Page 46 of Shattered Veil

“Uh huh, because you’re a total stranger to thievery,” I sardonically snapped.

“If you think it’s too big of an ask, then leave,” Claire told him with a challenging gleam in her eye. Colton visibly sighed, and she crossed her arms defiantly. “Oh, I’m sorry—is that not a good option for you?” Claire asked him in a sickly-sweet tone, “Are you worried about what you’re getting into because you’re grasping at straws? Do you think that asking us a few questions could be beneficial? After all, we do work at a bar, and drunk people tend to talk. Maybe we heard a name that you know of being mentioned, and it could give you a point of direction—I dunno. Does that sound like something that could be helpful to you, but you don’t have anything to hold over our heads and make us talk? Is there nothing you can do to force things to go your way?”

Colton’s expression twisted at the last two sentences of her sneering monologue, conveying his remorse for the past, and he returned in a raspy tone, “Fuck…I really am sorry, Claire.”

What had appeared to be pride at Claire’s harsh words had comingled on my brother’s face with his prior anxious frustration, but that all washed away and turned to disgust as his focus high-beamed on Colton. The left side of his mouth pulled up in a silent snarl, but he held his tongue.

Claire hesitated, her jaw clenching before she said, “I don’t need your apology. I need you to break into this apartment for us. You can ask us questions after—about your shit, not ours.”

Colton pursed his lips as he took in her words and began to bounce his head from side to side as if he were regretfully debating the pros and cons of assisting us.

“Is no one else concerned that he’ll just hold this shit against us and threaten blackmail again?” Luke asked as devil’s advocate.

“How in the fuck would I do that?” Colton returned, throwing about an arm to gesture between himself and Claire. “We have dirt on each other. That’s why we can peacefully cohabitate on the same goddamn planet.” He then pointed to the ceiling, moving his finger in a circular motion as he said, “Let’s circle back—if I’m nabbed for breaking and entering, I’m getting five to twenty years—”

Zoey exclaimed, “That much?!”

“Yup!” he replied, popping the p. “My point is if I help you—if—that risk is on me,” Colton tapped his chest, now speaking to Luke, “not any of you. And that’s a pretty fuckin’ big risk. So…do you want that on you?” He paused, and then waved in Claire’s direction. “On her?” Luke’s reluctance waned at the mention of a threat to Claire, and Colton concluded, “Then, please…tell me that you have something for me aside from potential bar gossip, ’cause as sorry as I am and as much as I’d love to do this out of the goodness of my heart, I don’t know if that’s enough. Help me help you.”

Claire and Zoey both pressed their lips together tightly, and that was when I caught Cassie’s eye because I was anticipating her to speak up with an admission. An admission that, of course, didn’t reveal all of the details that Colton would crave, but enough to usher him into assisting us. I watched her as she opened her mouth, bracing myself for a raucous reaction from the group—mostly Liam—and then, she promptly closed it. Colton glanced at her with a raised, expectant brow that said he was ready for her to prove him right in his assumption of fate.

Cassie’s focus flickered from me to him and back again. The remainder of the group was too occupied elsewhere in their thoughts to notice the split second of her hesitation, but I most certainly wasn’t. Her dark eyes met mine, I saw the hint of a plea within them, and without bracing myself to so much as think, I blurted out:

“I was at a strip club about a week ago—Gas Lamp.”

Cassie’s shoulders lowered as she let out a long exhale, and I was sure that Luke, Claire, Liam, and Zoey’s heads had all turned to me, but I paid them no mind. I solely waited for Colton to pull his eyes from Cassie, and when he did, he appeared to be assessing me with a generous scrutiny.

“Gas Lamp, really? I was casing that place a few days ago.”

“Mhm,” I told him. “It’s understaffed.”

He nodded. “That it is.”

“I was told some of the dancers skipped their shifts.”

Colton squinted. “They ever come back?”

I shrugged. “Don’t know, but I can find out.”

He asked, “How?”

The question was an obvious one, and it was directed at me from not only Colton, but everyone else with the exception of Cassie. Their confused, questioning expressions caused me to sigh, and I noted vaguely:

“I’m close with one of the dancers. We can talk later.”

The bewilderment abound was immediately replaced with surprised understanding. I had no doubt that the questioning regarding said closeness and what that entailed would bombard me at some point, and I was ever-thankful that this was not that time.

Colton gave me a curt nod, and I pressed, “Is that enough?”

“Dammit,” he groaned. “Yes. It’s enough.”

Zoey spoke again quickly, as if she were concerned that he would change his mind, “We don’t have much time.”

Nervousness at the upcoming events aside, relief still swarmed me to know that he would stay. That whatever Peter Milkovich kept in that closet could be known only to us. That the opportunity to speak with Colton further had been created, and he wouldn’t simply disappear into the night, never to be seen again. I glanced at Cassie, saw my sentiment reflected back to me in her eyes, and she held my focus. Without having to say a word, she recognized my inner thoughts and subtly—rapidly—mouthed a silent, ‘Thank you.’

I blinked, and the moment was gone. Our eye contact broke, I pushed the thought of the potential danger in her life aside, and forced the current threat for us all to the forefront of my mind.

Chapter 10

---