Page 35 of Twisted Ruck

"Fuck coincidences," Storm said. "I don't believe in them. I knew there was a reason I didn't trust Atlas fucking Underwood. Or Jay fucking Lang."

"Yeah, it's because you only trust Storm fucking Keller," Dallas said darkly. "You've never given Atlas a chance. Now you're ready to throw him under the first bus, based on a guess."

He looked at me and his expression softened. "I know it'syourguess, but it's still just a guess. Do you think he'd work for the people who want to rival Daze and the people she works for?"

"I don't want to believe it," I said. "I think he's a good guy. There's always the possibility he doesn't know who he's really working for."

That happened before. Probably often. Someone gets hired to do a job and the person doing the hiring lies about who they are. Mob folk weren't always known for their honesty. Not when it suited them to twist the truth.

"But you do," Storm said. "Otherwise you would have talked to him already. You would have let him rule it out." He cocked his head at me, challenging me to disagree with him. The problem was I couldn't, not exactly. But it wasn't that simple either. I needed to make them understand that.

"There's one thing I learned growing up here in Dusk Bay," I said slowly. "It's to be very careful who you accuse of…anything. We already know Atlas is capable of killing. I'm scared I might back him into a corner and?—"

"Then you don't go anywhere near him," Storm interrupted. "If the motherfucker lays a hand on you, I'll rip it the fuck off his wrist and smack the shit out of him with it."

"I hate to say it," Dallas said, "I agree with Storm. Unless we know we can trust Atlas or Jay, then you shouldn't be around them."

"I agree with both of them," Frost said. "I like Atlas, but if there's any doubt in your mind about him, I'm not willing to take the risk with you."

I wanted to argue, but this was exactly the kind of shit I'd spent my whole life trying to avoid. "Then I don't go alone," I said. I closed my eyes again.

"What is it?" Dallas asked.

"My brother suggested his boss might want me to spy on Dominic King," I said slowly. I didn't need to open my eyes to know what their reaction would be. "If he asks me to do that, he won't be giving me a choice."

Now I opened my eyes. "He might want you to do the same thing."

"I can do that," Frost said a little too quickly and with a bit too much enthusiasm.

"So can I," Dallas said. "We'll be around him anyway. Enough that no one will suspect us, or think we're paying too much attention to him. We know how to play it cool."

Storm grunted. "Better be worthwhile. I'm a fucking footy player, not James Bond."

"You'd make a perfect James Bond," Frost told him. "You look good in a suit."

"You all do," I said. How had I gone from dating three hot football players, to dating three potential mafia spies? Did they really understand what they were putting their hands up for? If anyone so much as suspected what they were suggesting, they could end up dead. Or with 'accidental' injuries that would end their careers.

In the back of my head, I felt like I was dating five. I hoped like hell Atlas had a good excuse for what he did. I didn't wantto think he'd looked me in the eyes and lied to me. If he did, his life would be significantly shortened by my brother or one of the three guys I was currently sitting with.

"You'd look amazing in a slinky black dress," Dallas said. "The kind with a slit all the way up your leg." He squeezed my thigh.

"And just enough fabric to cover a hidden knife," Frost said. "But to show lots of cleavage. Not too much, just enough to distract the enemy."

"I think you've been watching too many movies," I said flatly.

They both smiled. They didn't seem to mind the teasing accusation. Neither denied it.

"It would be a scalpel," Storm said. "Because she's a doctor."

"Yeah, we figured that was why," Frost said. "That would be easier to explain than a knife. You never know when you might need to perform emergency surgery."

I shook my head at them, but they'd effectively lightened the mood.

"Nothing says 'subtle' like a slinky dress. People are less likely to pay attention to me if I'm wearing—" I waved down at my present outfit.

"Not a chance," Dallas said. "It doesn't matter what you wear, people will pay attention. You could wear a paper bag and people would stare."

"They probably would stare if I wore a paper bag," I agreed. "I'd look pretty strange."

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