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I thought of Frankie approaching me in the street earlier.
That makes sense—even for Frankie.
“I can take care of myself, Sven,” I informed him flatly.
“No one’s ever questioned that, Abby,” he snickered, his attention fully fixed on his package now, dark eyes gleaming wildly as if he was already high.
That was my cue to see myself out.
Turning back, I let myself back into the uneven hall and back out the way I’d come. I didn’t bother shifting back into my wolf form for the trip to my house. The sun hadn’t fully set yet, and home wasn’t far. The streets were still relatively alive. Although, even now, there were more members of Frankie’s circle on the raised boardwalks outside the closing stores than there were families or businesspeople combing through the avenues.
“You took a chunk out of Frankie, huh?”
Choking back a gasp, I steeled myself from showing my surprise. Only Etta had the ability to sneak up on me like that, her waif-like demeanor and innocence never a threat to my hypervigilant nature.
The tiny fae beamed up at me, but concern clouded her vision.
“Are you okay, Abs?”
Flashing her a quick smile, I lowered my guard again and nodded, closing my hands around the straps of my pack. It always felt weird at the end of the day without any weight, like I was forgetting something.
“Was Maisie shooting off her mouth again?” I grumbled, glancing over my shoulder. Frankie was long gone from where I’d left him, Maisie, too.
“You did leave him bleeding with half a hand in the middle of the street,” Etta tittered nervously. “Someone was bound to say something.”
“That guy should have known better than to approach me.”
Etta peered at me curiously, waiting for me to elaborate, but I pursed my lips together.
“Well?” she pressed. “What did he want?”
“It doesn’t matter, Etta,” I mumbled, quickening my stride across the dusty street. Here, there were fewer stores and more houses, the streetlamps tapering off with more distance between them. My place was only a few blocks away, and I could almost taste the shower on my lips.
“Drugs?” Etta pressed.
Inhaling, I stopped and looked her dead in the eye.
“You know I can’t talk to you about this stuff, Etta,” I said firmly. “If you have business questions, you need to talk to Orson.”
Etta pouted, her sooty eyes shadowing to a cloudy gray. She ran a hand through her black bob and folded her arms over her chest.
“You know he doesn’t talk to me about any of that stuff,” she muttered begrudgingly.
And you know I won’t, either, if I want to keep my place in the hierarchy,I mused but maintained my smile.
I liked Etta, even if she was constantly trying to low-key snitch on her romantic partner all the time. But I valued my position in the Verity Gang much more than I did any friendships.
It was the most stable relationship I’d ever had, after all.
“I know you feel disloyal talking about Orson stuff,” Etta told me pleadingly, her long lashes giving her a much more youthful appearance than her age. No one would guess that she was older than me with that barely lined skin and those naïve, blinking eyes.
“Etta,” I sighed, not wanting to bark at her. “I’m not supposed to discuss this stuff with you. You know that, and I know that. I wish you’d stop asking me. It’s putting our friendship at risk when you do.”
Etta drew back like I’d slapped her in the face, her jaw slacking. “I don’t want that, either, Abby,” she breathed, pure contrition coloring her cheeks. “That’s not my intention.”
My face softened as she exhaled, lowering her eyes.
“I just feel like I’m at my wits’ end with him sometimes, you know? Orson only tells me what he thinks I want to hear. He does it to protect me, but it only makes me worry about him more, Abby. You don’t know what it’s like to be worried about someone all the time—” Etta abruptly stopped speaking, her face paling as the words left her lips. “Oh, Abigail, I’m sorry. That was…”
