Page 101 of Twisted Control

He drops the empty gun onto the desk in front of Harlan.

“You should really invest in a proper piece,” Levi says, lifting his own gun slightly. “Heavy, sure. But reliable. You pull the trigger on this, the bullet actually does what it’s supposed to do.” He glances down at Harlan’s revolver with a sneer. “This thing looks like it came free in a cereal box.”

Back in the Mustang, I drop into the passenger seat and slam the door shut behind me. Levi pulls away from the curb hard enough to chirp the tires against the road.

“You were slow in there,” Levi says.

I drag a hand over my face and stare out the windshield.

“I’m fine.”

Levi snorts. “Sure you are. And if I’d been half a second slower, I’d be scraping bits of your brain off the filing cabinets right now.”

The Mustang growls as he guns it through a yellow light.

“You’re distracted,” he says after a moment. “I don’t particularly care why, but next time give me a heads up.”

I don’t answer.

The truth is, I feel off. One half of me is already gone with Grace. I’m certain about that part. But the other half is still here, tangled up in the life I’m about to walk away from.

And somewhere right in the middle of it sits Levi.

The rest of the drive passes in silence except for the low rumble of the engine. Levi drums his fingers once against the steering wheel, impatient energy rolling off him even when he’s quiet. When we pull up outside my building, he reaches across without asking and digs the signed contract out of my jacket pocket.

“I’ll drop this with Ray,” he says. Then he looks at me properly. “You look like absolute hell, Drew. Go get some sleep.”

I huff out something close to a laugh and push open the passenger door. Cool air hits my face as I step onto the sidewalk. I lean down toward the open window, about to say something back, but I don’t even know what I mean to say.

Before I can settle on anything, Levi pulls away from the curb. The Mustang disappears down the street in a roar of black paint and taillights, leaving me standing there watching after him longer than I should.

That’s when it really hits me.

In a few days, Grace and I will be gone.

And I probably won’t see Levi again.

The thought lands harder than I’d ever admit. We fight like stray dogs. Most conversations between us sound one step away from assault charges. But he’s still the closest thing I’ve ever had to family.

My mind drifts through years of absolute chaos with him.

Vegas, when he accidentally set the wrong guy on fire and we had to sprint six blocks with casino security chasing us through traffic. Miami, when he ate a laced brownie and spent six straight hours telling me I was “like a son to him,” despite him being only four years older than me. St. Cloud, where I tripped a motion sensor during a job and Levi still doubled back for me before the cops could lock the building down.

None of it should feel sentimental. But it does.

Levi’s always had my back. Always been there. Bitching and moaning about it, being a complete asshole the entire time, but he still showed up.

Even now, he knows I’ve fucked Grace and he hasn’t said a word to Ray. Maybe because he can’t be bothered shooting me. Or maybe…

I don’t let myself think about it. I shove the thought down hard, unlock my door, and step inside.

Grace’s boxes are everywhere. Clothes spill out of half-packed cartons. Half her wardrobe is hanging in my closet, expensive fabric shoved between my suits.

Grace keeps calling this shit “essential.” We’re probably going to need an entire truck just for her shoes.

I stand there for a minute looking around the apartment.

I need to move faster.