Page 126 of Pretty Little Thing

He fumes. “What the hell’s gotten into you?”

“Look, I’m sorry, all right,” I say. “But I have to think ahead here and do the right thing.”

“The right thing?” he repeats. “The right thing for who? For you? For her? Sure as shit ain’t the right thing for me, man. What about me? I’m the one playing footsie with a bunch of criminals who would rather slit my throat than forget about this. While you, what? Fuck some hot chick? Is this cunt really worth throwing away a friendship for?”

I roll my fists. “You’re out of line, Alex.”

“No, you’re out of line!” He points at me. “I’m not about to let five million dollars slip through the cracks because your dick had an attack of conscience.”

I blink. “Fivemillion?”

His face turns white. “No, not five, I meant—”

“You told me the deal was for two million. Remember?” I point between us. “One for you. One for me.”

“It was! I mean, it is, I just got confused,” he stutters.

He looks down, lying through his fucking teeth.

“You were going to stiff me out of my cut, weren’t you?” I ask. “You were going to hand over one million and pocket the other four.”

He wags his head. “No, no. I wasn’t—”

“Yes, you were.” My guts churn. “This was never about making it up to me, was it? You wanted a payday and you used me to get into Black Book because you couldn’t get in yourself.”

He twitches. “Clive, I—”

“You know what, Alex?” I flex my jaw. “I forgive you.”

He looks up. “What?”

“I forgive you,” I repeat. “I forgive you for losing your fucking shit in Iraq. I forgive you for nearly shooting my goddamn leg off. I forgive you for setting me up and trying to steal one-point-five million dollars from me—”

“Clive, come on, we can still split it. Two-point-five for you. Two-point-five for me.”

I bear my teeth. “I forgive you, Alex. Now, get out of my life. If I ever see you again, I will kill you myself. Do you understand?”

He recoils and drops his head again. “Wait. Clive—”

I ignore him.

Hell, I forget he even exists by the time I step outside.

* * *

Four o’clock.Don’t be late.

I board the elevator at three fifty-five, feeling more than a little uneasy. And excited. But mostly uneasy. I have no idea what’s going to happen when I reach the roof. I can’t remember the last time something like this happened to me.

Yes, I can. Never. It’s never happened to me.

The elevator opens on the top floor and I spot a door down the hall marked roof. My heart pounds harder with each step I take toward it. Just one quick flight upward and I reach the roof access door.

I open it and my skin chills, instantly touched by the thin, cold air up here.

“You’re late.”

I smile. “No, I’m not.”

Nora smirks at me from the center of the helicopter pad. My eyes bounce between her, the amazing view from the top of Chicago, and — of course — the giant fucking helicopter parked behind her.

I walk up to her and the amusement deepens on her face. “What is this?” I ask her.

“Our ride to the airport,” she answers. “The restaurant is a little outside of town.”

My guts churn. It’s been a long time since I’ve been in one of these. “How far outside of town?” I ask.

Nora smiles.

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