Page 75 of Saint of the Shadows

He stuffed a chicken finger in his mouth and held out the plate. “Does this look like fifty bucks’ worth of food?”

Marisol snapped her fingers and jerked her thumb behind her. Tobias grabbed a piece to-go and set the plate down. As they moved past the beaded curtain, he chewed down on another strip and mumbled, “I’ve never been to a Champagne Room before.”

“I’m happy to be a part of your first time.” Fully in control of her innuendo, she flashed a halfhearted smile. In that moment, she pictured a gangly, teenage version Tobias, falsely confident from beer and whiskey struggling to unhook a bra on a ragged couch.

Even in the dim purple and pink lights of the hall, she caught a glint in Tobias’s eyes. She recognized the look. It was like Vincent’s when he asked, “How may I please you?”

Marisol gulped. “Tiny,” she murmured and moved through the last set of beaded curtains.

In the waning violet lights of the Champagne Room, every face became a tinted silhouette. All of Tiny’s six feet and 350 pounds waited for them in a velvet booth, though he looked like he lost weight from the last time Marisol saw him. Despite people needing an elephant gun to take Tiny out, a set of baby-faced enforcers stood and flanked around him. If a truant officer braved the bowels of the Pink Curtain, he’d cart off the enforcers to high school. Most definitely with a fight.

Far in the corner, an old man sat, buried in layers of winter clothes. A dancer contorted into a shoulder stand, presenting the old man with a salacious view.

Tiny whistled. She rolled onto her feet and seamlessly gathered her money and top. Tiny held up a hundred-dollar bill. “Go get yourself some new shoes.”

She snatched the bill, staring at Marisol. “Fresh meat or what?”

“Or what, you nosey-ass bitch,” Tiny said.

“Figured. A little old to be fresh.” She tied her top, flicked her hair back, and left.

“Kick her out but not the customer?” Marisol asked as she grabbed a chair, spun it once on its leg, and sat across from Tiny.

“Him? He’s too damn old to know what’s up. He brings in a couple stacks and just sits there. It takes a pair of jiggling titties and a rolling pussy for him to even register a pulse.”

“Better Business would be proud.” Tobias settled next to Marisol. She elbowed him to keep him on his best behavior.

”So Mare, what makes you step down from your downtown high-rise to the Westside?”

“Considering my brother is doing multiples at the Hill for the Shadows, I thought I could trade in a favor.”

“What’s up?”

Marisol leaned forward. “The Bloodsucker and surviving leftovers of Shadowhaven’s favorite gangs are holed up at the Clark’s Slaughterhouse. They captured a friend of mine, and I can’t go to the cops. I need the Shadows to help me fight the Bloodsucker and free my friend.”

Tiny laughed until a glob of phlegm interrupted him midroar. He coughed it away. “When we said we’d be looking out for your family after Caz’s situation, we meant financially. Like if you needed to get diapers or school clothes or something. If you ever had kids, that is.”

Marisol crossed her legs. Not a chance. “The Bloodsucker got rid of Izzy and tore up the Mob and the Bratva. It’s only a matter of time before he comes for you.”

“And we’ll be ready for him. Until then—” Tiny motioned to his boys, who encroached on Marisol and Tobias.

She raised her hands in surrender. “We’re not dealing with the same rules. He can’t be killed!” Purple light caught the gleam of a brass knuckle. “How do you think he got Izzy?”

Tiny shook his head. One enforcer yanked her to her feet by the hood of her sweatshirt. Tobias reached to grab him. A gravelly voice barked, “She’s right.”

The enforcers stopped. Tiny turned his head, facing the old man. He stood, possessing the straight spine of someone a quarter his age. The old man tossed his stocking cap, revealing a shavedhead. Underneath his coat hid a wiry build. He lifted his sunglasses and uncovered shining onyx eyes, like a shark’s. He unwound one layer of the scarf, exposing a broad nose dented in tiny cuts. His thin mustache dusted over his bruised lips, swollen to the point of looking like a pair of slugs pushed together. The “old man” was none other than Israel Ramirez, aka Big Iz, aka Izzy himself.

The chapter Vincent helped her close reopened again, as if Fate had a crack in the bind. What had she expected? The city’s pseudo-justice came with bail bonds, hung juries, appeals, parole. It’d take more than a broken nose and a pair of handcuffs to snuff out Izzy. The urge to reopen at least one scab on his face conflicted with her need to save Vincent. She scrunched her hand into a fist and gulped again.

Izzy tipped his head, and Tiny took his place among the enforcers. From his new demoted spot, Tiny bowed his head. For a big ass tough guy, Tiny played the subservient part well. Or was he feeling remorse for lying to her? Izzy adjusted into the middle of the booth. “What’s the plan, Mare?”

“Um…” She hadn’t thought that far.

Tobias returned to his seat. “I’m glad you asked. Our friend is hangin’ by his wrists just off the Clark’s old kill floor. Luckily, that spot leads to a loading garage. I’d say we split into two groups. One distracts the Bloodsucker and his minions at the entrance while the other, smaller group escapes with our friend out the garage.”

“Good work.” Izzy smiled like a shark circling its dinner. “Officer.”

Uh-oh, Marisol hadn’t contemplated the full extent of dragging an unarmed cop into the lion’s den. In plain clothes, Tobias should’ve slipped under their radar. She touched his elbow, anticipating a bolt to the exit. But Tobias returned Izzy’s smile. There was something familiar about it, as if this was a dance that began long before Marisol entered the scene and would continue long after she left.

---