Page 32 of Peripheral Vision

“I’m not a kid!” she fires back, her voice shaking.

“Yes. You. Are!” I snap and turn to face her. “And that idiot boyfriend of yours, he should’ve known better. Hell, you should’ve known better.”

Tears well in her eyes, but she lifts her chin stubbornly. “You don’t understand, I wanted to do it.”

I stare at her, my hands clenched at my sides. I take a deep breath to try and calm down. “Dylan,” I say, my voice quiet but no less intense. “This isn’t about wanting to. It’s about what’s right and what’s smart. And this? This wasn’t either.”

She wipes her eyes, her bravado crumbling. “Are you going to tell my dad?”

I sigh, running a hand through my hair. “No, not this time. But you need to understand something. If this happens again and it ends up hurting you, and I find out, then he will too.”

She nods, her shoulders slumping.

I crouch in front of her, my tone softening as I place my hands on her shoulders. “You’re better than this, Dyl. You don’t have to prove anything to anyone, least of all some kid who isn’t going to stick around. You hear me?”

She nods again, biting her lip to keep it from trembling.

“Good, now go upstairs and get your head straight. And if I see that boyfriend of yours again, he and I are gonna have words,” I say as I stand up.

It’s funny all the ways things change but remain the same all at once, except now I’m no longer as patient or kind as I was back then. Just as Dylan isn’t as agreeable, the kind of person who would just smile through the uncomfortable moments and never rock the boat. But that was before. And what’s more? We aren’t the same to each other. There is this forbidden tension that hangs between us now as if the years of friendship, the shared laughter, the quiet conversations, all of it was a foundation that’s suddenly cracked. I used to look at her as a kid, as someone to protect, someone who needed guidance. Now? Now I see a woman, someone strong, independent—someone who isn’t afraid to challenge me. Dylan acts terrified but I see it for what it really is—the way she stares, watches. How her breathing quickens. I saw it tonight when I cornered her. Her pulse was racing, her pupils had dilated and while she tried to pull away… she didn’t scream, didn’t fight me like she could have since we were in a public space knowing she could get me caught if she wanted to. The way her lips had parted, her breath catching in her throat—she’s drawn to it. Drawn tome.

She doesn’t understand what she’s playing with, what she’s gradually inviting in. And God help me, I’m going to give it to her.Because when she looks at me there’s no mistaking it: behind the fear and subtle curiosity, there’s something else. She isn’t going to run from my darkness, not when she’s starting to reach out to touch it. And I intend to have her fucking drown in it. The night is pressing in around me by the time I make it back to my Airbnb. Nathan’s here tonight, laptop balanced on his knees while he sits on the small couch, a beer on the table in front of him. The faint glow from the screen highlights his furrowed brow and the way his jaw tenses when he concentrates. He doesn’t look up as I enter, but I already know I’m in for it judging by the tension in the air.

“You were gone longer than I expected,” he says, his voice even, measured.

“Got sidetracked.”

He snorts, glancing up. “By what? A stray cat?”

“Something like that,” I reply, brushing past him and settling in at the dining table. I don’t bother explaining Dylan—still choosing to keep that part of my world separate. He wouldn’t understand. “How are we narrowing down on that location?”

He shakes his head, taking a long pull of his beer. “Not any closer than we were before. I’ve been working with your buddy and they are locked down tight. I don’t know why, but I feel weird about this, man. What if the slip up, the money transfer, was intentional? I just can’t stop thinking about that message you got and the fact that suddenly their network is tight as a virgin on a Sunday morning when it was looser than a whore on a Friday night not even days ago…”

I glance at him from the corner of my eyes, wondering where the fuck he comes up with some of the shit that comes out of his mouth. “Even if that is the case… is this something we can choose to back out on now?”

“I don’t know, man. I keep going over it, trying to make sense of it all. But I’m almost one hundred percent positive they’re controlling the narrative now. They’re pulling the strings, playing us. It feels like a set-up, that much I think you were right in, when we struck thedeal with Ezra. I don’t know how our cover would have been blown, but this is all too coincidental. I don’t know what their aim is, they could’ve killed us when they had the chance. So now we just need to figure out why.”

I lean forward, hands on the table, the words hitting me harder than I expected. “You think they knowwhowe are?”

He shrugs, his eyes cold as he meets mine. “I would like to think that our covers are concealed as theirs are, but the way things have been moving, it’s hard to say. They’ve probably got as many eyes as we do. Either they’ve been watching us all along, or they’ve got someone inside who’s feeding them everything they need to stay one step ahead. I can’t say I’ve recognized anyone twice from the drops, but…”

“But it feels off,” I finish for him. And he’s right, it does. We’ve been to enough of these to know when something isn’t right. Faces don’t add up. Patterns start breaking down. And when you notice that—when you start catching things out of place—it’s not just a coincidence anymore. “So what? We’ve been exposed for how long? How long have we been dancing around their traps without even knowing it?”

His eyes flick down to his screen before connecting with mine again. “Could be recent, could go back too many jobs to count. Either way, we’re not in control anymore and they want us to know it. They know we’re close, and I’m not sure if they’re waiting for us to make the next move, or if they already know exactly what we’re going to do.”

“Well, they clearly don’t want us dead. Not yet. Which means we have to figure out what they do want, which means wehaveto get closer. I imagine they’re going to be herding us like cattle, so they leave us no choice but to come to them. People like this, they’re all about control. But lucky for us, we’re damn good at playing the game.”

Chapter

Twenty-One

DYLAN

I’ve been avoiding Callum the last few days but I’m at a point where I can no longer do it. I’m supposed to work tonight, and I can no longer come up with any excuses not to see him. He hasn’t been too pushy, but he knows something is up with how abruptly I left the other night. As I step into my bedroom to grab my keys, I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. My reflection looks tired—dark circles under my eyes, lips pressed tight like I’m bracing myself for impact. Maybe I am. I didn’t put as much effort into my appearance tonight as I have been, and I know that the tips won’t be as kind to me, but I can’t bring myself to care.

Avoiding Callum has been a game of strategy, but tonight I’m out of moves. The only thing I care about is making it to the end of my shift without making a scene. The guilt is heavier than I thought it would be. Especially considering we haven’t been seeing each other for very long, but maybe that’s why. Because I haven’t even had the chance to give him a fair one. I don’t want to hurt him, but I’m not sure how to explain myself without doing just that or putting him in danger because he wants to figure out a way to stop Fletcher. The truth is messy, it always is.

By the time I pull into the parking lot, the sky is fading into a bruised purple. The parking spots are relatively empty and I can only hope they fill up enough to keep a steady flow of customers so we don’t have to have this conversation—but I know I won’t get that lucky. Sins and Sons neon sign flickers like it’s as nervous as I am. Callum’s car is already here, parked in his usual spot. Of course he’s early. He always is. I take my time walking inside, trying to calm my increasing nerves. But it only takes so long until I’m nose to door with the entrance. Inside, the warm hum of voices and clinking glasses does little to calm me. I spot him immediately as I walk in, behind the bar, restocking glasses. He looks up at the sound of the door and our eyes meet. His expression flashes with a hint of pain before forcing a small smile to come across his face.

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