“Thanks for the book, Eddie.”
“Yes. My pleasure.”
Sam couldn’t do this. He had to see Brock and Celia Cramer.
Tonight.
That night there was a clear sky, truly breathtaking, prompting Ed to bring his telescope onto the patio as soon as the sun set—and after Sam had left for the evening.
Ed was used to being alone, but as he found his favorite constellations in the sky, he kept turning his attention toward Gemini, wondering if the stars would be lovelier with company.
Sam had only been on his payroll for two days, and already Ed was getting used to having him around. Loneliness was like that, like hunger: easy to ignore when he had nothing, but getting a taste made his appetite snap its jaws like a ravenous wolf. And Ed gave in to his wolf enough already.
Still, the solace of the backyard seemed less satisfying.
“It’s mine!”
“Now it’s gonna be mine. Hand it over!”
“No!”
“I said, hand it over!”
There was silence, then a whimper, a sniffle, and finally, the sound of rushing feet. The owner of the first voice was running away, leaving the other behind.
Slowly, not wanting to make any noise himself, Ed put thoughts of Sam aside as he stepped away from his telescope to approach the right gate. The left side opened onto his driveway, the right toward the wood.
He opened it, his eyes piercing the darkness. The running feet were moving north, back toward the city, but beyond the tree line was a shadow, moving slowly east, away from Ed’s neighbors and their young children.
Ed gave chase, brisk but quiet, keeping track of the shadow. Even as he moved farther from the lights of his house and backyard, he zeroed in on the figure that took clearer shape in front of him.
A man, haggard and bent, dressed in rags, carrying a knapsack that had recently belonged to someone else. He also carried a knife. He was a vagabond and a thief, willing to kill to take what little someone else had for his own. And now he was completely alone.
Perfect.
Sam hit the ground hard, the left side of his face exploding in pain after the brutal punch he’d just received.
Perfect. That was going to leave a mark.
Alverez, the Cramers’ top enforcer, reached down to grab him by the scruff of his jacket and hoisted him to his feet. Their other muscle, Fitz and Shaw, looked on ominously, while the Cramers stood farther back wearing cold, satisfied smiles.
“Wait!” Sam cried when Alverez readied for another punch. “Rough me up too badly and Simons is going to get suspicious.”
“He has a point,” Celia said, beautiful in a vicious way, like the prettiest of vipers, next to Brock, her equally vicious husband. Sam hadn’t seen it before. He hadn’t wanted to. He’d been too focused on the potential payoff. “Now that you’re talking sense again, Sammy, I trust you won’t say anything else as foolish as wanting to get out of our deal?”
Sam staggered as Alverez released him with a shove.
“She asked you a question, Goldman,” Brock pressed. “Do we have a problem?”
Sam had gone to see them at one of the clubs they frequented. He’d expected they’d bring one of their bodyguards along, but he should have rethought his words as soon as all three followed them into the back.
“You said Simons was bad news,” Sam challenged anyway. “When I agreed to this and told you my crew and I only steal from people who deserve it, you said Simons was the perfect target, but I haven’t seen anything to prove that’s true.”
“So?” Celia sneered. “This is the type of score underlings like you can only dream about, and you’re moping about morals?”
“Our intel says he’s dirty,” Brock said in a bored tone. “That’s all you need to know.”
“In what ways? How do you know? Who—”
“You’re asking too many questions,” Fitz snarled, the least threatening physically, but also the most unpredictable, with his eyes always bloodshot.
“Simons—”
“Won’t notice the bruises on your friends if we take your insolence out on them,” Shaw warned with a menacing tilt of her head.
Sam shut up.
They’d been so stupid to get into bed with these people without realizing that the real bad news was them. Maybe Sam was blind to Ed’s true nature too. He couldn’t be sure, but he also couldn’t risk his friends.
“Are we going to have any more problems?” Brock pressed.
“No.”
“Good.” Brock nodded at Alverez, who moved too fast for Sam to backpedal, and a fresh punch struck him in the stomach, nearly dropping him to his knees.
“Bet Simons won’t notice that either,” he jeered, and gave Sam’s cheek a pat.
Sam recoiled, slinking away slowly at first, then hurrying out of the room when they made no move to stop him. He beelined through the club for the street, fighting the bile that threatened to escape after that last punch.
He couldn’t deal with Mim and Gerry’s reactions, not tonight. He hadn’t told them he was going to see the Cramers. He’d have to stay out, go for a walk, tell them to not wait up, and sneak inside after the lights were out. If he was lucky, he’d wake before them too.
Sam had to finish the job, sooner than two weeks if he could.
Even if Ed was hiding something, Sam didn’t want to con him any longer than he had to.
Ed didn’t want to con Sam any longer than he had to.
Sam was a good man. Thoughtful. Personable.
Attractive….
Which was why Ed noticed immediately when Sam strolled into the kitchen the next morning wearing a pair of sunglasses, as if trying to hide his face.
“Brought in your paper. Shall we see what the stars have in store for Pisces today?” Sam grinned as if nothing was amiss. “Here we are. ‘The moon meets Pluto and opposes Mercury, stirring up intense emotions you want to get off your chest.’ Well—” He glanced playfully over the top of the paper. “—I’m all ears.”
“Your eyes.”
“I said ears.” Sam grimaced.
“Sam….”
“What?”
“What’s going on?”
“Nothing.”
“Are you drunk?”
“Of course not.”
“Then why are you wearing those indoors?”
“It’s nothing. You don’t have to worry—”
Ed snatched the sunglasses from Sam’s face, adamant because he knew Sam was lying. He could practically smell that something was wrong, like a tinge of copper close to the surface. Then he saw why as the light caught the fine contours of Sam’s face.
Dark bruises were forming around his left eye and cheekbone.
“What happened? It looks like you got into a fistfight.”
“You wouldn’t believe I’m the type to do that, would you?”
“Then why hide it?”
“Because it’s embarrassing. I took a tumble off my bike, but I’m fine. Luckily, I was wearing my helmet.”
“Who’s the bad liar now?” Ed said, and Sam sighed, looking utterly defeated, but he still didn’t explain himself. “At least put ice on it.”