As soon as I’m inside, the guy behind the desk nods and opens the door to the right to let me into the section Charlie’s team is.
“This is bullshit,” Dean says when I’m halfway up the stairs. “We shouldn’t be doing this—”
Halting, I plant my feet wide before turning and grabbing him, my hands curling around the edges of his jacket. “Listen and listen fuckin’ good, asshole.” I push him and his back slams against the wall. “This is the way we work. We help them out; they help us out. It’s give and fuckin’ take.” His eyes widen as I push my face closer to his, but something in their depths doesn’t ring true. I see it, and I want to call him out, slam my fist in his face and leave him here. The temptation is rampant, but I manage to keep it tamped down. This may be our mission right now, but my greater one is to find out what the fuck he’s doing here.
Letting him go, I part with, “Now shut up and do your fuckin’ job.”
He rights his jacket, rolling his shoulders back before following me into the main area.
Charlie is leaning against one of the desks; the main board flipped back so no one can see what’s on the other side. Tilting his head to the side to signal his office when he sees me, he then stands up and walks inside.
I follow with Dean behind me, not taking a seat but instead deciding to stand near the window, my back in the corner so I can see all directions. You can never be too careful; it’s when your back is turned people target you.
“Ty said you need surveillance.”
Charlie sits on the edge of his desk, folding his arms over his chest. “Yeah. We think there’s a gun operation being run out of a bar.”
He hands me a folder which I open, scanning the intel they’ve already gathered. “I know this place,” I tell him, flicking through the sheets of paper but not needing to.
“You do?” he asks.
I look up and flick my gaze to Dean who is sitting on the chair, watching the exchange with keen eyes.
“Yeah, I grew up there,” I say before moving my attention back to Charlie.
Charlie’s head tilts to the side, analyzing me. “So you know it’s hard to get in there without being made.”
I nod, not willing to give any more information, but he’s right. It has its own clientele; any newbies would be made right away.
“Think you can get us more intel? I need something solid to get a warrant.”
Closing the file, I place it on his desk as I walk past. “Ty gave me seven days.”
“Us,” Dean states.
I don’t bother acknowledging him before walking out, throwing, “I’ll update you soon,” over my shoulder.
LILY
I place the last plate on the drying rack, suds climbing up my arms. Turning around, I wipe them with a towel, looking out of the window at the darkening sky. The stars shine bright, the moon full. I get engrossed in the beauty of it, so much so I don’t hear his footsteps until it’s too late.
The breath leaves my body in a whoosh, my shoulders drooping as the air swirls with his anger. I should have made sure I was in my room—not that it ever stops him.
“It’s nine p.m.” His voice sends shivers through me, the demanding tone making way for what is about to come.
I don’t turn around, keeping my gaze locked on the outside world; a world I want to escape to. It shouldn’t be like this; I shouldn’t have to prepare myself for what is to come inside my home. I should be able to sit and talk to my dad, tell him what happened at school, be able to run to him when the girls spray-painted a cross on my locker again, or when someone hurts me. I shouldn’t have to run away from him.
“Acknowledge me when I talk to you, Liliana.”
I need to look away and turn around, open my mouth and tell him I’m sorry for not having the kitchen cleaned by a certain time. But I can’t. My body won’t move, it won’t face the danger I live with. It’s recoiling, preparing for a strike, an attack.
His footsteps echo around the kitchen, so loud in the otherwise silent room.
“Liliana!” I jump at his loud voice, my body finally cooperating.
“S-sorry,” I whisper, swallowing down the lump in my throat as I turn to face him, his dark-blue eyes darker in the muted light.
He watches me, his chest heaving as if he’s just run a marathon. My gaze flicks down to his hands that are opening and closing by his sides, his arms jerking before he pulls back, stepping away.