Page 55 of Refrain

Jose chuckles. “Hombre, if I knew that, I would have a few more guests forbreakfast.”

A shiver racks my spine at the gleeful, murderous tone. Even Piotr wouldn’t make torture seem synonymous with…simple fun.

“Do you know?”

Arno shakes his head. “But I think I have a lead. I just need your help to follow it.”

“And your little friend?” Jose smirks at me. “What stories doesshe have to tell? I have some stories of my own. Like about our dear little Espi—”

“You don’t fucking talk about him,” Arno says, his voice still dangerously level. Only a subtle cracking of his knuckles betrays the calm.

“Word on the street is that he’s crawling around, desperate for cash,” Jose says. “Could your boy be planning to run away? I wonder why. Ah…maybe he’s figured outyourlittle secret—”

“One of the raids was carried out using a gun that belonged to the interim police chief,” I manage to croak entirely in Spanish, drawing attention to myself.

“So she can speak.” Jose flashes a beautiful, dangerous smile. “Is what she said true? You think this little game might stretch higher than some punk-ass gang trying to make their markonthe world?”

If he does, Arno doesn’t admit as much out loud. “You share what you know, and I’ll share what I know.”

Jose considers the proposal while I struggle to my feet. My eyes are still streaming. It’s hard to breathe without wheezing, but I manage to stay upright.

“Fair enough,” Jose says finally. “I’ll have one of my men come by for a little visit when I get my information. That might happen sooner rather than later if you let Julio and me return to our little breakfast…” He nudges the seemingly dead man with his foot, eliciting a pained groan.

Let’s go.Arno doesn’t even have to say the words out loud, but I’m by his side in an instant. His hand finds my shoulder, steering me along as he barges through the door and past the men still stationed out front.

The man in the truck fires the engine up, and Arno shoves me inside the cabin. The moment he climbs in after me, the truck takes off.

My throat is on fire by the time we finally reach the bar. Ithink that will be the worst of it—a sore throat for a few days and maybe a pulsing headache.

But I’m barely out of the truck before a familiar figure appears at the side entrance ofMulligan’s. He’s wearing another hoodie, his hair windswept, his eyes lined with the shadows of exhaustion. He’s…he’s angry, and it paints a dark, terrifying picture over his features. The angel’s grown fangs, but unlikeJose,he’s quiet in his rage. The moment he spots Arno, all he does isshrug.

“Fuck. Don’t give me that look,” Arno snarls, but his plea is ignored.

“You took her to Jose.”

There’s a cold familiarity in the wayEspisidoutters that name. I take it his experience with The Shredder of the Cartel is similar to mine. My mind returns to his scars, paired with Arno’s defensiveness when Jose uttered his name.

“Have you gone fucking crazy, Arno?” Espi asks.

Arno stiffens, crossing his arms over his chest. “Maybe I have?You gota fucking problem with that? I’ve been hearing shit on the grapevine, Espi. You want to cut and run out on me too?”

Anger smolders between them, hot and wild, but surprisingly, it doesn’t seem to be directed at each other. At least not outright. Something else is fraying their bond. Jose is just the catalyst to a bigger strain.

Espisidoshakes his head. His eyes drift over to meet mine, and I’m frozen in place. My hand keeps strayingtomy throat no matter how hard I try to pin itbymy side. He sees the marks my trembling fingers try to hide, and I don’t know what reaction to expect. Pity? Anger?

He just stares, his gaze unreadable, and I’m ill-equipped to decipher the elusive emotions.

“I got a lead. That’s all that fucking matters,” Arno says behind me. “If Dante’s got anything to do with this shit, we’ll know soon enough.” He barges his way past, leaving me and the driver besidethe truck. His steps slow beforeEspisido,who hasn’t budged from the doorway.

For a moment, it seems like he won’t. I’m not sure how much time passes before he finally steps aside. Arno pushes by him without a word, but it’s not over between them. It’s a strange dynamic they share. Brothers one minute. Friends the next. Enemies at tense moments sprinkled throughout. But never once do I sense the loyalty between them fade. If anything, their bond only seems stronger.

It’s evident in the way Espisidomerely sighs when his gaze sweeps over me again. He makes no move to rush over and fawn all over my new injuries. He doesn’t even glance at my arm to ensure that the stitches have held. His eyes meet mine directly instead.

“You okay?”

I just nod. He sighs again, taking the assurance at face value. Then he turns and heads back into the bar. Within minutes, I know he’ll be out on the other side,gonefor the day.

I just watch him go, and he never does look back.

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