His smile was so bright it hurt my eyes. “Of course! It’s your big night.” He gave me another impetuous hug and skipped off toward the kitchen.
I turned away with a boulder pressing on my chest. Moving across the room, I avoided looking in the direction where I’d last seen John. I smiled and waved at well-wishers but avoided getting trapped in any conversations. On my way out toward the back patio, I grabbed a bottle of wine. If I didn’t get outside, all the pressure building up behind my eyes would explode.
Chapter Eight
The screen door’s squeaky old hinges announced his arrival. As the first fine leather loafer stepped onto the cracked concrete step, I had the wine bottle tipped back like a wino. Since I was sitting on the steps, the position allowed me an upside-down view of his face. But that’s usually how I felt around John Volos—disoriented.
In the last decade, time had polished his features into a distinguished but brutal handsomeness. His dark-blond hair was slicked back in the style preferred by sociopaths masquerading as CEOs. He’d shucked his suit jacket and loosened his tie, but I didn’t for a minute think his appearance wasn’t about business.
The stems of two wineglasses were tucked between his fingers. “Thought you might like a glass.”
I pulled the wine away from my lips with a small gasp and smacked my lips. “Prefer it this way. Bye now.”
I turned away and licked the cheap red from my lips.
Movement to my left as John lowered himself onto the step beside me. His broad shoulder brushed mine as he got settled. “Well, pass it over, then.”
I shot him the side-eye. “What?”
He set down the two glasses and held out a hand. He didn’t repeat himself. Just raised a brow in challenge.
I licked my teeth. “Get your own bottle.”
“Ah.”
My eyes narrowed. “What’s that mean—ah?”
He sighed and shrugged, moving his eyes over my backyard, like he was taking stock. “Let me guess: You’re drinking because you’re feeling guilty about lying to them.”
My eyes shot toward the door first to ensure no one heard him. Through the open door, the sounds of the party filtered down, but I didn’t detect anyone on the lower level where Danny’s room was located. I turned back to John and leaned in. “You don’t know shit.”
His lip twitched. “Does this mean you’re still angry with me?”
“You give yourself way too much credit if you think I care about you enough to get angry.”
He grabbed the bottle from my hand and took a long swallow before I could snatch it back. When I wrenched it from his hands, a few drops of red landed on the pocket of his pristine white shirt. “Oops, sorry,” I said, not bothering to sound like I meant it.
“I have others.”
I was sure he did. Dozens and dozens of dress shirts. Probably handmade by tiny Bangladeshi children in a run-down factory without air-conditioning or sanitary restroom facilities. Or hand-spun by blind Irish women who worked their fingers to the bone to produce shirts good enough for Babylon’s Golden Hope.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” he asked, suddenly wary.
“Because I hate you.” I shrugged.
I hated him for being in my home. I hated him for blackmailing me to lie to my team. I hated him for tricking me into cooking that antipotion. But most of all, I hated myself for feeling anything for John Volos.
His eyes widened as if it hadn’t occurred to him that I could possibly hate him. “I came tonight because I thought it was important to maintain the facade that we are on good terms since everyone believes I saved Danny’s life alone. I asked you to lie because we both know I have a better chance at making Abe pay for siccing Ramses Bane on Danny. And I blackmailed you because I knew it was the only way to ensure your cooperation.”
My mouth fell open at this last part. In John’s world ends always justified means. Even if the ends themselves were immoral or illegal. “Get out.”
“One of these days my reasons for blackmailing you will become clear and you will forgive me for what I had to do.”
“Get out.”
“That’s two,” he said, “what are you going to do on the third strike? Go get your team and tell them I’m bothering you?”
I shook my head. “No, I’m going to arrest you for trespassing on private property.”
“I was invited.”
“Not by me, you weren’t.”
“Have you heard from Abe?”
The question caught me off guard, just like he’d hoped it would. I lowered the bottle and looked at him. “Why? Have you?”
John snorted. “Please. The only way that man would contact me is by inscribing a message on a bullet.” He leaned over and took the bottle. Took a sip before asking again. “So have you?”
Here’s the thing. I couldn’t tell the team about the phone call because it would open the door on all sorts of questions I wasn’t prepared to answer. But John already knew the story. Hell, he’d been the reason there was a story to begin with. Even though I didn’t trust the guy, I was genuinely curious to see his reaction to my answer. I took the bottle back. “He called today.”
John’s entire body stiffened. “And?” He kept his voice calm, but I could feel the anger coming off him. The heat of it made the scent of his expensive cologne—a heady mix of chypre and sandalwood—stronger. “What did he say?”
I took a casual swig from the bottle, making him wait for it. Enjoying it. “I refused the call. Told the prison’s operator to take me off his call list.”
John relaxed a fraction. “He won’t stop trying.”
I nodded. “Of course he won’t.”
“Do you think he knows you know he was behind Bane’s plot?” When John and I had taken Bane down for his crimes, the wizard had admitted that the plan to frame John for unleashing the dangerous potion Gray Wolf had been Uncle Abe’s idea. But when the team figured out the plot to frame John, Bane had gone after Danny to try to derail the investigation. John wanted Uncle Abe to pay for trying to frame him, and I wanted him to suffer for instigating the events that led to my brother almost dying.
I shook my head. “Who knows?” I glanced at him. “You decide what you’re going to do there yet?”
When John had asked me to keep Abe’s involvement a secret from the BPD and MEA, I’d been so angry with Abe that I agreed. I knew that if anyone could make my uncle suffer, it was John. But in the time since then, I’d also realized that I’d made a colossal mistake—and not just because John had proven to be a lying snake himself since we’d made our agreement.