Page 58 of Iris
“You don’t have to,” she says cheerfully. “How about we go dress shopping? And maybe something stronger than soda?”
“Deal.”
“I got just the place.”
CHAPTER
SEVENTEEN
Xavier
Ireally want another cigarette, but my weekly quota’s more than gone and the only thing that can kill the craving for more when it sneaks up on me is Emmie.
Emmie and my crumbly smell from the cigarettes.
Oh, I know what’s caused the craving for another, and even if I give in, it won’t help.
I shouldn’t have stopped.
One small delivery on the Upper Side, that’s all it was meant to be. In and out, and not stopping for anything.
“Riven?”
The gruff voice catches my attention, but I don’t step out of the shadows and onto the dock. I need a moment to breathe.
The industrial wastelands, as I call this part of the city, way down past the Lower Side, are the plants that keep the rich and their places lit, smelling good, and running. They keep the rest of it running, too.
Here and there are small manufacturers for things needed on the island. But most of that is on the mainland.
There’s nothing pretty down here, but it’s honest and I like it. Something like this, with the pools of shadows between the locked storage houses and the crates might’ve scared me when I was real small, but not now. Not ever again.
This is one place that makes Killian uneasy. Not that he’d admit it, but there’s a lot of wood, and tons of flammable items and liquids both in the plants and here on the docks to do that to him. And roles reversed, it’d freak me the fuck out if fire and being trapped was my Archille’s Heel.
Put me in with a lynching mob…
That ship’s sailed. I’m not worried about me. I’m big, strong. It’s Emmie. Killian. If something happened to me, he’s here, but if I was gone and he got in over his head… Or worst case, something happened to her…
Don’t go down that fucking path, I tell myself.
There’s no trouble this early in the evening. There’s not even any illegal activities.
I just always get here first so Killian’s in and out.
These docks and the official ports are important to us, just like the more unofficial and illegal ones. Our delayed shipment’s here and I need to sign for the liquor that keeps us running, on paper.
We run on a lot more than the sanctioned shit.
I lean against a graffitied wall, knowing Maldon saw me, or at least my shadow. I’m hard to miss and most people have left for the afternoon.
I bite back a sigh.
In and out and not stopping for anything.
Done deal on paper, done deal countless times.
But no one factored in a dark-haired brat of an angel in thick soled sneakers and a kilt style plaid skirt, T-shirt, and too much lipstick and eyeliner.
Yeah, and Iris can handle herself.
