Page 5 of Hard Game

Technically, it’s not a lie.

Tassa’s tone softens. “You need a life, Maddox. A reason to get up every day. You can’t let them win.”

Them.

The bastards that ruin lives daily. “I’ve got a life, Tassa.” I lie, throwing the covers back and padding to the bathroom, ignoring the dark circles under my eyes.

I look like shit.

“Don’t worry about me. What’s up?”

Tassa tells me about another disastrous meeting with her family, but even though I shouldn’t be laughing, I am. “Are you laughing right now? I’m having a breakdown over here.” Tassa laughs, and I grin despite the gnawing guilt eating away at me.

“I’m sorry. So your mom made you a birthday cake. I mean, it’s cute, right?”

“It said happy thirtieth.”

“So she got the age wrong?” I grab a towel and my toothbrush before she huffs in my ear.

“I’m twenty-nine, dickhead.”

“I knew that,” I lie. “What are you doing today?”

“Watching them.”

“What?”

Tassa sighs, and the fun tone in her voice dries up, replaced with the one I’m more familiar with. “They killed her. I saw it on the news.”

I flick the shower off and stare at my reflection, letting her words sink in. “You okay?”

Tassa’s voice wobbles. “Not really. You told that detective, right? That’s how they found her.”

“Yeah. I did.”

It was Tassa who called me at midnight, telling me she’d traced one of their vans to a park in the middle of the night. She suspected they had a body in there but couldn’t be sure until they’d gone. I know she wonders how she escaped them and was lucky enough to live. But sometimes, I wonder if the memories hurt her just as much. Mental scars are worse than anything physical.

“I saw that detective on the TV,” Tassa says, clearing her throat.

“Yeah?” I huff out a breath. “The one that quit when they went quiet?”

Tassa hums before responding. “They didn’t have any money, Mad. We stole it.”

Pride burns in my chest, and I grin. “Yeah. We did.”

“So she had nothing to chase, but she was there this morning like she knows it’s them.”

I didn’t hold out much hope that a detective without an informant would know much of anything, but any help is help, I guess.

“She’s pretty. She should be careful,” Tassa mutters, piquing my interest.

The only detective I dealt with was Carmen, and she looked like a bulldog chewing a wasp most of the time, but beggars can’t be choosers. Plus, she has reason to be pissed. She lost one of her own to Alastor.

The risks of undercover work.

“I’m sure she knows what she’s doing,” I reassure Tassa. “Let me shower, and I’ll meet you for lunch if you like?”

This pleases Tassa, and I hang up and shower quickly, mentally bringing up my to-do list and adding a birthday cake. With twenty-nine fucking candles. I need to keep tabs on Alastor, the slimy bastard. He’s been back for one fucking week, and already he’s killed someone. I doubt she’s the only victim…but she’s the one he wanted me to see.

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