Page 29 of The Kingpin's Call Girl

“Yes, you can,” he says. “And there are some special things you’re going to listen for. He was sent away as a boy. Where? Prison? Military school? Another family? Also, what did his brother do to piss him off so much? Figure it out. If you can get these answers, it would go a long way toward helping your sister.”

“What if I have classes?”

“Figure it out.”

I feel dizzy. And is Bender getting harsher with me?

“This whole thing... a person needs years of training for this type of work. I’m a college student, Bender. I listen to Taylor Swift.”

“Wrong. A person needs instincts and common sense and balls, Edie. You went out on the street looking for your sister, and now you’re making some real progress in getting to her bywheeling and dealing with the likes of me and Luka Zogaj. So, trust me when I say you have what it takes. You got over the hard part—you’re inside. From the sound of it, he yanked you right into his orbit. He won’t think to question you.”

“It seems like... a lot.”

“Don’t worry. You’re a natural.”

I grip my bag tighter, knuckles turning white. I am worried, but not just about playing criminal informant—I’m terrified because when he looked at me, I forgot who I was supposed to be. I forgot my sister, my principles, my entire life. I forgot everything except how he made me feel.

Chapter Nine

LUKA

Traffic is sparse at this hour, and the air is thick with the lingering scent of rain. I pull up my collar, waiting for the car. The sidewalks are lit in patches by the faint glow of neon signs and scattered storefront lights. Horns blare in the distance.

Maybe you don’t think it’s a thankable event, but for me, it is.

A thankable event?

And then she wanted to retract her thanks?

I just completed a bloody takeover of one of the most savage clans in the history of the Albanian mafia. I have killers to find and scores to settle... and her right to retract her thanks is what I’m focusing on?

And what kind of whore talks to me like that in the first place?

I’ll admit, I goaded her. Some dark part of me was hungry for her balled fists, her flashing gaze, and the way she lifted her chin when she was upset.

And God, the way it felt to be inside her, her defiance burning through me like a purifying flame.

Not that I need purification. I left behind concepts like dirty and clean a long time ago. Brute force is the only thing that matters now.

Taking back her thanks.

I check the GPS. It’s off? Off?

I grind my molars together.

That won’t do.

The town car slides up, long and sleek. I slip in next to Orton, across from a kid. Zedd’s corner guy.

Orton unwraps a stick of gum. He’s a terrifying bull of a man, crafty and cunning yet sentimental. He loves the old songs. He can dance theValle Pogonishtebetter than anyone. He believes in the ancient lore. If this were olden times, he’d be burning heretics or joining up with the Spanish Inquisition.

When I seized power from my brother last month, Orton commissioned us a traditional Albanian man’s brooch inset with a hound’s head and carved from deep red carnelian for the Ghost Hound Clan. Such brooches are traditionally used to hold together vests or scarves, but we use them as tie clips.

This kid is fourteen at most. His wild gaze is fixed on me like I might tear out his windpipe at any second.

I put out my hand. Orton gives me a stick of gum, and I unwrap it. “You know why you’re here?”

He stares at me, wide-eyed, teeth clenched around his black bandana gag.

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