“I don’t have a freak to get on, Ginger.”
“And that’s a damn shame. One of those twins ought to be able to introduce you to your freak. Of course, if they need teachin’, don’t forget my number.”
“Speaking of the twins…”
“Please, God, tell me that segue means you’re about to give me details!”
“Um, no. But I do have something I’d like to run by you.”
“Is it about dildo selection? Because those things can be tricky if you’ve never bought one before.”
I sigh. “No, it’s not about dildos. Do you always wake up this way?”
“Of course! Why wouldn’t I? This is how I go to sleep. It just makes sense that I’d wake up this way. Awesome doesn’t take a break, Liv. And it never sleeps.”
I grin at that. “And neither does humility, evidently.”
“Hey, I just tell it like it is.”
“Then turn your brutal honesty this way for a minute.”
“Okay. Wha’cha got?”
I would never want to lie to Ginger, so I carefully avoid mentioning anything that might inspire her curiosity, especially about the whole twin thing. That could get ugly pretty fast.
I give her the short version (or should I say shortER version) of the phone conversation between Cash and me. When I tell her what he said, her only response is really nothing more than a noise, but it still alarms me.
“Ahhh.”
“What’s that supposed to mean? ‘Ahhh’.”
“Nothing. Not really. To me, it sounds like he was wussing out just as much as you did. It’s not an outright declaration, but it’s very provocative.”
“Provocative?”
“Yes, provocative. As in to provoke. You know I’m a student of both provoking and being provoked, so I know.”
“So I shouldn’t take it as him telling me he loves me?”
“Just to be safe, I wouldn’t. Besides, you don’t want him telling you in that kind of situation anyway. It makes it sound like he’s just reflecting your sentiment. Surely a guy that hot can be a little more original.”
“Oh he’s original all right.”
“Damn you! Don’t tease me like that unless you’re bringing one of those bits of candy to my house right this minute.”
“That would be difficult on a number of levels.”
“Difficult? Difficult is breaking and entering. But for a piece of dick like that, I’d break so he could enter. I’d commit a felony and two misdemeanors for an hour with something like that.”
“Just one felony? I think you’re gonna have to up your game a little for these guys, Ginger.”
A loud, dramatic sigh. “Fine. Three felonies, no misdemeanors, but that’s my final offer.”
“Sold!”
We both laugh, but then Ginger sobers. “Seriously though, Liv, if you love him, I say take the risk, but I want you to be sure. He could tear your heart into a thousand tiny pieces if you let him.”
“I know.”
“But if he’s the one, it would be worth it to try.”
“I know that, too. And I think he is.”
“And you should warn him that if he hurts you, I will scissor kick him in the nuts. Tell him, okay? You tell him that. Because I mean it. I’ll go all kinds of Bruce Lee on his tasty ass.”
“I hope you won’t have any reason to.”
“Me, too, babe. Me, too.”
“Well, it’s—”
A knock on my window startles me and cuts off my next thought. My heart leaps into my throat for a second until what I’m looking at really sinks in. It’s just a student. A young-looking guy wearing a Yankees ball cap and a white t-shirt with his back pack slung over one shoulder. He’s smiling shyly so I roll down my window to see what he wants.
“Can I help—”
Before I can even finish the sentence, a smelly rag is held tight over my nose and mouth. I struggle, but it makes no difference. Within seconds, the face in front of me swims sickeningly right before the world goes dark.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Cash
I’m standing in the parking lot of an old abandoned warehouse in the hell-if-I’d-be-caught-here-after-dark part of Atlanta. My instructions were to come alone to this address after I retrieved the ledgers from the bank. So I did.
Earlier, I made a show of leaving my apartment and going to a bank that I’m familiar with across town. I went back to where the safe deposit boxes are located. The anteroom isn’t visible from the rest of the bank, so I knew I could pull off my ruse from there.
There was a young, too-eager guy manning the desk outside that room. I talked to him about the rates for renting the boxes and how secure they are, shit like that to waste some time. I have no doubt they sent someone to follow me, so I was making it look good. I left the bank after about fifteen minutes, still carrying the bag I walked in with. When I got in the car, I slipped the fake ledgers into it, just in case someone got the wise idea of hijacking me on the way. But they didn’t, which encourages me that they really might be willing to play ball.
Now, as I wait for…whatever to happen, my mind is on the empty ledgers in the car. Nash has the real ones. He’s parked on the motorcycle behind an old generator a couple hundred feet away, watching.
I’ve been here for six minutes and haven’t seen a soul. There’s one rusty door to the right of the big hangar style doors of the warehouse, but I haven’t checked it. I’m not going into that building. They’re bat-shit crazy if they think I’m dumb enough to do that. They can bring Marissa out to me.
I hear the crunch of gravel behind me and I turn to see a white painter’s van driving toward me.
Good God, could they be any more cliché?
It rolls to a stop near the building and a fat, balding guy in a track suit gets out of the driver’s side.
Apparently, the answer is yes, they can be more cliché.
His back is to me, but I have no doubt that under the jacket of his black leisure suit is a wife beater tank top and at least one gold chain around his neck. Evidently, the classic mobster look is no longer reserved for followers of The Godfather or Goodfellas.