Page 65 of Madness & Mercy
The silence bleeds between us. He stares out at the pier through the windshield, hands still on the wheel like he’s holding back the urge to snap something in half.
“We’re early,” I say, breaking the silence.
He finally looks at me. “Good.”
I glance at the time on the dash. Still a few hours to kill before the guy’s usual pattern kicks in.
“So what, we watch the rats run in and out until sunset?”
Nico’s smirk is razor-thin. “That’s what you’re good at, isn’t it?Watching people?”
“I’m good at more than that,” I mutter, then immediately regret it when his smirk deepens.
“Yeah,” he says quietly. “I know.”
He gets out of the car without another word, slamming the door behind him. I hesitate for a beat, then follow, boots crunching on gravel as we move through the back end of the pier district.
There’s a rhythm here if you know how to listen for it: dock workers shouting, forklifts humming, gulls circling like scavengers. Everyone’s too busy minding their own business to pay attention to two guys walking with purpose.
But Nico… Nico’simpossiblenot to notice.
Even when he’s trying to blend in, there’s a sharpness to him. A tension in the way he moves, like a predator pretending to be tame.
He stops near the edge of a warehouse and nods at the corner facing the docks.
“We’ll post up here. If your guy shows, I want every detail. How he walks, who he talks to, whether he carries.”
I raise an eyebrow. “You ever tail someone before?”
He gives me a look. “I’ve hunted men, Cross. Tail work’s the easy part.”
Fair.
I lean against the metal siding, scanning the docks. “And what if he makes me out?”
Nico steps in close, lowering his voice so only I can hear.
“Then you’ll improvise. Lie. Flirt. Kill him. I don’t care how you handle it, just make sure I get something I can use.”
I scoff. He’s using me as bait. Of course he is.
Nico stands just behind me, close enough that I can feel the heat rolling off him, like he’s daring me to acknowledge it. Like he knowsexactlyhow much space to invade without laying a single hand on me.
It’s calculated. Precise. Just like everything he does.
I glance sideways. “You always breathe down your men’s necks when they’re working?”
He doesn’t miss a beat. “Only the ones who lie to me.”
I roll my eyes and refocus on the docks.
A container gets unloaded in the distance. The sound of heavy chains and rusted steel grinding against concrete echoes through the lot. A seagull shrieks overhead like it’s warning us both to turn around and run.
But neither of us do.
I scan the crowd again. Dockhands. A few drivers. One suit near the crane office, phone glued to his ear.
Then I see him.
