Wretched (Never After Series)(45)

My stomach heaves.





The wind whips across the water of Lake Michigan and rolls through the city, making the cold sting my cheeks and freeze my hands. My breaths come in visible clouds of air and I rest against the graffiti-covered concrete wall, watching Seth pace back and forth in the back alley.

It wasn’t easy to get away once we got to Chicago, but here I am.

“When’s the meeting?” he asks.

“This weekend. Saturday night.” I rub my hands together before stuffing them in the pockets of my jacket. “Figured we could set something up. No way he isn’t going to bring product for them to sample.”

Seth blows out a breath. “Man… you know that’s not what we’re after.”

“Listen,” I continue, frustration squeezing my insides. “No one’s gonna tell me shit. Zeke’s been there for years, and he still has no clue. Let’s bring them in, shake them down. We can get Farrell to crack.” I pause.

Seth purses his lips. “We can set you up with the PD again, but Cap doesn’t want to make any stupid moves.”

I shake my head. “PD is compromised as fuck. Definitely have leaks in Kinland, which means he probably does here too.”

“What about his daughters?” he asks.

“Yeah,” I say, the icy tendrils of dread wrapping around my neck. “They might know something.”

He groans, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You know a ‘might’ isn’t enough. Galen wants the big dog, and if we move too early, we could lose it all.”

“I’m dying here, Seth,” I plead, desperation pushing the words from my tongue. “Do you know what it’s like to stand by and watch people get hurt, watch laws be broken and do nothing?” I press my fingers to my temple. “It fucks with your head.”

“You’ve never had a problem before,” he states.

“Yeah, well I’m having a problem now,” I bite back.

“Is this because of the girl?”

I jerk away from him. “What?”

“Eveline Westerly.” He steps toward me, cocking his head. His hand reaches out and rests on my shoulder, and I grit my teeth, pushing down the urge to shove him away.

“Are you in too deep, Nick?”

A burst of anger explodes through me and I grip his shirt, twisting until he’s slammed against the wall. Red clouds my vision. “How many fucking times do I gotta tell you not to call me that? Jesus Christ. You trying to get me killed?”

“But that’s who you are,” Seth seethes. “You’re Nicholas Woodsworth.”

He shoves my chest, and my hold loosens. “Born August seventeenth. You had a shit childhood with a junkie mom who made you grow up too fast, and you’ve got a sister waiting at home. One who loves you and asks about you every day.”

I release my grip on his shirt, stumbling back as I stare down at my hands, my stomach rolling.

What the fuck is happening to me?

“I—”

“You know,” Seth cuts me off. “You even talk like them now.”

I’m still staring at my hands.

“I get it, man. I know it’s hard, and in my heart of hearts, I believe no one can do this job like you. You’ve got the gift.” He hesitates. “But the reason you’re so good is because you don’t feel things the way other people do. You’re a machine. You don’t get attached.”

I snap up my head, meeting his worried gaze.

“So if you’re starting to?” he continues. “That’s something we need to address.”

Licking my lips, I shake my head, ignoring the way an ache is spreading between my temples. “No, I-I’m fine. Just stressed. I’m sorry.” Flexing my shaky fingers, I swallow, determination settling like a heavy brick in the center of my gut. “I think Dorothy may know something.”

Seth’s eyes shoot up. “You sure about that?”

I shake my head, huffing out an exasperated laugh. “No, but if she does… if we offer her immunity, she might take it. Just—just give me some time with her.”





23





EVELINE





The mayor’s desk is larger than it looks on camera.

I grab a Cuban from his fancy case and lean back in the chair, placing my heels up on the ostentatious oak and lighting the end of the cigar. There’s nobody in here right now, but after a quick talk with his secretary up front, I convinced her to take an early lunch and let me wait in his office.

We’re old friends, after all, the mayor and I, and this is the perfect time to meet with him. Everyone else has gone to Chicago early, my dad claiming he wants his guys to “enjoy the town” before Oscar’s event, but I stayed behind, saying I needed to be here with the poppies.

It isn’t a lie, botany is a very time-consuming thing, and I do need to check on them frequently to ensure we have a constant stream of opium to make the flying monkey.

But that’s not why I didn’t go.

The office door swings open, and in walks Oscar. He has a look of concentration on his pale face, and his jet-black hair is stiff and perfectly coiffed, slicked back with a politician’s gleam. His footsteps falter when he sees me, his hand pausing from where it was loosening the knot in his tie.