Page 118 of Gambler's Conceit

My phone buzzes, this time with a text of a photo and an address. It’s a blurry picture of somebody who looks like Seven.

Courtesy of Grandfather, Caleb had written.

I’m too relieved to worry about the implications of that.

“This way,” I say, picking up the pace. “Caleb sent a lead.”

Havoc follows me, and his aggressive energy has people getting out of our way to avoid us.

We end up at a convenience store. I cautiously look around the parking lot for Seven, but if he was here, he must have left already.

Maybe somebody inside had seen him, though, or maybe there’s more security footage.

“Here? What would he be doing here?” Havoc demands. “He must be heading toward the bus station.”

Madeline had said he hadn’t cashed in his chips, which means he probably didn’t have any cash on him. That doesn’t mean he can’t find a way out, though. Seven is nothing if not resourceful.

“We’ll ask them for the security footage,” I say, heading toward the entrance.

The automatic doors open, and the Lockwood goon steps out.

He steps aside to go around us. He doesn’t know who we are, of course. Maybe we should follow him to see if he has a lead, or?—

Havoc grabs the goon’s shoulder.

The goon tenses, turns, and Havoc punches him in the nose.

Unlike Grant, he doesn’t immediately crumple to the floor. He grunts in pain and stumbles back a few steps, but he stays upright and immediately raises his arms.

“The fuck?” the goon growls, glowering at us.

I would glare at Havoc if I had the time, but I can dress him down later for his lack of impulse control. “Where’s Seven?” I demand.

The goon looks genuinely confused. “Who?”

I grit my teeth. “The kid,” I say. “The one you’re fucking stalking. Where is he?”

Recognition dawns on the goon’s face. “Oh, you mean…” He shakes his head. “The little one will be going home soon. Just back away now, and I won’t leave your bodies to bleed out on this parking lot.”

“This is his home!” Havoc shouts as he rushes forward for another punch.

The goon is ready for it this time, though, and he blocks the punch easily. He follows it with an attack of his own, and Havoc is sent stumbling away.

Someone shouts in the background, but I’m not paying attention to what they’re saying. Chances are, they have their phone out and we’ll have another repeat of the last time Havoc had lost his shit, but it’s not important.

It’s my turn to throw a punch, which the goon doesn’t dodge quite as easily. He still manages, though, and I wonder what the fuck kind of training he has to have. Havoc is pissed off and careless, but I’m experienced—and I’m not used to people being able to sidestep me like this.

While I’ve got him distracted, though, Havoc gets in and kicks the goon in the knee. The guy cries out and buckles forward.

I grab the goon’s arms and wrench them behind his back.

“What the fuck did you do to him?” Havoc demands as he punches the goon in the face again.

“Nothing yet,” the goon sneers, ignoring the blood running down his face.

The words hit me just as hard as Havoc is hitting the guy, and the thought of what he must’ve done to Seven before all this is almost enough to make me lose my cool. It’s all I can do not to release him and pummel him into a bloody pulp myself.

I hold him tighter, willing Havoc to hurt him more.

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