Page 20 of Price of Angels

Dewey made a face that was both confused and offended, brows plucking together over too-wide eyes.

Abraham snorted and said, “Trust us. Knoxville’s plenty big compared to where we come from. We ain’t tryin’ to get to the top of the ladder, just go up a rung or two.” His voice was friendly enough, but his gaze drilled into Mercy, an obvious challenge.

Cute, Mercy thought.Not impressed, asshole.

“I think Merc is just concerned is all,” Ratchet said in a soothing tone, proving that he had at least some sense of when things were going badly. “It’s in the best interest of our…er,associatesif they know what they’re getting themselves into.”

Abraham gave a low laugh. “Hey, boys, I’ve got the product; just tell me what to do with it. S’all I’m saying.”

Dewey’s eyes followed the path of a waitress – the blonde, Vanessa – with rapt fascination. Poor shithead had probably never laid hands on a woman.

Abraham glanced between the two of them. “Are we gonna be able to make a deal, or what?”

Ratchet nodded. “Most like, yeah. My president will want to see your product personally, and test it.” Which was code for Ratchet would take some of it, and they’d all see if he keeled over dead. “And then he’ll want to meet you personally.”

“The boss man’s pretty particular,” Mercy chimed in again, with an unhelpful smile.

“Yeah?” Abraham lifted his brows. There was that strange glittering in his eyes again, that gave Mercy the impression that something was very wrong here. “Mine too.”

Holly’s left hand shook too violently to manage the roll of gauze tape that Steph had handed her with an aggravated huff before storming back out of the locker room. Holly stood with her injured hand held over the sink, the blood drip, drip, dripping down into the basin, a red splash for every thump of her pulse. In the mirror, her reflection stared back, white as a sheet, skin so clammy little baby fine hairs at her hairline were clinging to her forehead and temples. She looked like the proverbial girl who’d seen a ghost, because she had. The ghost of her childhood…and her ruined womanhood. She heard the breath whistling through her lips and felt the drain of blood from her face, like she might faint, but she couldn’t get the panic under control, not this time. In some way, breaking free had weakened her, because now she knew how frightened she always should have been.

She jerked when she heard the door swing open and footfalls started across the floor. It was only Matt, his reflection rearing up behind hers in the mirror.

“Hey, you okay?” he called, and then he drew close enough to see her hand. “Do you need help?.”

Holly dampened her lips and forced her throat to work. “I – I can’t manage the tape with one hand.” Not when she was shaking like this.

“Let me see it,” Matt offered, and she put the gauze in his outstretched hand. “Hold this on it.” He secured the square sanitary pad over the slice. “You already washed it?”

“Yeah.”

With quick, sure movements, he began to wind the tape around and around; the pad soaked through with blood almost instantly, and he kept wrapping.

“I’ve never seen you drop a tray before,” he commented, his dark head bent over her upturned palm.

“I’ve never dropped one,” she said, realizing the words were true. Back home, the penalty for screwing anything up was so severe that she’d learned to never screw up. She didn’t drop things, didn’t trip, didn’t burn the bacon, didn’t even cough out of turn.

Matt’s eyes flicked up to her, sympathetic, worried, curious. “What happened out there?”

She shrugged. She couldn’t afford to tell him anything. “I thought I saw someone I knew and it startled me. Jeff can take the cost of the broken plates out of my paycheck.”

Matt snorted, breath rushing across her forearm. “Jeff doesn’t care about a couple of plates.”

She took a deep, shuddering breath and let it out slowly. “I’m sorry about Carly, too. If I’d stayed, she never would have–”

Matt cut her off with a firm headshake, securing the bandage and stepping back so he could meet her gaze. “That was just a freak thing. If it hadn’t been Carly, then it would have been you. The guy, whoever the sick freak is, he woulda killed whoever came out that door.”

“Maybe. But it would have been better for everyone if it had been me.”

“Holly.” He swallowed, and his brows tucked together, his frown troubled. “You don’t really think that, do you?”

That she was more deserving of death than some other innocent girl? Yes, she thought that.

“You don’t like them,” Ratchet observed as Abraham and Dewey were pushing out the front door of Bell Bar, bright winter sun streaming in around them and making them look grimy and countrified.

“No shit.” Mercy took a hard slug of his water – if anyone was capable of such a thing with water. “They set my creep meter to twitching.” He wagged his index finger back and forth through the air to demonstrate.

Ratchet gave him a polite frown. “I think that comes with the territory.”

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