Page 83 of Corpse Roads

“You’re kidding? Why?”

“Every day… all I see is death and pain. We help a lot of people, but we also can’t help just as many of them. Those are the cases that make me want to retire, open up a chop shop or something.”

“Chop shop?” I repeat.

“Cars. My pops taught me a lot; I used to go to work with him. He owned a chain of mechanic shops in outer London.”

“So what’s stopping you?”

Enzo chews his lip as he stares at the table. I sense that I should stop prying about his past, but my curiosity is far stronger than my need to be polite.

I want to know everything about them, all the tiny, intimate details that nobody else is close enough to receive. I want to be close enough to know those things.

“This is Hunter’s dream,” he answers carefully. “Sabre wouldn’t be a success without his leadership. My place is by his side.”

“But… what about your dream?”

He shrugs again. “When our work is done, I’ll have a quiet life. Until then, we have a job to do. That’s enough for me.”

Several steaming plates arrive from the kitchen, and enough food to feed an army clusters the table. The waitress slides a stack of pancakes over to me, covered in strawberries and syrup.

“How did you know what I like?” I grin at Enzo.

He smiles back. “Leighton told me about the pancake disaster the other morning. You know he can’t cook for shit, right?”

“I know now. These actually look edible.”

Enzo dives in and clears his plate in under a minute, moving on to the next. I’ve never seen anyone devour a stack of pancakes so fast. It’s a wonder he isn’t the size of a house.

“A quiet life?” I break the silence.

He wipes his chin. “Maybe a house in the countryside. Lots of land, trees, fields of corn. Some animals. A workshop and place to fix old cars without listening to sirens or gunshots. I hate London.”

“That sounds peaceful.”

“I like to think so. What about you?”

I swallow a bite of syrupy goodness, caught off guard by his question. “What about me?”

“You must have stuff that you want to do.”

His gaze burrows beneath my skin like a laser pointer, challenging me to answer. The pancakes turn to stone in the pit of my stomach. I place my fork down, taking a long drink of juice.

“I’m just trying to survive from one day to the next.”

“There’s more to life than that, Harlow. We can figure out what you want to do. I said that I’d help you before, and I meant it.”

“Really?”

His nod is firm, decisive. “That’s what friends are for, right?”

“I have no clue. I haven’t had many.”

Enzo’s hand takes mine again. “We’ll muddle through together. Come on, eat up. We still need to go shopping. I’m not having any complaints this time.”

CHAPTER 17

HARLOW

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