Page 60 of Forget Me Twice

I mentally groan as their footsteps come to a stop, and I concentrate on slowing my breathing even further.

One of the bikers laughs then and kicks at a pipe near the door with a heavy boot. The two of them stumble out into the alley, pulling out packs of cigarettes. Instantly, I recognize them as Beetle and Malibu—Slash’s spotters from last night.

Oh boy.

Beetle straightens, his obnoxious guffaw cutting off as they round the dumpster and finally notice that the secluded area they’ve chosen for a smoke is already occupied. His beady eyes dart back and forth over the gathered men.

“You gentlemen lost?” Beetle sneers, and Malibu steps up next to him, a hand hovering behind his back, right near his waistband.

Fuck. If I know anything about Clubs, it’s that they all tend to be really fucking trigger-happy. It’s like they think it’s easier to prove themselves to their president if they make sure to always shoot first.

New York turns with his palms out in a placating gesture, a charming smile in place. No doubt whoever this guy works for, he’s one of their Front Men. “Just visiting with my nephew here, thought we’d step outside for a minute and enjoy the fresh Roxborough night air.”

Anyone worth their salt could smell the bullshit a mile away, no matter how smooth a talker this guy is. Beetle’s eyes narrow, but he doesn’t go for his weapon. Malibu’s hand returns to his side.

It almost looks like Beetle’s going to buy it. I sink my teeth into the fist still pressed against my lips, trying to stifle the hysterical giggle that wants to escape at the gullibility.

Then he gets a good look at Lake and his friends and a line forms between his brow.

I can almost hear the grind of the gears turning. I’ve no doubt the Boys are regulars at The Guardhouse with how easily Atlas navigated the basement area. I’d also wager they’ve been approached by the Aces a few times; they love snapping up young Rox City thugs.

Now Beetle’s wondering who could be on their territory, since the boys obviously don’t work for Trick.

New York’s silent cohort obviously reads the same thoughts on Beetle’s face, because he pulls out his own gun without a word and drops them both with two shots each to the chest.

Alright, that’s my cue.

I take a small step backwards, needing to put some space between this alleyway and I before the sound of gunfire brings more Aces.

But because the lingering effects of theAshhave my spatial awareness taking a fucking vacation, the arm still holding my shoes connects with the side of the dumpster with a loudclang.

In the silent aftermath of the shooting, it sounds like a death knell.

The Rox Boys all go on high alert and both New York and Silent Bob dart their gazes over to where I’m hidden.

Fuck!

My scalp prickles and I feel a rush of bile race up my throat, burning the back of my tongue. Why did I think I could pull off spying while off my fucking face, again?

Without waiting to be discovered, I start moving back along the wall. My best chance will be trying to slip back through the open exit before they can lay eyes on me.

The moment I step out from behind the dumpster, however, I’m met with both the cold kiss of a muzzle against my temple, and a smug northern accent. “What do we have here, boys?”

New York gives a light tap with the gun, signaling me to turn around. I am in no state to consider running, so I lift my hands up and spinning around slowly to face the group. I have to fight an aggressive rush of vertigo, but manage to school my expression.

Not my first rodeo.

I clock the fact that both strangers still have their guns trained on me, followed by the varying range of emotions on the Rox Boys’ handsome faces.

Callum seethes with anger, the muscle in his jaw jumping. Lake looks excited, but whether that’s excitement at seeing me or just straight up pure bloodlust is anyone’s guess. Atlas looks coldly indifferent. That fire in his eyes I saw earlier is banked, but not quite gone. He’s impossible to read accurately right now.

My eyes slide back to the out-of-towners. This should be as easy as breathing for me, but my brain is too sluggish to properly calculate all the best possible angles and outcomes right now.

What I can at least assume is that they have prior orders from their boss to go strictly unseen, because Bob had no qualms about cleaning up the Ace witnesses. All I can hope is that my knowledge of the thorny dance of Underworld etiquette is enough avoid a bullet in my own chest.

“When did the North stop respecting the Treaty andHospitium?” I say with a flat, unaffected voice.

It’s a stretch as to whether The Law of Hospitality actually applies here, but one could broadly argue that wearein Ace territory and are therefore their guests.

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