“Brochov was a better payday for Abel.”
“The Russian?”
“Mm.” I turn away from Jess and kick loose gravel beneath my boots. “He said I had to lose. And I had to do it convincingly. Brochov beat me to shit.”
“How’d she get hurt?”
“I dunno. She was in the club. I didn’t know she was there. I woke up in the alley out back and she was pinned against the wall.”
“He… did he…” He can’t finish the sentence, because even for a couple criminals, we still abide by those codes so many at Infernos don’t.
“Yup. He did.” Rage bubbles in my blood as I remember her red face, her bulging eyes. His hand beneath the dress she’s wearing right now. I turn back to the glass and watch her bent over her breakfast; she’s not eating, just staring. “I’m best friends with a traumatized girl right now, Jay, and I was buying her breakfast when you decided to call and break the party up. You still didn’t get to the point of your call.”
Finally serious, his voice changes to the guy I know in the club. “Abel’s got a shipment coming in and he’s putting you on it. You need to shake her off.”
“I can’t shake her off. I don’t wanna.”
And what’s more, somehow, for some insane reason, she’s saferwithme than she is when we’re apart.