Page 69 of Little Bird (Advantage Play 3)

Glancing over my shoulder to confirm I haven’t been followed, I find the street empty, but it does nothing to calm my nerves.

The jarring from hitting the door with too much force vibrates down my forearm, but I continue my assault.

“Open the damn door,” I growl for what feels like the hundredth time.

With my fist still raised in the air, the solid door opens to reveal Burlone’s right-hand man, or ex-right-hand man, along with the Dark King himself.

Tsking, Kingston asks, “What the hell are you doing on my doorstep, Jack?”

I drop my hand to my side and voice a sentence I never in a million years would’ve guessed I’d ask a damn mob boss.

Keeping my features smooth, I get straight to the point. “I need your help.”

The bastard laughs, and so do his men. “I’m sorry, I must’ve heard you wrong. Care to repeat that?”

“I said….” I take a deep breath and pray for patience. “I need your help.”

“From me?” Kingston grins, though I don’t miss the way Dex’s hand disappears behind his suit. “Never took you for a funny man, Jack.” The bastard is two seconds away from pressing the barrel of a gun to my forehead.

Suspicion spiking, I keep my feet firmly planted where they are, but reply, “Yeah? I guess we’ll see how comical you find the situation when I explain what I recently found out, eh?”

“Likewise,” he declares, coolly. “And because I’m feeling generous, I’m going to let you dive right in.”

I wipe my nose with the back of my hand before glancing over my shoulder. Again.

“Any chance we could do this somewhere more private?”

He stays silent. Watching me. Inspecting me. Analyzing every tiny movement like a fucking lie detector. Because that’s exactly what Kingston is. After a few tense seconds, he raises his chin. “Of course. What kind of host would I be if I didn’t invite you inside my humble abode?”

He takes a step back, and his men follow suit, giving me plenty of space to enter a place I was sure I’d never step foot in.

Well, not without a warrant, at least. I scoff at the irony before remembering how screwed I really am. While studying the grand staircase leading to the second floor, I can feel Kingston assessing my every move.

“Tell me, Jack, what brings you here on this fine morning?” Kingston inquires. It’s almost three in the morning, but I didn’t really have a choice to appear this early on my enemy’s porch. Not when I knew I couldn’t stay home with two unconscious bodies that’d been sent to arrest me.

Kingston motions to a dark leather couch on the left that separates the foyer from a large family room. Dark wood floors are only the beginning of the lavish yet not over-the-top decor. Hell, it’s almost tasteful.

Conceited bastard.

I take a second to appreciate the furnishings before sitting on the edge of the leather cushion.

“I’m being set up.”

There. I said it.

Kingston appears indifferent as he takes a seat across from me on a comfortable two-cushioned sofa. One of his men does the same, but the other, Dex, is out of my sight, though I can feel his presence behind me. My anxiety spikes.

I shouldn’t be here.

Leaning forward, Kingston rests his elbows on his knees before asking, “By who? And for what?”

“I-I don’t know.”

With a condescending tone, Kingston prods, “No theories? Nothing?”

I rub my hand from the top of my forehead and down to my chin, loathing the corner I’ve been backed into.

“I. Don’t. Know.”

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