Page 72 of Wicked Little Lies

She sits up as the car slows. “Thinking of going into politics, Hendrick.”

“I’m better suited to the shadows.”

The car stops, and I shift my attention to Damon.

“Hendrick?” he asks quietly. “Why are we in a shitty part of town?”

The underbelly at the edges, it’s part no man’s land, part Ivan’s. And where most of the dirty, no holds barred gambling and other illegal games happen. “I’ve got some business.”

He’s snapped straight into his protector role as my right-hand man. “I’ll send Fiona home—”

“See her home, Damon. And make sure she’s safe.”

Her eyes flash at me. “I helped you and never asked why tonight, Hendrick. If you put me in the middle of something…”

“Never.” I hold her gaze. “Not like that. Just…shit is going on, and I want to make sure those I care about are safe.”

“I don’t want to be a mafia queen,” she says like I proposed. “In any way.”

“No one’s trying to do that. Never did before when we were together and won’t do it now.”

I get it. My life isn’t for everyone. We’d never been marriage-minded, too young and then Lili happened. I almost say if she goes for Damon, it’d be different, but it’s not my call.

Damon’s life is linked with mine. He’s got more options to keep things separate to his work, but his work is a lot of his life.

And if I’m honest, it’s more than work. We’re friends in a way. Damon knows me like Fiona does. She’s wary of the fact I pulled her into my world in a way I never have. Not even when she’d attended the full-on Quinate parties my father held when we were in college.

“Tonight was a one off,” I say. “A favor—”

“I don’t want to know.” She finishes her drink.

“Better that way,” Damon says eyes on me. “I’ll see her home. Just tell me when and where to meet you after.”

“I need to do this on my own, Damon.”

His face sets hard. “Sir.”

He fucking knows I hate that. “This is my stop. My words are an order, Damon, not a suggestion.”

I say goodnight to Fiona and a furious Damon and make my way across the empty docks to where a lonely light swings in the breeze above a large warehouse.

Across the street beyond the warehouse, another car sits, motor running. Another person come for the games because places like this you never enter at the same time. And security is hidden until you enter.

The water to the left laps against an old boat, one of the few vessels in this part of the marina.

During the day it’s a hotbed of activity of both the legal and illegal kind. There aren’t any highly illegal shipments coming in tonight. There never are on nights when there’s gambling. Too tempting for an eager cop not on someone’s payroll.

As Quinate that’s easily taken care of. But there’s always a headache attached when you take out the honest cop.

Press is one thing that’s a wildcard.

But no cops are around tonight.

I press the hidden button on the side of the warehouse door, and when it opens, there’s just a shape, a dark mountain of human flesh, and a light in my face.

It flicks away almost immediately. “Sorry, Mr. Agnossio, I wasn’t informed you were partaking this evening.”

“Not a problem.”

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