Page 5 of The Love Bandits

I sneak a sidelong glance at Anthony, who probably got a pony for his fourth birthday. Yeah, I’m guessing he’d still complain if he knew. Makes me feel better about playing him at least. That’s rule four or maybe five.Demonize your mark. It helps you strengthen your defenses against them.

I grin at Anthony like I could honestly think of nothing I’d like more than to sweet-talk another grown man’s mother.

“Sure, sure,” I say. “Why don’t I come along, see if I can get her to communicate what’s really going on? Wouldn’t that be something?”

My pulse kicks up. I’ve been working up to this moment for two weeks. If he says no, I’ll be wasting all the groundwork I put in, from running his wallet over to him—after I pickpocketed it—outside the gym to saying I’d only accept a drink as a reward. Not this drink, mind you. No one likes someone who acts too eager, even if they mean it. And if they don’t…well, a person can tell. Maybe not the person sitting next to me, but when I commit to doing a job, I commit to doing it well.

So this is the third time I’ve had a drink with Anthony Smith. He’s primed…he’s ready…I think.

A slow grin spreads across Anthony’s face, and I feel a thump of excitement in my chest. I’m in. Success is always a goodfeeling—like when your number comes up in a game of roulette or four cherries in a row. The bad feelings come later, creeping in at night or on the edges of an otherwise good experience, but this time I’m being an asshole for my brother’s sake. Maybe there won’t be any bad feelings.

“You’d really do that?” Anthony asks, as if I just offered him a platter of those fish eggs rich people pretend they enjoy.

“It would be my pleasure to help you and your lovely bride. Besides, I’d like to meet your mother.”

That part’s not entirely untrue. I’ve heard so much about Mrs. Rosings over the last couple of weeks that it’ll be like coming face to face with a celebrity.

“Well, okay,” Anthony says with a grin. “It starts at seven o’clock at Smith House. Are you free?”

Five days from now, because it’s Tuesday evening—the only night Nina could “spare” Anthony this week.

Saturday’s party will be the beginning of the end, thank fuck, because I am beyond done with this situation.

I make a show of checking my calendar on my phone, then nod. “Yeah, I should be able to swing it.”

“Thanks so much, man.”

His phone buzzes from its place on the bar, set out because he probably knew he was going to get summoned. He picks it up, frowning when he sees the screen. “Duty calls.”

I’m tempted to ask him which of the women who controls him sent the text—his fiancée or his mother—but instead I say,

“And a true man always answers that call.” I’m laying it on a little thick, but from the look of him, he doesn’t mind.

He gives me one final clap on the back, then slaps some money down and leaves. He’s the one who chose this dump of a bar, and I have to wonder if he picked it because he didn’t want to be seen by anyone he knows. Maybe he wanted free rein to complain about his mother and his fiancée without beingoverheard. I can’t deny the man has his own gilded problems. Sounds to me like he’s having serious second thoughts about going through with his wedding to his controlling, gold-digging fiancée but would rather die than admit his mother is right. Although I’ve never come close to getting married—no woman in her right mind wouldwantto marry me—I understand the sentiment. I don’t like giving any ground to Roark either. In fact, I’ve done my damn best to break free of him and go legit—working on designing websites freelance—but my brother has unintentionally reeled me back in.

Sighing, I lean back in my chair and press out a text to Roark:

I’ve got an in on Saturday.

A second passes before a follow-up text comes through. It’s a photo of Ryan sitting on his couch, watching TV. He’s acting like he’s on vacation, not being held hostage, but that’s Ryan for you. If he were careful, he wouldn’t be in this mess. I know Roark enough to understand the threat is still very real—sure, he’s the closest thing we have to a father, but I believe he’ll still hurt Ryan if I don’t come through. “You can do whatever you like, sure,” he used to say, “but there are always consequences.”

He’s made it clear what the consequences will be this time:steal from me, lose a hand.

It hasn’t happened yet. But I have no doubt it will if I don’t come through. Sure, Ryan’s bulkier than I am, and he could physically best Roark in hand-to-hand combat, no problem. But Roark has a few very discreet, very unemotional people who work for him, people who aren’t afraid of a little violence. People who have guns.

I’m pissed at my brother, and before all of this went down, I hadn’t talked to him for almost a year, but I’d prefer for him to keep all of his body parts. Besides, I can’t overlook that he wastrying to mend our relationship, even if he unintentionally made everything worse.

I leave the bar and drive to the Airbnb apartment I’ve been renting under my assumed name, ready for a celebratory beer and some down time. I feel myself sighing as I head inside. It looks like a home…someone else’s home. I’d sure as fuck never frame “home sweet home” needlework and hang it up next to the door.

Still, it’s not a bad place. Too quiet, though. At home, I can hear so much of my neighbors’ bickering that a few weeks ago I knocked on the wall and confirmed that Mick reallyhadsaid that yesterday—and agreed with his girlfriend that it was uncool of him to have lied about it. Obviously, Mick didn’t find that nearly as amusing as I did, but you can’t please everyone.

Here, there’s crickets.

Obviously, it’s better to keep a low profile if you’ve gone somewhere to steal something, but I’m someone who craves noise, bustle, and conversation—even if it’s light and meaningless. Maybeespeciallyif it’s light and meaningless. Because people can’t be trusted, but they can be fun.

Asheville’s busy enough, but I’ve kept in character. I don’t want to be seen in the wrong places, talking to the wrong people.

Still…there’s only so much quiet a guy can take. I’ve made some mistakes since arriving in town, including one really bad one, but I won’t be making more of them. As much of a dumbass as my brother is, he’s the only person I’ve allowed to mean anything to me.

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