Page 11 of Dragonfly

And if I see him? I don’t have a gun. I can’t do shit about it.

But hell if I’m not curious to know about what’s going down at Springfield Wash tonight.

They say curiosity killed the cat, and while Orion is probably napping away peacefully in the fluffy cat bed I bought for him, I’m regretting tonight’s snooping.

I knew that Damien is the head of the Libellula Family. I knew that he’s a fucking mobster, and that the gangs in Springfield are a real threat. The guns aren’t just fashion accessories. They’re real, and these men are dangerous.

But what I saw…

Shit. I hope the girl’s okay. That’s all I can think about as I slide into my car, trying to calm my racing heart. I doubt she is. Even from the spot where I was standing near the entrance, I could see the way her head lolled, the blood covering her face, and I knew something bad went down in the backroom of the laundromat.

I hadn’t expected to walk in on that. I didn’t even see the girl or the handsome blond man clutching her tightly to his chest at first. My attention was focused solely on Damien, but only when he started to talk to the other man did I realize he was waiting for them just outside the back door.

I’m pretty sure he saw me, too. Damien, and the blond. My damn curiosity got the better of me, and instead of backtracking before I could be caught, I inched closer, glaring at Damien, hating him even more on behalf of the poor unconscious girl the other man was holding.

Something happened in there. Something bad.

And there I was, without my weapon, and the blond man glaring at me as if I was the one who hurt the woman in his arms…

This doesn’t have anything to do with me. Considering Damien was waiting outside the exit when the man muscled his way out, a gun in his hand as though he was prepared to blow away anyone who tried to stop him, I’m not sure he does, either. But he sticks around, talking to the other guy, while I walk back over to my car.

Part of me wants to stick around. The other part wants to wash my hands of what I saw.

One thing for sure: I can’t even imagine calling the cops about this. They fucked me over when I went to prison, and it’s not like they’ll give a shit when most of the police force is paid off by Damien.

Watching the entrance to the parking lot in my rearview mirror, I’m still thinking about what I should do when another car turns the corner. It’s a long car, black and shiny, taking the turn so quickly and so tightly, it’s like it’s being driven by a Nascar driver or something.

If I thought I was curious before, that’s nothing compared to now. Sinking down in my seat, I watch and I wait to see what’s going to happen next.

I’m actually quite surprised when, within minutes, it’s Damien’s flashy red car that turns out of the exit and onto Main Street.

My hand on the ignition, I’m prepared to follow behind him when the most unexpected thing happens.

The red car pulls up alongside me.

My head swivels before I can think better of it, and there’s Damien, those pale blue eyes piercing right through to my fucking soul as he stares dead at me. His inky-black hair is combed over perfectly, that grey streak near the front enough to make him appear distinguished and sophisticated instead of the criminal I know he is. Even though I hate him, I can’t deny he’s attractive despite having that whole ‘older’ guy thing going on.

This close, he’s even more attractive, damn it.

He doesn’t roll down his window. Neither do I. His lips quirk just enough to make my heart skip a beat before his car disappears down the street.

I watch him go, curious and confused when he makes a sharp left, parking his car along the inside of a wide alley that exists between a gym and a bank, both closed for the evening.

I wait two minutes to see if he’s going to back out and continue on his way. In my rearview mirror, I catch sight of that long black car from before leaving the back of the strip mall. Right behind that car, there’s a plain, nondescript black one. They both slip into traffic and disappear without paying any attention to Damien’s car.

But if he’s not parked over there, waiting for one of those cars, then what the hell is he doing?

My hand lands on my inner door handle. It wouldn’t hurt for me to take a walk over there and get a peek, right? In the name of knowing what Damien is up to at any given moment, I have to go look.

I don’t know what it is exactly that I expect to find, but I can tell you one thing: it’s not Damien Libellula standing outside of his car by himself, leaning against the hood, legs crossed at the ankle, arms crossed over his chest while showing off his lean, toned body.

I had only planned on inching up to the edge of the corner, spying where he couldn’t see me—but that was before I realized that he’d angled himself so that he’d catch me doing just that.

I freeze, and before I can turn tail and dash back to my car, he nods at me.

“I’ve been waiting for you.” He uses his head to gesture for me to come closer. “Step inside. Let’s have a chat.”

This is a bad idea. A bad, bad idea. I’m caught, and I need to put some distance between us before I do something I’ll regret.

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