Page 18 of Filthy Little Games

“Maybe. I don’t know all the car brands and logos.”

“It’s car models! Do you know fucking colors?”

“Yes, I know colors,” I huff indignantly. “It was…grayish. I think. It was dark and hard to see when I was leaving work.”

“Jesus, Zara! What the hell did you do? Did someone in the club see you talking to Jasper?”

“I-I don’t know. I don’t think so. I gave him the message, word for word like you told me, ‘Ferraro has a bullseye on his head, andthere’s a sniper coming for him who won’t miss,’ then I left his office and went down to wait for Ferraro to show like you instructed me to do. Was the raid what you were trying to warn him about?”

“Fuck no. I wasn’t warning him about the raid, you stupid cunt! The whole thing was a trap.”

Yes, idiot, keep spilling all your secrets while insulting me. Maybe Ferraro will let me live if he hears proof it was Izaiah who set up the raid that got his brother killed.

“A trap?” I play dumb.

“You weren’t there when the bullets started flying?” Izaiah asks. “Now that I think about it, I didn’t see your name on the witness report.”

Ferraro and the other men were taken out in handcuffs. Then, his brother was taken out on a gurney, leaving behind a puddle of blood I still have nightmares about. That’s when I told an officer it was my time of the month, that I needed to use the restroom to change my tampon. I snuck out the bathroom window into an alley where not a single officer was stationed.

“I, um, I went to the bathroom and then I left the club, so I missed the raid. I did hear about it on the news. Two people died because of you.”

“The fuckers were supposed to kill Creed and his brother.”

“Oh.” Izaiah is so screwed, which makes me so damn happy. “Why?”

“Not that it’s any of your goddamn business,” he grumbles. “But they’re the only two Ferraros everyone trusts to keep shit running right. Once they’re out of the picture, my family will take their place at the head of the table.”

“And you’re not worried about any of those cops that killed Carmine Ferraro, you know, talking to anyone?”

“No, because only two of them knew the full plan, and now they’re both six feet under.”

“Did you…did you kill them?”

“Suicides. Both left notes about how they were guilt-stricken because of their mistakes during the raid.”

“Wow. You thought of everything,” I lie right to his face. “Does your dad know about all this? It was his idea, wasn’t it?”

When Izaiah doesn’t respond but curses and suddenly begins to pace in front of me — his fists clenching, mumbling to himself — I realize why he’s suddenly so fidgety.

Izaiah wouldn’t have told me all this information if he was going to let me live.

Fucking A.

“I didn’t want to have to do this,” he mutters more to himself. “You should’ve been more careful. Gotta clean up the mess you made…”

“What are you talking about?”

“How to do it…how to do it? Here? Now? The clock is ticking…Gotta get the hell out of here.”

Oh yeah. He’s definitely plotting my death, trying to decide which way is the least messy way to take me out.

For once, I’m glad my apartment is so small. Two steps to the left and I’m standing in front of the drawer where I keep my spoons, forks, and really big, incredibly sharp knives.

Trying to play it off when I open the drawer, I say, “You know what? I just got home from work and I’m starving. Do you want a sandwich?”

Two seconds later, the drawer rattles when I open it. My fingers curl around the first knife I can reach as the drawer slams closed on my wrist. The ache causes me to cry out and drop the knife.

I don’t even have a chance to turn around before Izaiah grabs my hair and presses cold steel to my throat.

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