Page 2 of Ripple Effect, Vol. 4

A million thoughts invade my head, swimming in a sea of confusion, as I round the building to the back. Jogging into the night, I follow a path in the tall grass, that’s been made visible by a narrow line of dirt, and find a shoe—one of Dylan’s tattered Converse.

Enzo.

With a growl, I spin around, looking for any sign of her in the dark, abandoned lot. I tug my phone and dial Jörgen.

He answers on the third ring, in his thick Icelandic accent. “Já.”

“Looking for Enzo. Know where I can find him?”

“You tried Spades?”

“He’s not going to be at Spades. You said Dorian had you follow him when he was coming down to the south side. Where’d he go?”

“Some drug dealer.” There’s a trill in his R’s that adds a sharp clip to his words. “Randy. Lives in apartments on sixty-fifth street.”

Randy. The name skates down my spine, tripping my kill switch. In quick strides, I head back toward the front of the diner, eyeing the apartment just down the street. Not likely they’d have gone back somewhere so obvious.

“You mentioned a house.”

“Trap house. On Racine. White bungalow at the corner. Graffiti all over the garage door. Can’t miss it.”

“Got it.” I hang up the phone and head toward my car parked up the block. Adrenaline pumps through my veins in waves of dizzying rage. I’ve wanted Enzo under my blade for a while now, and the thought of him touching Dylan—tainting her with his dirty fucking hands—has my muscles balled up in knots.

She’s mine.

I don’t even know when she became mine, and it’s doing all kinds of messed up shit to my head. I’m at my car door when I realize just how messed up the shit is—I’m planning to kill Dorian’s brother. Dorian Bertrand. Not some asshole who skipped out on payments. Not some random guy from the streets who stepped on the wrong toes. A conniving bastard who could take down a rival outfit as easily as if he was cleaning out his fucking friends list on Facebook. The one I’m forbidden to kill without the Agency’s blessings.

One magic wave of his hand and the whole goddamn city would burn to the ground. Politicians tiptoe around Dorian. Police avoid him. And I plan to betray him by killing his baby brother. For a woman.

A woman I don’t even know if I can trust, because I trust no one. I’m nothing but a machine created for men like Dorian to eliminate his threats, and now, I’m diving headfirst into the idea of becoming one.

I’m thinking impulsively, and I never think impulsively, but the girl has everything inside my head all fucked up. Nothing makes sense to me right now. All I know is I want her back.

The thoughts pound through my skull and not even rubbing the heel of my hand against my temple can wipe away the truth bubbling to the surface: Dylan has gotten under my skin.

I slide into the car, staring through the windshield while my head wages war. “To hell with it,” I say, throwing the car in gear and squealing out of the parking lot. “Nobody takes what’s mine. I don’t give a fuck who he is.”

3

Dylan

Lying on the floor of the back seat, I keep my face tucked in the shadows, pretending as if I’m knocked out.

Rook tugs my arm, dragging me across the floor of the vehicle, while Randy stands somewhere off to the side. Cigarette dangling from his mouth, Rook climbs out of the back passenger door and reaches to grip my other arm.

I curl my hands around his wrists and swing my leg up over my head, my shoe cracking his nose with a cringe-worthy crunch. I follow it up with another, and he stumbles back.

“Fuck!” Rook’s voice carries an edge of rage.

Before he gains his balance, I flop over to my stomach and close the door, locking it from the inside, then scramble to the front.

Randy’s already opened the front passenger door, and at the sharp wrenching of my hair, I scream. Swinging blindly, I hammer a fist into his jaw, kicking his head to the side.

A second’s worth of victory swims through my veins when he shakes his head as if I’ve knocked the sense right out of him. Rook swings open the driver side door, and when he grips my arm, I bite his fingers.

“Little cunt! Fucking animal!” he screams.

I crawl into the back and unlock the door, falling out of the SUV. Stumbling once, I kick up dust, sliding on the gravel, until my shoe digs into the dirt and I take off. On a hobbling run with one shoe, I don’t look back. The night air burns my lungs as I limp away, down the street. Shit thing about this part of town is, it’s no use screaming for help. Chances are, whatever comes barreling out of these houses to help me will be just as dangerous as the men chasing after me.