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And that just… shouldn’t have hurt as much as it did still. Not after all this time. Not after fucking… agreeing with her.
She did deserve better.
Even if I was relatively sure that no one could ever love her as much as I love her.
“Seeley, let’s go grab some air,” Huck declared, giving me something to think bout for two minutes as I followed him through the crowded club and out the door.
My ears rang from the sudden silence.
Judging from the look on Huck’s face, he wasn’t as into clubs as he’d once been.
“Fuck. I never thought I’d say this, but I think I’m getting too old for this shit,” Huck admitted, shaking his head. “I think I’d take the soundtrack of that goddamn movie the kids are obsessed with over that noise,” he added. “Alright. So. Thoughts?”
“I think it’s a good arrangement. From what I can tell, he’s being honest. And not putting all our eggs into the one basket is the safety net we need to make sure he’s going to make good on all his promises.”
“Alright. That was the feeling I was getting too. I can’t shake that he’s… more than he’s letting on, though,” Huck said.
“Yeah, Daniyal too,” I agreed. “He’s definitely not just an assistant. A guy like him screams of some sort of special ops training. And I don’t believe for a fucking second that he doesn’t understand every word we’ve been saying.”
“Agreed. So the question is: do I agree now, or do I have Arty look into Daniyal first?”
“I think, considering the risk is low if we can keep our current clients, there’s no reason to hold off. You might piss him off, and then he will rescind the offer.”
“Alright. Always appreciate you,” Huck said, giving me a nod before heading back into the club.
It wasn’t until I was alone that I felt a prickly sensation at the back of my neck that had me turning.
And there he was.
Daniyal.
Leaning against the wall, having a cigarette.
“Can I bum one?” I asked, since I didn’t dare bring a pack into Ama’s place.
Daniyal went into his pocket, producing the pack, and confirming what we’d suspected.
He understood us just fine.
He just… didn’t speak for some reason.
“Thanks,” I said, accepting the cigarette and then the light.
I would probably get a world of shit for showing back up smelling like an ashtray, but shit had been crazy for the past week or so. I’d earned a vice.
Up close, I could get a good look at Daniyal under the security lights around the club as I handed back his lighter.
It was up close that I noticed that the backs of his hands were crisscrossed with scars. And, even more interesting, each and every one of his fingertips were raised and ragged in spots.
Like he’d cut and realigned his fingertips.
To obscure his real prints.
That was some fucking psycho shit.
Almost as bad as that guy who was famous for biting off his fingertips so the cops couldn’t get them.
It was difficult to actually remove your fingerprints entirely. You had to remove too many layers of skin for most people to be able to do it successfully. But it wasn’t hard to Frankenstein Monster your fingerprints.
