Carson, my uncle, and I had done a lap around the warehouse in his car to make sure no one was waiting there for me before we parked beside the back door.
Walking down the long hallway, the hairs on the back of my neck rise and stiffen, creating a sense of eerie urgency in my blood. Something isn’t right.
That same something hasn’t been right since the Suit walked back into the Ring with a pistol in his hand, but now the feeling chokes me, overwhelms me, covers me in a blanket of unease from head to toe.
I walk faster, opening the door at the other end of the hallway, the one that leads to the wide-open space where the Ring is held. Carson follows me, his presence helping to beat back the panic swelling in my mind.
I flick on the light, and shock slams into me like a crushing left tackle.
The Suit’s body is gone.
I spin around in a slow circle, trying to locate the dead man I know should be lying on the floor. “What the hell?”
“Where is he?” Puzzlement seeps out of Carson’s tone as he steps up beside me. Mirroring my motions, he scans the room the same way I’m doing.
I don’t get it. The feeling of discomfort, of wrongness still crawls over me like a swarm of ants. I can almost feel the little legs brushing over my skin, the crazy urge to swat at myself almost overpowering.
“I don’t get it. He was here. Why would they clean up after themselves instead of coming after me?” My voice is higher than normal, a note of panic threading with the exhaustion just beneath the surface.
It doesn’t make sense. They wouldn’t take the body and clean up the blood. As soon as they killed a man on my turf, it became my problem. Not theirs.
And yet…I pivot in a slow circle again, my mouth hanging open. Scrubbing a hand across my stubbled jaw, I blink several times.
Still no body.
Sinking onto one of the leather couches, I drop my head in my hands. The long day, the night of working plus meeting Naima, and the traumatic experience that followed…it’s all catching up with me now. All at once.
More than I can handle.
I hear Carson make one more lap around the room, searching more carefully. But I know it deep down inside me: he’s not going to find a dead body stuffed in a cabinet or under a table. It isn’t here.
The Suit’s gone.
Now the only question is: where did he go?
Did he get up and walk out of here on his own? If so, I have to worry about him coming back to finish the botched robbery. He still owes that loan shark.
But if that were the case, there’d be blood everywhere. He was shot, I heard it myself and saw him go down.
“What the hell? You weren’t supposed to kill him.”
And if not? It means the people who killed him moved his body. The loan shark’s thugs. Who is he? Why would his men take the body with them?
Too many questions and no answers. My head begins to throb, a steady rhythm of pain knocking against my skull. A groan slips from my lips.
The couch shifts beside me as Carson sits. He slaps my back with an open hand. “It’s gonna be okay, Ace.”
My uncle has always had my back. As my mother’s younger brother, he could have been my sibling instead of hers. Then again, she was only sixteen when she had me. Carson has been there, watching the shitty life I had growing up. As soon as he was able to help me get out, he did. He put me up in my first apartment, over his bar, when I was only seventeen with super low rent. He’s always looked out for me.
He doesn’t approve of the Ring, never has. His bar is on the up-and-up, and he believes in a man making an honest living for himself. He knows first-hand what can happen when you take the road less traveled. When he was younger, he made some stupid mistakes, which led him to serve time. But he doesn’t judge me, and he knows I’m only doing it to set myself up for my future.
I’m not going to break the law forever. I’ve got plans.
“Shit. What am I gonna do?” I raise my head so I can look Carson straight in the eye. “How am I supposed to deal with this? They saw me, Carson. They’re coming back for me.”
He evaluates me, studying my face with the trademark serious expression that means his wheels are turning. “You want to run?”
I sit back, contemplating. Do I want to run?
The thought makes me feel like I swallowed something sour. Hell no, I don’t want to run. I’ve never run from a fight. Usually, I go running headfirst into them without a second thought.
This fight isn’t fair, though. My enemy knows who I am. He knows where I spend time. But I don’t know anything about him. It’d be like fighting someone blindfolded with my hands tied behind my back. A total disadvantage.
If there’s one thing I can’t stand, it’s a lopsided fight.
I swing my gaze back to Carson’s. “I’m not going anywhere.”
He nods once, like he already knew what my answer would be. “You’ve gotta come at this smart, then. Your hotheaded temper’s got no place here.”
My lips pull into a grim line. Does he think I don’t know that? I’ll be lucky if I make it through the other side of this alive. I’m not going to give this loan shark, whoever he is, any more advantages.
Standing, I pace the area in front of the couch. “I can close down the Ring for a while. Lay low at the condo until this blows over.”
Meanwhile, I’ll be doing some digging of my own.
Carson frowns. He knows hiding isn’t my style. “For how long?”
Shrugging, I release an aggravated sigh, a quick release of breath through my pursed lips. “I don’t know, Carson. I need to figure out who this shark is. Gotta find some leverage to dig myself out of this.”
Carson strokes his beard, the same sandy color as my hair. “Yeah. Think I can use some of my connections from the bar to get a short list of sharks in the uptown area. You can find out which one your guy was dealing with.”
Hope blossoms somewhere deep inside me, a flower leaning toward a ray of light. “Yeah? How long?” I stop pacing, standing in front of him as he considers.
He shrugs. “Give me a few days. I want you to stay put at your place until then, you hear me? This is not a request, Ace.”
He’s right. I need to play this game smart. Because if I don’t?
It’ll be the last round I ever play.
Eleven
ACE
I told myself I would just come once.
To check on her. Make sure she’s safe.
It’s the chant I keep repeating in my head when I park down the road from her driveway just after eleven PM. It’s the mantra I keep telling myself as I hike up the paved walkway leading from the sidewalk to the front door.
Exactly three days since I dropped her off here, and I just need to see if she’s okay. It’s not like I can text her or call her. I never got her number.
So here I am, like a stalker, walking up to a sorority house on a weeknight.
My boots make a hollow sound on the pavement as I walk, and I’m alert. Listening. Watching.
I’m paranoid now when I’m on the Harley. If I think any vehicle is behind me for a suspicious amount of time, I just cut off another car and shoot up a side street. I don’t think I was followed here, but the last thing I want to do is bring trouble into Naima’s backyard. I just need to make sure she’s safe.