Page 59 of Forget Me Twice

The building’s not that far from the Tethys, and it’s obvious from the damp down here that the platforms were added to raise the floor against flooding.

Before long, the catwalk splits around us at a four-way junction. From the left, I hear the sudden and distinct swell of a cheering crowd—dulled as if coming from much further underground. It sounds hungry though, and now I’m wondering what kind of blood sports go on down here in the dark.

Atlas strides ahead without slowing.

Just before we reach the second junction, he veers off to the right, disappearing soundlessly through a large but poorly lit fire door that’s sitting propped open.

Cursing under my breath, I quicken my own pace until I too reach the gap. I pause, trying to listen for movement, but all my senses are still so overstimulated and unreliable and I can’t exactly trust my own hearing.

I decide to just hope for the best, stepping as quietly as I can into the cool night air of an adjoining side street. Almost immediately, however, the distinct sound of masculine voices from somewhere down the alley has me melting into the shadows cast by a nearby dumpster.

Undernormalcircumstances, I’d say this is me in my element, sneaking around and conducting covert surveillance from the shadows. I’m sure-footed and lithe enough that I’m able to render myself almost invisible if needed.

I also normally do so with a lot more planning and a lot less double vision.

And shoes.

Soooo…this should be fun then.

I do my best to creep along behind the container with cautious, wobbly footsteps. The space between its massive body and the wall of the Gatehouse is just large enough for me to fit through without scraping up my shoulders.

The smell is fucking atrocious and I can feel my body temperature dropping further each time a bare foot connects with the frigid pavement. I remind myself that at the end of the rainbow is the possibility of some juicy Rox Boy intel.

When I reach the edge of the dumpster, I peer out in the direction of the voices, trying my hardest to stay mindful of the lighting and my breathing. My gamble pays off and the new vantage point rewards me with an unobstructed view of five men, standing roughly thirty feet away, at the dead end of the alley,

Despite my rioting vision and only a solitary security flood light to see by, there is no mistaking the identity of one half of the huddled group—not after a solid week of obsessing over their every move.

Lake stands relaxed and supremely confident, and talking to two unknown men. He’s flanked first by a hovering Callum, and then a brooding Atlas, tension obvious as he joins them.

There’s no sign of the final Rox Boy but I don’t even care right now. This could be the exact fucking break I need in order to uncover the real power behind this mysterious quad.

Anticipation buzzes across my shoulders and down my spine. I press a fist to my mouth as my stomach lurches with nausea.

“He’s impressed so far,” one of the men is saying. He looks to be in his early thirties, with a clean shaven face and casual but expensive clothes. His hair is slicked back from his face in a neat hairstyle. I can’t see if he has any gang marks from here, but that accent isdefinitelynot from around here.

He sounds like a New York native. But there are no chapters of the Strange Aces up that way. They all fall within the Southern sovereignty. Northern Transplant?

“We’ve given him no reason not to be,” Lake shrugs, replying with all the bravado of a seasoned crew member.

Who ishim?

The guy flicks his cigarette away, the glowing butt skittering away into the darkness. “We were figuring youse’d be getting more pushback from the Suits or Mahoney’s guys by now.”

Mahoney’s guys.Nobody would refer to their own crew that way.

SonotAces then.Plot twist.

His bald companion doesn’t say a word, just keeps his eyes trained on Callum like one would watch a dangerous guard dog pacing behind a chain link fence. Callum returns his staredown, the muscles along his jaw popping with tension.

Lake shrugs again, smug as fuck. “We’re always careful.” His posture and tone is even and unruffled. He doesn’t elaborate. “And we’ve delivered the update, in person, like he wanted. So I think we’re done here.”

Atlas stares off down the length of the alley, but is careful not to look directly at where hemustknow I’m hiding. There’s an odd sort of flutter in my abdomen when I consider the fact he hasn’t ratted me out yet.

Unless he’s just biding his time.

TheAshis making me feel a confusing mix of both giddy and paranoid.Ugh.

I miss how the New Yorker responds, distracted by a scuffing noise coming from behind the exit door that’s still angled open by its rusty closer. A second conversation drifts out. As I strain my ears, I can just make out what must be two Strange meatheads talking animatedly about thesure pussyone of them is positive he’s just scored for the night.

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