Page 39 of Angel's Share

And continued to go south as Orlando hustled Pudge’s direction, the boss flanked by two guys even bigger than him. Orlando grabbed Pudge by the biceps and hauled him farther away from the crowd, out of hearing range. Whatever he said, it was short, not sweet, and made Pudge turn ghostly pale. Orlando snapped one more thing in Pudge’s face, spittle flying, then practically threw the younger man at his guards. He disappeared back into the crowd, leaving his muscle to drag Pudge the opposite direction, toward the back plaza stairs. “Matt, Rick, you’re up.”

“I’m trailing,” Berat said.

“We’re pulling around,” Jamie said as he cranked the car and pulled into traffic, crossing lanes to turn left onto 2nd Street. “Think that was about White?”

“If it was,” Aidan said, “then I’m more confused than ever, because that looked like Pudge getting chewed out for not following orders.” Jamie was right; they were missing some piece of the puzzle.

“They’re taking him down the stairs,” Berat reported. “On foot.”

“Matt, Rick,” Aidan said. “Move in on foot.” He reached through the seats for his vest, then hauled it on and tightened the straps. “We have to get the jump on the muscle if we’re going to take Patrick without word getting back to the boss it was us.”

“Roger that.”

“We’re swinging around onto Hope Street,” Jamie said.

“Going silent,” Matt reported, followed by Berat’s, “They’re turning onto GTK Way.”

“That’s the access street below the plaza,” Jamie said as he pulled the car to the curb just shy of the street’s entrance.

Aidan reached across the console, palming his knee. “Whiskey, I need?—”

“Me to stay in the car, I know.” Jamie hauled him in by the vest strap for a quick, hard kiss. “Be careful. I’ll block the entrance here.”

He exited the car and darted into the lower-level access street, hanging close to the left side wall, in the shadows so as not to attract attention. At this hour, though GTK was mostly empty, just staff cars and delivery trucks waiting to load up after the party in the plaza was over.

Up ahead, Matt and Rick were on the far side of an alcove opening, Berat the side Aidan was approaching from. Matt signaled for Aidan to fall in behind Berat, who was holding a wine bottle he must have snagged from upstairs. This close, Aidan could hear the struggle inside the dark alcove—grunts, curses, fists connecting with skin and bone.

They didn’t have time to waste.

Across from him, Matt nodded his agreement and drew his weapon. Once he and Rick were in similar ready positions, Aidan whispered, “Now,” to Berat.

The detective tossed the bottle into the street, the glass shattering.

One more crack of bone, one final grunt, then the commotion inside the alcove ceased.

The person who emerged was not the one Aidan had expected. Bloody and bruised, bow tie gone, flecks of red dotting his torn white shirt, Patrick “Pudge” Mason hobbled out of the shadows, one arm dangling from a shoulder that was clearly out of its socket, his other fist raised, ready to go again if he had to.

“Patrick Mason?” Aidan called.

Pudge wiped his split lip with the back of his fist. “Who’s asking?”

“Special Agent Aidan Talley.”

“Oh shit.” He spun on his heel, then wobbled to a stop when a groan sounded from farther back in the alcove.

“There’s nowhere to run, man,” Matt said. “Do you want to be on your own or with us when they come to?”

“Patrick,” Aidan said. “We can help you.”

“Fuck,” Pudge cursed, then with a groan of his own dragged himself the rest of the way out of the alcove. “You can’t take me to the station. I’ll be dead for sure, then.”

“You don’t think you are already?”

He coughed, then winced and grabbed at his shoulder. “I don’t even know what the fuck is going on.”

“We can sort it somewhere else,” Berat said. “We need to move before Russo realizes everyone’s missing.”

Matt tipped his head toward the street’s exit. “I know someplace nearby.”

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