Page 39 of PortCity Killers

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Bryce picked up his phone with a relieved sigh, “You had me worried.”

“Is that Bryce?” The man held a cigarette out, seconds from lighting it, “I should have known it was a woman that had his panties in a twist.”

“Lex? Who is that? Where are you?”

I croaked out a breath, “I uh, I’m at your apartment. I-”

The man strode to me, his legs eating up the small space between us like it was nothing. His shirt stretched tight over an impressive chest as he plucked the phone from my hands. I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

All I wanted was a fucking shower: to wash Collin off of my skin and get Valentina off of my lips.

As much as I liked it, I wanted to rinse the taste of Don out of my mouth and snuggle into the smell of sea salt and whisky—the smell of daddy—but the prospect seemed to be snatched from me once again.

“Bryce?” The man’s smile was charming, but calculated, the same smile I’d grown up around.

He was a man that enjoyed shocking people, liked holding something over them, and it had my hackles up.

I heard Bryce speaking, but couldn’t make out the words. Tall, dark and charming didn’t give me anything to go by either, simply nodded, smiling. His dark brown eyes were like melted chocolate, trained on me as he looked me up and down.

There was nothing in his gaze that gave away his opinion of me. I certainly didn’t want to see it if he did.

“Of course. I’ll see you when you get here then, Bryce.” He smiled down at my screen as he passed the phone back to me.

I snatched it away from him, but as his smile turned shit eating, I knew he’d seen the filtered picture of Bryce and I wrapped up in each other in his bed or maybe it was theDaddy Bof his contact that filled the screen that had him smiling.

Either way I didn’t want to be here to find out. My hand shook as I lifted it to my ear, backtracking around to the kitchen, trying to put more space between the two of us.

Bryce’s voice filtering through the phone, “Alex?”

“Yeah,” I whispered, like it fucking mattered with the man standing across the island, “I’m here.”

“Okay, listen, don’t fucking move and don’t talk to him. I’m around the corner. I’ll take care of it.”

I wanted to ask him who the man was, wanted to ask a million questions, but I didn’t. Instead, I hunched into myself, looking longingly to the door. Maybe if I dashed fast enough, I could make it home for a shower and then I could move to Florida.

Certainly, it would be an upgrade at this point.

Bryce hung up, not waiting for any more of an answer. I crossed my arms under my chest, glaring over at the man.

He held his hands up with a laugh, his mustache crinkling up as he did, “I come in peace.”

I didn’t believe it for a second, but I kept my mouth shut. We would see how long it would last with my nerves fraying at each end.

He ignored me ignoring him and held his hand out, coming closer to me. I mirrored him, jumping closer to the bedroom door. He stilled, nodding, “Fair, I guess. I won’t harm you. Bryce might kill me if I did.”

His laugh was sardonic as he cataloged every misplaced curl on my head, like he’d had the wool pulled over his eyes and was finally seeing the light.

I didn’t know much about Bryce’s work or those he worked with, but this man definitely looked like mob man material.

The way he carried himself didn’t feel low level though. He carried himself as if he were a hot knife splitting through butter and shaping the world, and it was just an inevitable consequence that it would melt under his attention.

He was tall, maybe even taller than Bryce, but leaner. Where Bryce was thick and rough this man was lean and smooth, just enough roughness around the edges to keep him from looking perfect.

I tried imagining them together, working side by side, but couldn’t conjure up the image. Was it all breaking kneecaps and splitting skulls? Not in those shoes, he couldn’t be.

I looked him up and down as intently as he did me, a small part of me hoping he would feel just a little bit uncomfortable.

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