. This isn’t something we could discuss over the phone, so I had to come in person. The Jackal put a hit out on the O’Cronin kid.”

Shaking my head at the stupidity of the asshole, I can’t help but scoff. “He can’t. Not without answering to the Twelve.”

Illi cocks his head at me. “He’s put it out amongst the underlings he knows will risk the wrath it’ll bring, and he can easily pin the whole idea on. Not many took it up, because they know it goes against you, but there are a few who accepted.”

My stomach is still churning but I shrug. “I knew he’d do this. I’ve been expecting it, that’s why I started setting up safeguards in the first place.”

Illi stares at me for a second longer, feeling me out, and then he turns the entire situation on its head in a single fucking sentence. “D’Ardo called me himself; he offered to triple whatever sum you paid me.”

Holy fucking shit.

Harley’s neck looks like it might snap as he looks between the two of us furiously, neither of our faces giving anything away, but an entire conversation happening between us regardless. As much as I’d like to reassure him, I’m barely keeping myself from freaking the fuck out, so all I can do is stare Illi down.

Harley finally lets out a frustrated growl, still eying Illi like he’s an atomic bomb about to level the city even as he speaks through gritted teeth. “So, what, you’re here to kill me? Who the fuck is D’Ardo and why does he care about the Jackal’s temper fucking tantrum?”

Illi quirks his eyebrow and swings around to give me an incredulous look. I manage to roll my eyes at him without melting into hysterics. “I’m not his keeper either. If you’re going to poke and prod at him then you can deal with him snapping back. I’m only getting involved if I think you’ll kill him… which is off-limits, obviously. Don’t kill him, Illi.”

Illi scoffs like I’m being amusing, then shrugs. Well, I assume he was trying to shrug. The thick ropes of muscles that band across his shoulders make it look a little ridiculous. His fingers twitch. He’s itching for a cigarette. I never let him smoke around me, and Odie has been on him to quit for as long as I’ve known her, so maybe he’s finally relented.