After a moment, Bobby offers only a nod and then a shrug. “Told you there was something off about him.”
“Yes, you did.” And I dismissed it because I was too busy falling hard for the guy. It’s odd, but Bobby’s confirmation is somehow anticlimactic for me. I think my subconscious had already accepted it along with everything else about Sebastian that I can’t explain.
I tap the counter with my empty shot glass, waiting for another round, as I run through all kinds of questions in my head. Did Sebastian know before he met me, or did he find out at some point after? Who does he work for? Why the hell did he let me tattoo half his torso with my design?
But more worrying to me than anything else right now . . . Does he really care about me, or has this all been some big scam?
Because that will crush me.
All these thoughts are going on under the mask of calm that I’ve mastered as I throw back my drink.
Bobby watches me warily, as if he expects me to suddenly explode.
“What?” I ask, and I realize my voice is way too steady.
“I figured you’d take that news a little harder.”
I divert the subject away from me and my feelings. “If you think there’s something wrong with him, then why are you helping him?”
Bobby considers that for a long moment. “Because I don’t think he means you any harm.”
And yet he’ll probably break my heart into a million tiny pieces.
“Look, you two can hash all that out when you see him again. I don’t get involved in this shit. If you want uncomplicated, come sit on my lap. Otherwise, drink, ink, sleep . . . or shut up.”
Exactly the kind of answer I’d expect from a guy like Bobby. I wave my empty shot glass at the guy behind the bar, who promptly fills it again.
“To Ned,” Bobby says.
I clink my glass against his. “To Ned.”
FORTY-SIX
SEBASTIAN
The dilapidated trailer shows no signs of life—no lights, no sound. Apparently this is Ricky’s uncle’s property. Ricky dropped a trailer on it last year. He likes to come out here for weekends and shoot targets.
It took just over four hours for me to get to this middle-of-nowhere location, just outside Reno, Nevada. If I couldn’t see the nose of an old Chevy pickup tucked behind the trailer, I’d think Bentley had sent me here on a wild-goose chase to get me away from San Francisco and Ivy. Had I not already secured her safety, I would have dragged him here with me just to be sure.
As it is, this could be a trap.
I move quietly and slowly in the dark until I find a sizable rock to hide behind. From there, I settle in, using night-vision binoculars that I swiped from Bentley’s stash.
And I wait. For four hours, ignoring the cold, surrounded by nothing but desert and rocks and the high-pitched barks of coyotes circling their kill, until I’m sure that no one is on alert, waiting for me.
And then I move in, slithering beneath the truck and behind the tires to lie in wait.
The sky is beginning to lighten when I finally hear movement inside the trailer. Footfalls. Someone rolling out of bed.
My heart begins to race as it always does, as adrenaline kicks in, hoping that everything goes according to plan. It’s so easy for these things to derail, especially when there’s more than one person involved.
Moments later, the door swings open with a loud creak and bang. I’m careful to hide behind the wheel as I watch Mario step out, his nose still puffy and slightly discolored. His gaze drifts over the wide expanse of land. Someone else would think he’s simply taking in the terrain, but I know better.
He rounds the corner with a stretch and then pulls his sweatpants down to take his morning piss, his back to me.
That’s when I roll out, gun aimed, silencer on.
And close the distance silently, like I’ve been trained to do so well.
He deserves this. For all those girls he raped.
And to keep Ivy safe.
He deserves it because otherwise he’s going to get away with it. And maybe do it again.