Page 22 of Unlawful Lies

I’ve been caught off guard by less.

The night is bleak, and the stars are hesitant to shine in this part of town. The shadows only grow longer and darker and colder the further we walk, and it takes me half a heartbeat to realize I’ve lost track of him.

The hot stench of garbage assaults my nostrils and I wonder how many windows of the above buildings have opened just to throw their filth outside. Arden is somewhere among them.

Up ahead, flesh collides with flesh, the sounds muffled by the mist.

“You can go fuck yourself. I’m not giving it up. You have a better—chance…fuck you.”

That’s Arden, more coherent than he’d been half a second ago.

“You have a lot of nerve, Mr. Salvatore.”

And he’s not alone.

“I’ve got all the nerve I need to deal with bullshit artists like you.” What the hell is Arden doing, and why is he out here? Who is he meeting?

I press my back to the wall and hold the overheated, stench-filled air in my lungs, waiting for the other person to speak again before I make a move. My nerves are shot, screaming at me to back up and pretend I haven’t heard anything. Something keeps me bound in place.

The other man laughs. “What do you think you’re going to do? My cock is bigger than your fucking blade.”

“It’s big enough to gut you,” Arden argues.

“I’d love to see you try. Please.” He pauses, and from the street, someone leans on their car horn. “Give me your best shot. I am an open target.”

I chance a look around the corner, seeing nothing but the hazy outline of Arden’s back. His bulk obscures the other person from view. Only the top of his fedora is visible from this angle.

My throat goes dry and scratchy. What kind of stupid prick wears a fedora?

Arden goes down. One moment, he’s standing; the next, he’s on his side and curled in a semi-fetal position. The fedora disappears out of sight.

Cold dread snakes along my spine and goose bumps erupt, an odd contrast to the sheen of sweat on my neck. Arden doesn’t get up.

The same instinct that had me drawing the gun sees me pausing there, waiting for the other man to leave. From somewhere in the distance, a siren cuts through the evening hush, and a chorus of angry dogs howl in its wake. The shrillness pierces my eardrums.

Sure we’re alone, I head out, crouching beside him.

“Salvatore, damn you, get your ass up. I’m taking you home.”

He’s still beneath my probing hands.

I get him onto his back, his eyes open and wide and unseeing. The end point of a knife sticks out from a wound in his gut, and the puddle of blood seeping from it grows wider with every second.

“Goddamn it.” The words are a whisper and a curse.

Murder.

He’s deader than a gutted fish, and I’m the only witness.

Edward

Murder is the opposite side of the coin from life, and in my wildest dreams, I never thought I’d give a fuck about Arden dying. In fact, I’d contemplated doing it myself not too long ago.

At least until I fingered his daughter in their garden. Plans have to change in this business when you find something you want.

Goddamn it, I shouldn’t have followed him.

I lurch out of my crouch, working the kinks out of my neck. “Fuck.”

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