Fucking Gunter ruining everything. I turn and lean on the car beside him, dropping my head back to face the fading blue sky. “I might be with the guy, but I’ve never wanted him.”

“Doesn’t stop it being complicated if you try to leave, does it?”

I sigh, and look across at Bronson. His face is so . . . disappointed. “If I knew somebody who makes me feel like you do existed, I would never have started anything with him.” Not that I would have had much choice. It was basically accept Gunter’s advances and learn to live with him, or sleep every night with one eye open, waiting for him to get frustrated enough to just take what he wanted anyway.

“I feel like we’ve known each other before, you know?” His gaze searches mine for understanding. “I only met you a few weeks ago, but you’re familiar.”

I nod. “I know what you mean, but it’s not possible, is it?” I give him a small smile, pained and sad. “We don’t even know a thing about each other besides our names.”

He flinches, and I can’t figure out why. “So let’s do it,” he challenges. “Spend time with me, and we’ll get to know each other.”

“How?” I ask. “I’ve got the whole English mafia over there watching my every move. They’ve probably sent somebody to see what’s taking you so long.”

He holds his hands out, wriggling his fingers. “Hand over your phone.”

“I can’t have your number in there.”

He frowns. “You’re kiddin’, right?”

I shake my head. “Unfortunately not. Gunter goes through it every chance he gets.”

“You get paper bills?”

My turn to frown. “No. Why?”

“So he won’t see your record, just what’s on your phone?”

“Yeah, that’s right.”

He wiggles his fingers again with his hand held out. “Pass it over.”

After cursing at the black hole that is my purse, I locate the damn phone and hand it over. “What are you going to do?”

His fingers fly across the screen and a buzz sounds from his pocket. “I’m sending myself a message so I have your number, and”—he bites his top lip in concentration—“removing the message from your folders.” He waves the phone in the air before handing it back. “No trace.”

I laugh softly, shaking my head as I put it back in my purse. “Sneaky.”

“When it matters.” He smiles, making me hate the thought of returning to Eddie’s gazebo that much more.

“We better get back before someone finds where we’ve gone.”

“I guess.”

“It’s impossible, isn’t it,” I ask. “It’d never work.”

“Impossible is only a state of mind,” he teases, nudging my arm. “Live a little and take a risk.”

Take a risk. I feel like that’s all I’ve done since I ran away from my burning house—taken risks. I screw this one up, though, and I lose any chance at getting a square answer on what the hell my parents did to warrant Harris taking their lives. I look over and catch Bronson’s watchful eye. “Fine. Meet me tonight,” I say. “Just know that this is a bigger risk than you’ll ever realize for me.”

“It’s no light decision for me either, darlin’.” He stares ahead, worry clear in his furrowed brow.

Seeing my fears echoed in his expression remind me I’m not the only person who could stand to loose something here. I don’t know the first thing about Bronson, let alone where he’s come from. It could be just as risky for him to be seen pursuing me. The sooner we get time alone, the better. I want to know all there is to know about this handsome stranger. “If I give you a location, can you meet me there? Pick me up?”

“What you goin’ to do?” he asks, eyebrows raised. “Sneak out your bedroom window?”

I look him square in the eye and smile. “Yeah, I am.”

THE DEAL

Bronx

I try to keep my eyes off her on the walk back to Eddie, but I fail . . . miserably. Can I be blamed though when I have a woman as striking as her by my side? I’m done for when she stumbles as her heel sinks to heavily into the grass, causing her to instinctively reach out for something to steady her. Ryan’s tattooed hand wraps around my forearm as she rights herself, and a bashful smile creeps across her lips.

“Thank you,” she says quietly.

I miss the contact the second she pulls her hand away and walks on, albeit a little slower. I hang back for a few seconds before catching up, watching the way her jet-black hair shines like a raven’s feather in the sunlight, and wondering if this whole thing was a part of Eddie’s test.

It couldn’t be. Why? Because she seems so genuinely attracted? I’ve learnt the hard way over the years that women can be pretty fucking convincing when they want to be. Several grand lost to opportunistic whores would back that theory up. Who’s to say she isn’t just faking it as well, playing a part given to her by Eddie?

Maybe the rat is being played by another rat?

I shake my head as I jog to catch up to her, refusing to believe it could be the case. Ryan turns her head as I fall in to line beside her again, smiling, and it’s fucking genuine; the soft curl of her lips to the light in her eyes. There’s no way somebody could fake something so beautiful.

By the time we make it back to the gazebo, the sun has started its mid-afternoon decline. Raised voices drift toward us as we approach, and parents usher their children away from the direction of Eddie’s site with concerned looks on their faces.

Ryan’s pace increases, worry clear in her bright blue eyes. “Shit, this isn’t good.”

Gunter and Taylor are either side of a man who’s fighting their hold, trying to get at the old Pommy bastard where he sits on his throne. The man’s neck is corded with his rage, his arms flexing as he tries to pull free, screaming accusations about chalked product and being burned.

Eddie pushes from his seat as we arrive on the scene, marching towards the man. He punches the guy square in the nose, sending blood over his shirt. “Tommy, I want you to take a note of this man’s name. He’s being cut.” Eddie leans down in the now quiet man’s face and sneers. “You fuckin’ show ya ugly mug around here again tellin’ me how it is, you little dippin’ bastard, and I’ll fuckin’ pay your children a visit. You hear?”

“Yeah,” the man mutters.

Eddie rips the guy’s head upward, holding him in position with a fistful of hair. “I didn’t quite hear you, sunshine.”

“I said, yeah, I hear you.”

“Let ’im go, boys,” Eddie instructs turning away. “Taylor, show ’im off the property.” The men let go of the subdued, yet still angry man, and Eddie’s right-hand man gives him a shove toward the gate.

The dealer spins, taking one last snipe at the drug boss. “Your days are numbered, old man. Keep fucking us over like you do, and we’ll bring you down.”

Taylor grips the guy about the upper arm, pulling him away. “Get your hands off me,” the dealer hollers, shrugging the skinner off. “I know my way.”

Taylor escorts him anyway.

Seems King’s plan at stealing unhappy dealers from underneath Eddie’s nose isn’t so far-fetched after all. It sure appears that the man’s already burning his bridges.

“What the fuck took you so long?”

I swing my gaze back to Eddie as he takes a seat, his chest heaving with exertion. When a guy has a crew of thugs to do the dirty work for him, he’s bound to get unfit. Noted.

“I had to freshen up,” Ryan lies with the precision of a seasoned pro, flaring my suspicion again. “He tried to hurry me up, but you know I hate listening to your pet dogs.”

Eddie chuckles, his hand to his chest. “Love, if ya weren’t a fuckin’ American, I’d swear you were me own daughter.”

She smiles sweetly at the fuck and wanders over to have a seat beside him. “Sorted the lists for you while I had some peace and quiet.” She lifts off the top two sheets from that damn clipboard she had in her hands when I found her. I should have asked her what it was. “The ones with a mark are the guys you need to follow up on.”