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And I know I want the entire operation to go down, to burn.
“What are you talking about? What boys and girls on the street?”
I freeze, not wanting to look at Devan. “I’m sorry, but I won’t talk about it here with you,” I reply.
“You’re going to have to start talking eventually. Otherwise, I came up here for nothing,” he says.
Silence greets him even though it’s uncomfortable. He’s right. We hadn’t come this far only to stare at each other, and it’s not like I’m chickening out, either.
“Just know that it isn’t going to be drugs and murder anymore. It’s going to be human trafficking, and no one is safe.” My voice drops to a whisper, my mind struggling to stay with Devan rather than bolting down the rabbit hole after the children the Syndicate shipped off. “He’s already started.”
Holy hell.
The change came over Devan in an instant, his eyes clear.
“We need to be absolutely real with each other,” he begins, “and it’s not going to be out in the open. We’re too visible right now. You’re going to tell me everything, from beginning to end. I expect the truth, and if you give it to me, then I’ll be honest with you.”
“I want to.” Much as it surprised me, I did want to tell him everything. I wanted to spill the beans in a way I never had with anyone else before and see what happened. Eventually, I do give in and reach for him.
Iwanted.
FIFTEEN
devan
The first biteof pain barely registers as a trail of fire along my bicep. The indent in the metal of the car door, inches away from Aria’s ear, also takes a second for me to hone in on, to implicate.
Another shot follows the first until the side of the car is littered with silver holes the size of nickels.
My plea for her to get down dies before it’s birthed from my throat, and I throw her to the ground as a second round fires off right where we’d been standing. The bullets decorate the hood of the car, a line of notes on the first page of a symphony.
The breath leaves Aria in a rush, my body crushing her to the pavement hard enough to send the gravel into her skin.
A low scream builds in her throat.
In an instant, I switch off a part of me, the stone-cold cop switching on. I reach for the gun in my holster and rise long enough to follow the trail of the shot, ignoring the nick on my arm.
There.
Across the parking lot, from a white SUV with the windows tinted too black for me to see inside. The window is rolled down a crack. Enough for the shooter to train their gaze on us and fire again.
I duck just in time, and the mirror of the car cracks. Plastic and glass shower down, and I push Aria lower so that her head is level with the tires.
We’ve got to get the hell out of here immediately.
Someone was sent—either side, it doesn’t matter—and we’re out in the open.
My car is a better bet, but requires her to hustle across to the passenger seat.
The slight break in between fire gives us the opportunity we need.
“Go!”
I shove at her, angling my body to fire off several rounds of fire toward the van. Three shots fire back at me, and Aria shrieks, ducking down with her arms overhead and the driver’s door open.
I reach for my keys with my opposite hand. My body shields hers, and I half wish I’d remembered to wear my bulletproof vest. It would have been smart.
Meeting her in a secure location would have been smarter still.
