Page 43 of One Love

“Dunno yet. Hallie has a gut feeling that something is happening. Then again…” She chews a couple of times then washes down the toast with her coffee. “She’s convinced the world is going to implode because she got an A minus on her algebra quiz.”

I grin. I made my math my bitch.

“She’s slackin’.” I get a death glare and I know things are back to our normal.

Her phone dings with a text message, a frown creasing between her brows.

“What now?” I finish off my orange juice as we both stand at the counter, eating like we were raised by heathens.

“That was Marco, we’ve got another body.” Our eyes meet and my disappointment is like a punch to the gut. “We can’t clean this one up ‘cause the cops got there before us.”

“Fuck. Want me to hack into their system?” J narrows her eyes and shakes her head as she bites into another piece of toast.

“No, we’ve got eyes on the inside but we prefer dealing with this the quiet way.” I nod at her words as I finish off my glass of orange juice.

Then I remember. “Are you staking out the other capo’s club tonight?” I can’t remember the guy’s name.

“Eddie, yeah. He’s still out, losing his son is breaking him.” J’s lip curls at the mention of Eddie having to deal with a dead son, the color in her cheeks drained as though it all makes her physically ill.

“All right then, let’s get to work.” We just need to get dressed, we should be out in a jiffy.

“Yeah, let’s. I go to my job and you go to yours.” She’s walking back to her closet, presumably to get dressed. Shame…truly. She couldn’t be more perfect like this if I’d created her myself.

“Silly wabbit, casino opens at one. I think I’ll stay here while you go earn the big bucks. I’m not opposed to being a kept man, as long as you keep me…coming.”

“You’re an ass.” There’s barely any venom in her insult, it’s cute. And now I’m hard.

“Why, I think that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

Chapter Fourteen

J

“Rack ‘em up, Boss, it’s my turn to break.” Shoo chalks up his cue before taking a swig of his beer, almost slamming the bottle back onto the table once it’s empty.

He’s not like me. Shoo will happily drink on the job. While I’m against it for myself, as long as my Reapers get the job done, I don’t give two shits how they go about it.

More than a few of Eddie’s soldiers have turned up dead around their regular hangout, which means we’ve had to watch this bar in hopes of catching the fucker picking off our men. Tonight’s our fifth stakeout and it’s starting to get old. We’re a fresh set of eyes since his own soldiers have found nothing yet.

Marco wants all of his capos and their crews working together on finding the serial killer fuck, and I’m all for it. Our soldiers turning up dead all over the city is really pissing me off.

“Ah, fuck. Missed.”

It takes me a second to assess the table and which ball I’m aiming for first. Seeing as Shoo has pocketed four balls, all stripes, I know I’m solids. Because I’m bored as fuck—we’vebeen at this for the last hour—I’m going to annoy the shit outta Shoo. The number one goes down first, then I calculate my next few moves and begin sinking the solids in number order, two through seven.

“Right side, far corner.” I point to the pocket I’m planning on shooting the eight into, lining up my cue and smoothly sliding it between my fingers. The ball bounces off the left rail before falling easily into the pocket with the cue ball stopping in the middle of the table. I blow at the end of my cue stick as though any chalk is left there and raise a brow to a now faux-grumpy Shoo.

“Yeah, alright. I set ‘em up easy for ya.” He laughs and begins rolling the leftover balls into random pockets before handing his cue over to Ricky, who declared he wanted to play the winner next.

Ricky is one of Eddie’s newest recruits and he thinks he’s hot shit. Trouble is, he hasn’t been around long enough to really know who I am. He knows that I’m mafia, that I’m welcome here, but that’s as far as it goes and I haven’t seen him here the last few times I’ve been in with my crew. This means Billy-Big-Balls thinks I’m an easy target, because of course he’s a chauvinistic pig. Which is a shame. He’s a looker.

After watching me clear the table, Ricky seems somewhat humbled and I fucking know this cunt’s about to try and one up me. Causing a scene is the opposite of my intentions while I’m technically on a stakeout, so I refrain from slicing his ball sack off and patiently wait for him to offer me a deal.

Clearing his throat, Ricky places his cue on the table and tilts his head toward the dart board. “Let’s see if you’re as good at darts as you are pool. If I win, you let me buy you a drink.” Okay, his offer wasn’t quite as bad or crude as I was expecting. I get it though, he wants to save face by choosing a game he thinks he can win against me.

Bless him.

“And what if I win?” I didn’t miss the fact that he didn’t give that as an option, and in this case, his confidence isn’t sexy.

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