Page 130 of Ride or Die

Dante opened the mini-fridge in the corner, tags still dangling off the cord, and removed a bottle of sparkling water.

He didn’t offer one to Saint, and that softened him more than it should have. He remembered Saint didn’t drink it.

Dante’s mind was a steel trap, and he was capable of using it to be pro-social.

He just didn’t.

“You come by for a reason, or do you just like the adrenaline?” Dante leaned against the wall, his t-shirt rumpled and sweat-stained, dark circles under his eyes.

He looked like he was being hunted.

“Cooper came for a visit,” Saint said, putting his back to a wall. Dante’s throat bobbed as he drained the water. “Thought you’d want to know. The Riccis—the father—are making noise about the docks.”

Satisfaction flashed in the dark depths of Dante’s eyes, and Saint wondered if Riley had just been an excuse.

“You gonna tell your boy Ryan you found me? It’d be the golden ticket. You could be Coop’s right-hand man with that intel.”

“You wouldn’t be here if you thought that was an option,” Saint said. He couldn’t say it hadn’t crossed his mind. A trade for freedom and power. Everyone safe?

But Cooper couldn’t be trusted with something like that.

“No, you called me back to do something you didn’t want to get your hands dirty for. Just like old times, right?” Bitterness filled the stale air.

“If you think that, why’d you come?”

Dante tensed, forefinger moving along the barrel of the handgun he still held.

Probabilities spun as moments ticked by. They were too similar to breathe the same metallic air. Too dark.

I shouldn’t be here.

“I owed you.” The words were barely audible, broken and harsh. “And now we’re square.”

Everything went quiet. Saint couldn’t hear his own heartbeat, just Dante’s ragged breath. The smell of blood and disinfectant filled his nose.

It didn’t feel like absolution.

Saint forced himself to relax against the wall.

The only sound was the murmur of the mini-fridge.

Dante stood perfectly still. “I never thanked you for it.”

Saint swallowed around the lump in his throat, the barbed wire wrapped around his chest. He breathed through the smell of blood and loam, hands pressed to the wall.

He exhaled the heaviness, and it pooled on the concrete between their feet.

Dante met his eyes, and Saint saw something familiar. At last.

His friend and brother dropped his shoulders and took a deep breath, flicking the safety onto the gun and setting it down.

“When was the last time you slept?” Saint asked and pushed off the wall.

Dark eyes flicked to the open laptop. “What day is it?”

Saint sighed again and walked to the mini-fridge. It was empty of everything but bottles of water.

“Last time you ate?”