Miles Away (Carrion #1)(71)

“Don’t worry, chica. You’re next!” Anthony spat.

“Go f*ck yourself, Schiabetta! You’ve got worse aim than your father does!” Letty spat, earning an amused look from Miles.

“Keep it moving, tough guy. Let’s go, clear out,” the cops pressed as they nudged Anthony off of the casino floor.

“You all right?” Miles asked Letty with a look of concern in his eyes.

Letty laughed. “I’m fine. You’re the one who was just shot at. Thank God for that vest.”

Miles shook his head as he examined his shirt.

“Brand new shirt, too. Damn it.”

“Considering the alternative?” Letty said as a more serious tone took over her face.

Miles nodded, knowing exactly where her thoughts were going. “I’m always prepared, Letty. These guys are as transparent as cellophane.”

Grabbing his shirt from Letty, Miles chucked it into a trash can. As he turned back to Letty, he grabbed her hand and led the way out of the restaurant.

“Where are we going now?” Letty asked.

“Well, for one… I need a new shirt,” Miles said with a laugh.

Letty eyed Miles up and down as she pursed her lips. She let her eyes linger over Miles’s bulletproof jacket, his biceps and the intricate network of tattoos that covered his body. After a moment of appreciating the specimen of man before her, Letty replied, “Oh, I don’t know. I think I like this look better…”

“Oh, do you now?” Miles replied with a laugh.

Bringing her fingers to her lips, Letty replied, “Mmmhmmmm.”

“I think some of the patrons in the casino might mind,” Miles said as he motioned to a pair of elderly women who were standing by the penny slots. They were staring at him as they talked in hushed tones. “They appear to be deciding whether to call the police back.”

Glancing over her shoulder to give the old women a nasty look, Letty finally relented. “Oh, fine. Let’s go find you a shirt.”

“Don’t sound so disappointed,” Miles said with a smile, knowing damn well that although they were joking around, Letty was scared senseless.

Holding on tightly to Letty’s hand, Miles led the way to a souvenir shop inside the casino, hoping that they had a plain black t-shirt that he could wear. Letty browsed the racks that lined the wall, while Miles checked the circular racks that cluttered the middle of the store. They looked high and low but in the sea of t-shirts, they couldn’t find a single plain white, gray or black t-shirt anywhere. In fact, much to Miles’s dismay and to Letty’s amusement, most of the shirts were what Miles so poetically described as “fluorescent garbage.”

As Miles grumbled at a bright green Jersey Shore TV show t-shirt, Letty wandered back to the clearance section determined to find Miles something to wear. After some browsing, Letty squealed with delight when she found the perfect t-shirt for Miles.

“What?” Miles asked with a bewildered look on his face.

“I found it!” Letty announced loudly as he hurried over to him.

“You found what? Another neon craptacular t-shirt?” Miles asked, his sarcasm hitting an all-time high.

“No, it’s black,” Letty said as she weaved through the racks of clothes to get back to Miles. Miles could barely see the top of Letty’s head over the rows of t-shirts.

“Oh, good,” Miles said, but as Letty approached with the t-shirt in her grasp, Miles let out a roaring laugh.

“You would find the one t-shirt that would double as a bad joke,” Miles said as he shook his head.

Letty wiggled her eyebrows as she held up the t-shirt that read in big bold letters, “I Survived Hurricane Leticia.”

Covering his face as laughter ripped from his mouth, Miles could barely catch his breath. Letty, much like Hurricane Leticia, could certainly wreak a lot of havoc under the right conditions.

Still laughing, Miles asked, “Where did you find that? I’m getting one for G, too.”

“You wouldn’t!”

“I most certainly would!” Miles exclaimed as he started rooting through the kids’ clothing. “Ha! 3T. Got it!”

“No f*cking way… We can’t find a single black T-shirt, but there’s a bazillion Hurricane Leticia shirts.”

“It’s happening!” Miles said happily as he yanked the tiny shirt from the rack.

Miles approached the front counter of the shop. Dropping the t-shirts on the counter, Miles nodded to the shop clerk, who looked like he wasn’t even old enough to have a work permit.

“Hey, brother. I’ll take these two,” Miles said as he pushed the t-shirts at the clerk.

The guy laughed. “Let me guess…” he said as he glanced over at Letty. “Her name’s Leticia, isn’t it?”

“Sure is,” Miles said proudly, but as the shop clerk’s eyes lingered too long on Letty, he earned a grilling glare from Miles.

“Aye! Eyes over here, buddy! That’s my hurricane!” Miles growled.

“Uh… sorry. That’ll be $14.23.”

“Here,” Miles said as he passed the kid a twenty-dollar bill.

“Keep the change. I can’t bear another second looking at these fluorescent as f*ck t-shirts. Letty, c’mon. Before I go blind or nuts.”