“I said, wake up!”

Evan shot up in bed, panicked by the booming voice. When his eyes adjusted to the dark room, he found himself at the end of a very large gun.

“What the…?” he shouted, scrambling back, trying to press himself into the headboard. Evan’s panicked voice cracked like a pubescent boy’s.

“Go ahead and try to run, it will only make this more enjoyable.”

The voice was cold and sickly evil. It sent a terror-filled chill down his spine when his eyes finally landed on its owner. He could barely see the man standing over him in the shadows, but his identity was unmistakable.

“Rob? How did you get in here?”

Dread settled in his stomach, making him nauseous. Fear prickled across his skin, and he knew his time was limited.

“I found your little shrine to Monica,” Rob said, waving his gun toward the hall. “I took it all down. Don’t want a piece of shit like you to be connected to my girl in any way. You’re quite the fucking stalker.”

“No. It’s not what you think! I swear!”

“What is it, then? You working for Moloney?”

“Who?” Evan asked.

“That’s what I thought. How long?”

“How long what?” Evan’s eyes scanned the room, searching for an escape.

“How long have you been stalking her?”

“I haven’t been stal—”

Mort placed his gun to Evan’s forehead.

“I dare you to finish that sentence.”

“Ni-nine months,” Evan stuttered.

“Ah, so in all fairness you did find her first. Too bad. I just needed her for a job. She was my link to someone else. But she got me. I couldn’t help but want her.”

“So you understand,” Evan hedged, “her appeal. How amazing she is.”

“I understand her in a way you never will.”

“I’ll stop. I swear. I’ll leave her alone. Just let me live,” Evan begged through heaving breaths.

“Such a fucking coward. That’s not dedication. You’re willing to give her up to save yourself. She’s worth way more than that. It’s too late for you.”

“What can I do? What do you want?” Evan asked, thinking he’d trade anything to save his own life.

“I wanted you to stay away from my girl, but you just couldn’t help yourself.”

Rob placed the end of the silencer to Evan’s forehead and before the man could even beg for his life, he pulled the trigger. He didn’t wait around to watch the light fade from Evan’s eyes, he didn’t need to. The kill itself had been more satisfying than anything he’d ever felt. This man was a thief, out to steal his most prized possession.

The next evening’s news would report that Evan Randal, thirty-eight, was found dead in his home by his housekeeping service. There were no signs of forced entry and no witnesses. The police had no suspects.

The boundary between night and day on a celestial body.

Barry stood near the corner of Chartres Street and Ursulines, awaiting the arrival of his former colleague. He leaned against the building, cupping his hand so that his cigarette would light in the night breeze. Though he’d never left the South, he hadn’t grown jaded or indifferent to its charms. He enjoyed the damp city air and the jarring horns of the passing river barges.

When not working for Dean Moloney, he loved to pass the time fishing. There was a peace to being in the space between water and sky. He felt small and insignificant there. It was a calm feeling, void of responsibility. His daughter always worried when he went out alone. She would tell him to wear his life jacket and don’t drink too much beer and always bring his cell phone. He would laugh at their role reversal and ask her how a cell phone could prevent him from drowning.

Sometimes Barry imagined sinking into the warm brackish water and feeling it fill his lungs. He thought it wouldn’t be such a bad way to go. On the other hand, it was also easy to imagine himself living out his last days drowned in women and whiskey from the Quarter.

He was an old man now. His graying hair and leathered face left nothing up for debate. His waist size and his bank account had expanded over the years, but not much else. What his physical age hadn’t taken from him, his time in the business had.

Moloney shared secrets with Barry. He confided in him and trusted him. While Barry respected and had pledged his life to this man, he knew the sentiment was not returned. Most days, he felt like an overdressed errand boy. This business was messy and dangerous. Anytime Moloney didn’t want to get his hands dirty, it became Barry’s job. He’d been taking orders for thirty years and was resigned to do so for the rest of his life.

Barry was uneasy about this meeting. His insides were churning as he thought about anyone catching him here. He was taking a huge risk meeting with Tristan, but he owed it to him. The boy had twice saved his ass during deals gone sour. It was the least he could do.

In all his years, he’d never met anyone like Tristan. The kid was smart—not just street smart but genuinely gifted. He had a cool head and a sharp eye. It hadn’t surprised Barry in the least when he’d quickly climbed through the ranks. Of course, it didn’t hurt that he was banging Moloney’s daughter. The news of Tristan’s departure from the organization had shocked Barry; he had figured him for a lifer.

As if on cue, Tristan rounded the corner, his appearance taking Barry by surprise. He was much larger now, a man in every way, and his tattoos had multiplied over the years. His trademark mess of inky black hair had been shaved down. Barry didn’t understand why kids these days wanted to look like damned hooligans. He was more of a tailored suit and silk tie kind of man.

“Barry, good to see you,” Tristan said, offering him a one-armed hug.

“You too,” he replied, stomping out his cigarette. “Shall we?”

Tristan nodded and followed him inside. The hostess, recognizing the regular, sat them in the back corner and immediately returned with two cold beers.

“Wow. Great service,” Tristan pointed out.

“You have no idea,” Barry answered.

They both laughed and fell into an easy conversation summarizing the last couple years. When this was done, Barry found himself at the bottom of his beer and the end of his patience.

“Down to business, then.”

“Well, the short version is that Moloney wants my girl dead and I need to know why.”

“I know he has a hit out on some cop’s kid, but nothing else. You remember Chief Delaune from Gretna, right? Ah, you would have been a youngster then. Back in the day, he couldn’t get anything on Moloney himself, so he ended up arresting a group of us for stacked misdemeanors. Delaune shut down business for nearly six months.”

Tristan nodded silently, wanting to extract as much information as possible.

“After the conviction, Moloney had Conners take out the chief’s wife. Made it look like an accident. Ol’ Earl Delaune must have gotten the message loud and clear because he took his kid and hauled ass across the country.”

Tristan almost growled at the dismissive way Barry spoke about Josie’s family. The rage built so rapidly, he felt a burning flush consume his body. He took a deep breath and calmed himself before speaking.

“Why is he after her? How could she possibly be a threat?”

“Ah, you know. Moloney has his reasons. Once he makes a decision, that’s it. Earl was talking to the feds, so we took him out. Was supposed to off the kid too, but she escaped. Pretty clever too. She broke a window and then hid up in an air duct. Moloney’s men thought she had squeezed through the bars on the window. When they left to search for her, she really escaped. Bested by a little girl.”

“She doesn’t remember anything.”

Barry’s eyes shoot up to meet Tristan’s, a look of genuine shock on his face.

“How would you know?”

“His daughter, that’s my girl.”

“No shit? What a small world!” Barry exclaimed. “Damn, man, that’s too bad. He’s had Mort on her for a while. How’d she stay under the radar for so long?”