Page 3 of Dagger's Property
“Need five more minutes.” He grunts from within, but if I don’t ride his ass, that five minutes will turn into thirty.
I open his door and walk in, his head not even lifting from his computer screen as I enter. He’s concentrating hard as his fingers fly across the keyboard. His eyes flicking from one monitor to the next. He has three of them lined across his desk. You’d think he was a federal agent. Instead, he’s our resident hacker.
“What you working on, brother?”
As far as I know, we don’t have any outstanding jobs right now, but something has his undivided attention. He doesn’t answer, so I move in closer, getting an angled view of his screens.
“Are you working on a job for the governor?” There’s an image of Governor Pritchard’s daughter up in the corner of one, along with what looks like some surveillance footage of the girl on another. I hadn’t gotten word that Pritchard had called in any favors. But maybe with the upcoming elections, he needs our assistance.
“No.” Bones’s head finally snaps up, his eyes wild. The man looks like a caged animal who’s been locked in his room for too long. “Just monitoring things.” He shakes his head then looks back down. His fingers type even faster, and then the image of Zoey Pritchard disappears, and his screens go black.
He stands. His movements abrupt. “I’m ready. Let’s go before we’re late.”
I’m inclined to ask him what the hell that was all about, but he’s ten paces too fast for me, and I need to talk to Shayna before I head into church.
3
Wynter
“Wynter! Open up!”
Fuck, that’s loud. My head pounds, and my stomach rolls as I reach for my covers.
“Go away! I’m sleeping.” It’s too much movement for my throbbing head, but then comes another knock. Shouldn’t Martin be at work? It’s almost two in the afternoon.
“Wynter!”
That doesn’t sound like my stepfather. It sounds like Vale, but my ears are clogged so I’m probably hearing wrong.
“You’ve got three seconds to open up, sis, or I’m busting the thing down.” It is Vale. Fuck. What the hell is he doing here?
Another pound and I have no choice but to drag myself out of bed, feeling my head spin as I stand.
“Three, two…”
“All right. All right.” My voice sounds like a croaking frog with a smoker’s cough. All I want is for the pounding to stop. For the knocking to stop resonating inside my skull.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, leaning on the door for support as I open it. I lose my balance as it slides farther across the carpet. It’s a struggle to get it steady.
“Shit. Are you still drunk?”
Maybe. All I know is I’m exhausted and he’s compounding my hangover with a strong dose of his frustration. Of all the days he decided to stop by, it had to be today. I haven’t seen or heard from him in forever. He’s been too busy being a criminal for that Savage gang he runs with now.
“I’m fine.” I try to pry my eyes open. They’re so heavy, and it’s way too bright. I feel like I need sunglasses. “What do you want?”
As soon as I get my eyes open, I want to run and duck for cover back in my bed. I’m too hungover to deal with the onslaught of judgment burning in his eyes as he looks at me. I’m sure I look like death warmed over. I probably smell like it too. I sniff my hair, and the strands smell like stale beer. Gross. I need a shower. But sleep first. Lots and lots of sleep.
He shoves past my door, stalking right in with his huge frame. Invading my space. I hobble around him, climbing back in bed and under the covers. I’m not sure why he’s here, but he can leave now.
“Need you to tell me what’s going on with you, sis.”
I peek out from under my comforter and see him staring. He’s probably counting how many bags I have under each of my eyes. I’m a mess, and he looks unnervingly good. He usually doesn’t wear his leather cut when he comes to visit. I don’t think he likes to remind his dad that he’s a one-percenter and runs around with a bunch of criminals. My mom likes to call my friends lowlifes, but at least they don’t kill people. I’ve heard therumors about the Savage Knights, and I’m sure our parents have too.
“Are you going to answer me?”
I was hoping that he’d disappear, but unfortunately, he’s still here, looking even more frustrated.
“I was out late drinking. Nothing’s going on.”
