“What’d I miss?” he asks with a questioning expression. “Because you don’t look right, man.”
Q knows me better than anyone, even Bump, who I’ve actually known longer. But given Bump’s limitations, he’ll never be able to read me like Q can. Which fucking sucks, but there’s nothing I can do about it. Bump is what he is, and that’s not changing.
Q’s going to be fucking pissed, though, when he hears what went down. Might as well just tell him.
“You missed Bump trying to be a hero.”
Q stops in midstride. “Jesus, fuck, what’d the kid do now?”
I pick up the magazine on my desk and fling it at him. He catches it, his brows diving together in confusion.
“Instead of bringing the rug straight back from the cleaners, he kidnapped Scarlett Priest, wrapped her up in it, drove her back here in the van, and dropped her on my office floor.”
The color leaches from Q’s olive-toned skin. “Please tell me that’s a fucking joke, even though you don’t know how to joke.”
“She just left.”
Q looks around the room, like he’s afraid he’s being punk’d. “Where are the cops then? Do we need our passports and the cash? I’ve got a list of places we can go. No extradition.”
That’s how you know someone’s a true friend. They’re ready to flee the country on a moment’s notice. And to countries with no extradition treaties, no less. Q is the real deal.
“Hold on to the passports and cash for now. She’s going to help us ... I think.”
Q jerks his head back as he strides toward my desk. “Youthink?What the fuck does that mean? Did you actually let her walk out of here with no surveillance, so we have no warning if she calls the cops? We’ll be in cuffs before we can even get to the fucking airport.”
I lean back in my chair and cross my arms. “I followed my gut and got her to agree to help get people in the doors of the club, starting Saturday. I don’t want to go to prison any more than you do. What other choice did I really fucking have? You think I should’ve killed her?”
Q drops into the chair Scarlett sat in only twenty minutes ago, shaking his head in disbelief. “Fuck me. This is bad, Gabe. Really fucking bad. We have to hack her phone. Watch her calls and texts. Fuck, we need someone to tail her. I have someone I can call.”
I think about the woman who marched out of here like she owned the place, pretending her pristine feathers hadn’t been ruffled.
Do we need to follow her? The immediateyesisn’t coming from my gut. It’s coming from my dick. Because for some reason, it wants another reason to see her again. Soon.
Fucking idiot. She’s not for you, buddy. Not a chance in hell.
“She was scared shitless. I don’t think she’ll talk,” I say to Q, and watch as his features rearrange in an expression that I can read easily—and it’s telling me I’m a fucking dumbass for taking this risk. He might be right. Only time will tell.
“Scared shitless means she’ll talk,” Q says, jamming a hand through his hair. “Unless you went allGodfatheron her and pretended like we’re the mob and threatened her.”
My shoulders rise and fall in a quick shrug. “Something like that.”
“I don’t trust it, man. I’ll get someone. He’ll be discreet. Just for a couple days. When the hell is she coming back to allegedly save our asses, anyway?”
“Saturday,” I reply, straightening in my chair and trying to keep anything out of my voice that might make me sound eager for the wrong reasons. As in, any reason that doesn’t strictly have to do with Legend coming back from the brink of extinction.
Q looks down at his phone, already tapping out a message on the screen. “I’ll be praying this works. Fuck, I might have Ma get her prayer circle on it. We need all the fucking help we can get. Otherwise ...”
My head drops back against the padded leather of my chair. “I know. You don’t need to spell it out for me. I know what’s on the line. More than anyone.”
My best friend lifts his head and shoots a glance at me. “I know you do, Gabe. That’s why we’re not taking any chances. I’m on damage control, and you keep tabs on Bump, so this shit never happens again.”
“You know he didn’t know any better,” I say quietly. “He was just trying to help.”
“Yeah, and he might land all our asses in prison. Think on that, and I’ll catch you later. Pop’s got his poker game tonight, so Zoe’s taking point here. If you’re done before ten, come over. Otherwise, it’ll be old Puerto Rican men taking all my money.”
And that’s Q in a nutshell. Capable even when pissed, and a fucking good friend. When you’ve got someone like him at your side, even a white-trash kid like me can climb out of the gutter.
“I might see you there.”