Page 61 of Forget Me Twice

It’s the best I have right now, so I press on.

“Two dead Aces, in Ace territory. Two dead Aces who in this instance, didnotinstigate conflict.” Again, one could argue that the two Clubs were the ones who started shit with their posturing, but Bobhadshot first. That’s going to be the important distinction here.

“I know things are a little…messy in the South right now, but I’m sure even the Arbiter wouldn’t pass up the chance to oversee a Treaty violation.”

New York immediately jerks his barrel up. Silent Bob’s hand only drops slightly, but a frown forms on his face. The shine from the overhead light glints off his bald scalp.

I let a frosty smile slide across my face at their reticence. No Underworld citizen—NorthernorSouthern—wants to find themselves facing the Arbiter. I might be unsure which Family or syndicate they’re from, but chances are good they’re from the North, which means they’d also be incurring Midas’s wrath.

“Ah, fuck,” New York mutters. There’s a light sheen of sweat on his forehead. His gaze sweeps over the Rox Boys, looking at each of their faces, searching for something. Whatever he says there, must help him make up his mind.

My chest tightens when I see him roll his shoulders back. My gamble hasn’t played off.

There’s only decent card left in my hand, but it’s the one I refuse to play just yet.

The Codex.

No. If I show my entire hand this early, there’ll be no taking it back. Not without killing everyone here. I’ve already given so much away just with this one cryptic conversation.

There’s no chance for me to fold, one way or another, because Callum makes the decision for me.

He moves faster than his size gives him credit for, everything happening in the space of a few heartbeats. New York’s head snaps back as he takes a shot in the forehead. Bob’s a true professional and doesn’t flinch as his comrade goes down. He makes a valiant effort to bring his gun back up, but ends up taking one in the neck.

The silence that follows is absolute, the three Rox Boys alternating between staring me down and looking at the multiple corpses now littering the ground before us.

Atlas’s glare is the color of deep space, but he doesn’t necessarily look surprised at the clusterfuck turn of events—or my newly exposed Underworld connection.

Lake and Callum however, don’t even try to hide their shock now that the danger has passed.

“The actualfuck, Winters?” Callum seems to grow three sizes, the visible tattoos on his neck and arms rippling as clenches his fists. He sounds positively livid.

Instead of answering him straight away, I do a quick scan of the surrounding eaves, and satisfied there are no cameras, I move towards Silent Bob. I crouch over his body before checking his pulse. He’s gone. I highly doubt the Rox City police are going to do forensics on such an obvious gang shooting. I’m sure Trick has them all on his payroll.

Straightening, I nod towards Atlas. “I was following the White Rabbit here, and fell down the hole and straight through to Wonderland.”

Lake lets out a throaty laugh, and Callum’s scowl deepens even further. Atlas doesn’t say anything. His look promises severe consequences, and I’m still a little confused as to why he clearly led me here in the first place.

Does he suspect that I’ve been watching them all with just a little too much interest?

Was this a trap?

“What?Christ. Rabbit hole?” Callum tries again, frustrated. He seems more prone to explosive anger than Tristan or even Atlas. It’s why I suspect he’s the brawn and not the brains.

A nearby car door slams, reminding me that we are still standing in the middle of the aftermath of a bloody shootout in enemy territory.

Callum shoves a huge hand through his hair, tugging at the longer strands on top. “Fuck.We’ve got to move. Winters, you’re coming with us.”

Lake whoops and snags my free hand. “Let’s go, Wifey.” He tugs me violently in the direction of the street. I clutch my heels to my chest, trying to keep to the balls of my feet as we run. I can hear Callum and Atlas’s thundering footsteps behind me.

When we reach the end of the building, Lake’s shoving me towards the back door of a gorgeous black Mustang GT. I clamber in only to find the missing fourth member.

Tristan spins in the driver’s seat, an incredulous look flashing across his handsome face, before it’s quickly hidden by that signature mask of icy, bridled control.

A vivid memory of watching that mask come undone as he skull-fucked me last night floods my already overwrought brain.

And my underwear.

“You have exactly two seconds,” he seethes as Callum falls into the passenger seat. Atlas slides in behind me and Lake darts around to the rear driver’s side door and folds himself in on my other side.

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