Benito’s heart skipped a beat, adrenaline and guilt sparking a slow tattoo in his chest he’d been dreading all day. You’re growing a conscience.
He’d said those words to Asa once.
Asa had laughed, and yet . . . he’d still set Luis Pope free.
Maybe—
Benito killed the thought before it took hold.
Focus.
His gaze flickered to the clock. Nine on a night he’d planned to while away driving for Uber and sending Mickey thirsty texts, and now he was going to spend it tailing the BMW who the fuck knew where, praying the piece-of-shit car he’d bought could keep up until it was time to strike.
Benito counted heads. Four in total. Too many to fight on his own, but he was banking on one of them staying behind to clean house in the unit. I can take three. It was a risk, but with a haul the size Benito was witnessing on the move, if he won, it was over . . . if he could shift the product, bank the money, and somehow convince Asa to accept his own cash as payment for Benito’s freedom.
You’re insane. It wasn’t the first time the thought had crossed Benito’s mind, but he was starting to care less. If he lost tonight, he was finished, but staying tied to Asa for the rest of his life, caught in a lie he couldn’t escape, he was dead anyway.
The crew loading the BMW finished up. They fixed the wheels back on and resealed the boot. Then, as Benito had predicted, three of them got in the car while the last remained behind.
Nino Moretti climbed behind the wheel. Benito eyed him, wondering why he’d never crossed his radar in a meaningful way before. Had he been a foot soldier all along? A cog in Asa’s hidden machine that had taken Benito down? Or was he a grunt? A kid who’d come up too fast and was now way out of his depth.
The last option suited Benito better. He waited for the BMW to cruise out of the unit and leave the car park. The metal door descended, shielding the remaining crew member and concealing Benito’s escape.
He started the Fiesta. It spluttered to life and he cringed. Fuck, I’ll be lucky to make it out of the city. As if being behind enemy lines wasn’t risky enough.
Nerves wound tight, he nursed the Fiesta out of the car park and into the labyrinth of the industrial estate. There were five different ways to get to the main road. The most obvious was the second longest. The shortest involved a series of twists and turns Benito figured a new guy on the crew perhaps wouldn’t know.
He took the short route, and sure enough, up ahead, the BMW emerged from the longer one at the right moment for Benito to slide into the slip road behind a lorry he’d allowed to pass. The slip road merged into a dual carriageway. So close to the city, even this late, the road was busy. Traffic zipped past, and it took all Benito’s concentration to keep the BMW in sight as he kept a safe distance.
The miles disappeared as he trailed the BMW away from the city and back in the direction from which he’d come. It was a cold night. Frigid wind whistled through the busted window and blasted the side of his face until it ached. But the pain kept him sharp. Running on a few snatched hours of sleep, he was starting to feel the strain of being so tightly wound, and he needed this shit to go down fast and without a hitch.
He’d already earmarked a location to run the beamer off the road. He just had to get there.
They hit the A5 and flew north. Benito eyed the junction that would’ve taken him to Mickey’s house, and his stomach clenched. Tomorrow. But what if he didn’t make it? What if tonight was where it ended and he never saw Mickey again?
Gianna. Benito’s heart lurched. What would happen to her? All this time he’d fought to keep her safe, but if he didn’t come home, who the fuck would fight for her then?
This is only just occurring to you?
Of course it wasn’t, but as the B road where he’d make his move drew ever closer, fear like he’d never felt before set in.
Doubt.
Guilt.
Or maybe it was reality and he’d been too dumb-fuck stupid to face it before.
Heart pounding, he fumbled for his phone—the legitimate one he’d turned off when he’d abandoned his SUV. He switched it on and waited a lifetime for it to power up. Then he scrolled through his recent contacts and placed a call on speakerphone without stopping to think about what he was doing.
Mickey answered on the third ring. “Hey.”
“Hey.” Benito snatched a shaky breath. “You okay?”
At Mickey’s end, a door closed and then rustling, as if he had crawled onto his bed. “Yup. Just got out the shower. Are you driving?”
“Yeah.”
“Bored?”
I wish. “Maybe,” Benito hedged. “I, uh, kind of just wanted to hear your voice. Is that weird?”
“Weird for you, maybe. You don’t seem the type to be so fucking cute.”
In spite of the tension straining Benito’s nerves, he rolled his eyes and let the customary warmth Mickey always brought him fill his chest. “I’m not cute.”
“You’re not,” Mickey agreed. “You’re too hot for that. What time are you clocking off?”
“When it’s done,” Benito replied without thinking.
Mickey chuckled. “Sounds ominous. I don’t know how Uber works, to be honest. I’m a control freak, so I drive myself everywhere.”
“I’ve noticed, apart from that one time you didn’t. What would you have done if I hadn’t been there? You wouldn’t have—”
“Driven drunk? No way. I’d have swallowed the cab fare or gone home with Jaiden.”
“The barman?”
“Yeah. We were almost friends once.”
“You fucked him?”
“Is it gonna bother you if I say yes?”
Benito changed lanes, keeping a sharp eye on the BMW as the exits ticked by. Three more. “It shouldn’t. I’ve fucked other people.”
“But?”
“How do you know there’s a but?”
“I don’t. I’m guessing.”
“Good guess.”
“How so?”
Benito spoke without thought. Again. “I want you all to myself.”
“You have me all to yourself.” Mickey sounded surprised. “You think I’m fucking other people?”
“No.”
“I’m not. I haven’t even thought about it. I thought we covered this at the club that night.”
Maybe they had. Sometimes, with Mickey, Benito couldn’t clearly discern what they’d said aloud from what had happened in his dreams. “I’m sorry.”
“What for?”
“For calling you up for chats that make no sense.”
“Chats, bruv.” Mickey mimicked Benito’s southeast accent and matched his street talk. “Seriously, though. Don’t be sorry. Life’s fucking complicated. Just let it happen.”
“That’s a pretty zen philosophy.”
“For me, or in general?”
“For you. You’re a control freak, according to your own gospel.”
Mickey laughed for real this time. “Yeah, well. I’m full of shit. You’ll learn this if you stick around.”
“I don’t want to go anywhere.”
“Then don’t.”
The air turned serious again. There were so many things Benito needed to say, but his throat closed up.