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Too many things for me to count have changed. And they are the kind of things that make it difficult for me to voice them out loud, the horrors too great, and the trauma they bring up is even greater yet.
“I, ah, knew the guy. The other day.” I swallow over a rock in the back of my throat.
Devan lifts an eyebrow.
“The dead guy, I mean. He was one of mine. He worked for me. They all worked for me, the three you’re working on. And I…” I clear my throat again. “Are you really going to make me say it out loud?”
Devan chuckles, and the sound goes straight through my bones to the marrow. “Absolutely.”
I jut out my chin and plaster a shit-eating grin across my face. “I work for the Black Market Syndicate.”
Even now, talking about Broderick out loud in broad daylight is way too hard.
“Yes, you absolutely do,” Devan agrees.
I wipe my hands on the sides of my pants, my palms clammy. Devan leaves me standing there, doing my best to compose myself.
It’s impossible to make out the details of his face even this close. The sunlight distorts his features, and in my imagination, I see him like a living gargoyle. All harsh angles and illuminated fury. With me.
Will there ever be a time when he is not?
Probably not, to be honest.
I’m the type of person who rubs people wrong despite my good intentions.
“I’m not sure how much I’ll be able to give you, but my guys are dying, and I have no idea who is behind it. What I do know is that there is serious movement within the Syndicate. And it's a movement I’m not prepared to allow to happen.” I gnaw on the inside of my cheek. “The big boss has decided to open up other avenues of revenue, those I’m not comfortable entertaining.”
“It’s got to be pretty fucking bad if you’re here talking to me about it.” One of his hands shifts back to his side, his finger twitching and his knuckles cracking. “What’s your angle on this? Are you out for revenge against him? Or is this part of a plot against me? Do you have men out here waiting to take me down because I’m standing in your boss’s way?”
“You’re not standing in his way,” I insist. “You’re not even a blip on his radar. But what he’s about to do, what he’s planning, I can’t let it happen.” I shift and grip his forearms. “Devan, listen to me.”
He doesn’t break away from me, exactly, but he stiffens. His muscles go harder in my grip. “You’ve lied to me from the start. You’ve lied and manipulated and—”
“I know,” I interrupt.
“Why should I trust you now?” He tilts his head and stares, silent for a moment. “You’re giving me nothing to go on except my feelings for you, which are too messed up to count for anything concrete.”
I wince, probably the way he wanted me to wince. “Because like I said, it is going to be mutually beneficial. You’ve got to help me stop him. In a fucked-up turn of events, Detective Bishop, you are just about the only person out there I trust. Who…sees me.”
Ouch. Even this small bit of emotional vulnerability hurts.
Still, it’s too late for me to stop now. I spent most of the past twenty-four hours going over and over the entire situation in my head and circling around to the same point: bringing Devan into this is the only option.
As much as my decision might damn us both in the end.
There is something about Devan Bishop I’m not able to walk away from, and if we somehow manage to be successful…I might not have to. Which is a stupid pipe dream for a stupid, desperate woman.
“I might see you, Aria, but who knows what’s real and what’s not with you,” Devan says.
“This is real,” I insist. “I’ve been myself around you, as much as I’m able to be myself. The only thing I’ve done is keep a few things from you.”
He scoffs and says, “A few very large, very pertinent things. We didn’t start off on the right foot.”
“We started off with a blowjob, let’s be honest. Not your finest moment as a cop, I’m sure.” It’s low of me to go there, but it snaps him out of his anger and sends him into a darker emotion—guilt.
Notmyfinest moment right now, but I know how to manipulate guilt.
Anything, I reason, to get him on my side.
