Page 163 of Rosetti Family New York
I'm going to punch him. I'm too tired to run, but I can still punch him. "Like what?"
"Like the cops won't help. They're on the Callahans' payroll."
My mouth is dry. "And you're not?"
"Do I look like a cop?"
"You look like a jerk."
For a second, the shadow of a grin. Then it's gone. He shrugs again, like all of this is nothing. Like Maddy's death, chasing me halfway across the city, showing up here is just a normal Tuesday night for him. Maybe it is.
"I know how to keep you alive, if that's what you want," he says.
"I want to know why you're helping me."
His eyes catch mine, holding them, daring me to look away. "You interest me," he says. "Either brave or stupid."
"And you're just...what?" I challenge. "Trying to figure me out?"
"Maybe." He sounds like he's enjoying this. Maybe I'm the first interesting thing to happen in a while.
My lips curl into a sneer. "You didn't answer me. Who are you?"
This time, a full-blown grin. A flash of white teeth. It doesn't reach his eyes, but somehow it's realer than anything else that's happened tonight. It transforms his face, softening the hard edges just enough to make my breath catch. "Someone who knows more than you do," he says, maddeningly vague.
I fold my arms across my chest, trying to look like I'm not freezing. Trying to ignore how that smile affects me, how it sends an unwelcome warmth spreading through my veins. "And you want to share all that useful knowledge...why?"
He stares at me for a long moment. Long enough that I think maybe he's changed his mind. That maybe now he will shoot me, leave me on the sidewalk with my cracked phone and the stupid belief that he wasn't going to kill me.
Instead, he turns on his heel and walks away. "Come with me if you want to know."
I should stay here. Wait for the cops that he says are never coming. Call someone. Run some more.
But the name Callahan rings in my ears.
The alley is darker than I remembered. He's already halfway down it when I start to follow.
He doesn't slow down, doesn't turn around, but I can feel his satisfaction. My feet move of their own accord, drawn to him by some force I don't understand. Each step closer to him makes my pulse quicken, and not just from fear. There's something magnetic about him, something that pulls at me despite every instinct screaming to run the other way.
I hate him a little for that. And for making me believe I might have answers.
It's freezing, but I'm sweating. I just ran a damn marathon.
"Not as fit as you thought, huh?" He sounds amused, the jerk. "Need me to carry you?"
I stop, giving him my best glare. He stands beneath a streetlight, his breath misting around him. The gun at his waist still in plain sight. For a second, I consider turning back. Consider trying my luck on my own, without him.
"You're freezing," he says, as though I don't know. "Put this on."
Something flies through the air and lands at my feet. It's his leather jacket. He's just wearing a t-shirt now. A really nice t-shirt that shows off the kind of muscles that a regular person shouldn't have. I try not to stare at the way the fabric stretchesacross his chest, at the defined arms now exposed to the cold. He doesn't even shiver, and I wonder if anything affects him at all.
"I'm fine," I say, teeth chattering.
"Brave and stupid, then," he replies, deadpan.
"I'm not freezing," I insist. "Just...chilly."
I'm a terrible liar. But somehow, I'm not scared of him. I should be. Maddy's dead, but I'm not scared.
