Page 85 of Darcy
“We were assholes,” I admit, trying to deflect her attention. “But, baby girl, we were trying to protect you. We’re always going to do that, even if you are a badass assassin.”
She raises a brow. “I get that—and I feel the same way about you—but in the process, I lost my best friends. It was everything I feared would happen when we went down this path.” She sighs and pins Slate with a look. “You didn’t even try to hide the fact you were just trying to use me to fix your band. This whole thing”—she waves a hand between the five of us—“was built on a toxic foundation of lies from the very start.”
Then, without waiting for any more of our bullshit excuses, she turns on her heel and strides from the room, leaving us in her wake.
None of us speaks for a while. I’m not really sure how you follow up that whole conversation. Sully is alive—if barely—Darcy is an assassin, and if she succeeds, we’ll be free men.
Arlo stands, and I move to follow automatically, only to freeze as he pins me in place with his glare. “I don’t have coke in my room,” he growls. “You already checked, remember? The best thing that ever happened to us just walked out of our lives for good, all because—” He cuts off, breath shuddering out in a rush. “Just… just leave me alone.”
His door slams a second later.
Prophet takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, then starts packing away the first aid kit.
He pauses in his doorway, looking back at Slate and me. “It was the right thing to do. She was too good for us.”
Then his door is closed, and once again, it’s me and Slate. I glance at my room, then dismiss it. On nights like this, I don’t sleep. I lie in bed, getting more worked up. I grab my coat, ready to head out, but Slate steps in front of the elevator before I can go.
“Prophet’s wrong,” he says. “I should never have listened to him before. Look where it got us. We were on the right damned path until I started doubting myself.”
I scrub my hand down my face. “We’ve ruined this.”
Just like we ruin everything we touch. At least our band name is still fitting.
“So you’re going to let it all fall apart rather than fixing it?” he demands. “You know we can’t let her go, Dodge. She’s it. The missing piece. Prophet’s too stubborn or too noble to see it. Arlo is too lost right now to fight for her like he wants to. It’s up to us.” He pauses, then hammers the final nail in my coffin. “If she kills Miguel, and the band splits up, there’s nothing left for either of us to go back to.”
I swallow at the reminder. He’s right. Prophet has his family. Arlo has Emma. Slate and I don’t have anyone.
“She’s right. We fucked up.”
Slate shakes his head. “She’sitfor us, man. And she’s wrong; the foundation wasn’t lies, it was a solid decade of unshakeable friendship. That’s not something we can replace, ever. That’s something you fight for.”
I grimace, unconvinced, but he doesn’t budge.
“Do you love her?” he demands.
“What kind of question is that?”
“Do. You. Love. Her?”
I pace away from him, running my hand through my hair to get it out of my face. “You know the answer.”
I’ve been in love with her since we first met. It’s so wrong, but I silently prayed for her to break up with every one of those losers she was dating before, just so I could listen to her cries of pleasure through my headphones and pretend she was mine again.
Slate stops me before I can pace again, his hand on my shoulder. “So do I. Which means we need to apologise like our lives depend on it and fucking fight for her.”
But what if we fight, and it all falls down, anyway? What if she never comes round, and the band falls apart, and everything we’ve worked so hard to save is left in ruins? And what can a bunch of delinquent musicians possibly have to offer an assassin?
I’m so conflicted as I meet his dark eyes, and he must sense that, because the harsh lines between his brows soften.
“Everything we want,” he murmurs. “Is on the other side of fear.”
Taking a deep breath, I blink and nod. “What’s the plan?”
He swallows, looking away for a second. “She wanted honesty, right?” I nod. “Then we give her honesty. All of it. The whole sorry story.”
Twenty-Nine
Darcy
