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“Yes,” I reply somewhat more calmly. Shay looks at me, understanding without words that my rage is in no way directed at her.
“And you can’t reach her because she cut you assholes off faster than the government does when you make half a cent more than allowed for benefits, didn’t she?”
I derisively snort. “Also, yes.”
“Now you’re here to have me reach out to her and explain what’s going on so she can bring her stubborn ass back here?”
“No,” I sigh, shaking my head as I aggressively run my fingers through my hair, pulling at the roots—exasperated by the chokehold being placed on us.
Shay’s brown eyes narrow to slits. “Why the hell not?”
I pinch the bridge of my nose, highly aware of how often I’ve been doing this lately. “Because it’s not safe.”
“But if she knew—.”
“She’d come back to fight,” I finish.
Shay hangs her head and huffs before meeting my gaze again. Resigned acceptance lines her face, and her lip curls up in disgust. “As soon as I’m well enough, I’m beating the lip filler out of that bitch,” she declares, and I laugh, then cough to try and cover it up, feeling guilt settle in the pit of my stomach for finding any joy without Ariah around.
“I need to know Ariah’s okay,” I confess.
“That would be a lie,” Shay states.
I have to close my eyes and clench my fists to stave off the maelstrom of feelings garnered from that statement. Of course, it’s a lie. One I was ready to believe for the sake of easing my self-pity.
“She’s not okay, far from actually, but she will be. She’s strong. She needs time, and until you dumb fucks get this all under control, you’ll all give her that,” Shay instructs, and it’s my turn to accept what has to be done, as bitter as it may taste.
Opening my eyes, I stand. “We will. Just promise not to tell her anything about what’s going on.”
“I swear,” she says too quickly for my liking.
“None of it, Shay—not even a Freudian slip of the tongue.”
She rolls her eyes, “I said I won’t. Now get the hell out. I need to rest, so I can get well enough to check unruly skanks that take what doesn’t belong to them.”
My lip quirks at her fire. I’m glad my spitfire has her. Then I head for the Tombs. It’s time for some zesty interrogations.
* * *
I enter the room, and it doesn’t feel the same. The Tombs isn’t the Tombs without Owen’s energy in here, especially when it comes to interrogations.
“I’ll tell you everything you want to know, just don’t let him near me,” Antonio begs, pointing to Lev.
Snickers break out. “It seems your reputation precedes you, Levi,” I exclaim.
“It’s too bad O’s not here to see that I’m the more terrifying one,” Lev states, his tone subarctic.
I pull my suit jacket off then hang it on the hook by the door before unbuttoning my sleeves and rolling them to my elbows. “Did you know I have a flare for the dramatic when it comes to things such as this?” I taunt, grabbing Owen’s knife.
Antonio shakes his head, and I delight in his inability to respond verbally.
“He definitely does. The last time he was in charge, we had a man strapped to a wheel and played darts,” Wes smirks, picking up another knife.
“Look, I said I’d tell you everything,” Antonio begins, but Wyatt’s fist to his face silences him.
“We expected no less. However, we’re going to do this my way,” I dictate.
Lev and Wyatt pick up Owen’s other two knives.
