“You have any idea who he is?”
“I told you, we’re just-”
“Right, you’re just friends,” Agent Marlow spits. “Let me tell you about your friend, Ms. Hammond.”
He reaches into his trench coat and pulls out a manila folder, which he slaps onto the hood of the car in front of me.
“Have a look.”
“I- no, thanks.”
“It wasn’t a request.”
I shiver as my eyes dart to his dark brown ones, narrowed menacingly at me. Slowly, I open the folder and glance down.
My hand flies to my mouth, and I shove the folder away.
“No-”
“Keep looking,” Agent Marlow snarls.
I swallow back the horror as he shoved the folder back my way.
The body is face down in the photograph, blood soaked into the carpet around it and still leaking from the two huge holes in its back.
“Keep going,” Agent Marlow says darkly.
I choke on my breath as I flip to the next page, almost throwing up - charred bodies in a blackened room.
“You ever burned down a garage?”
“Two. And an apartment building, an underground gambling spot, and three cars.” He frowns. “Four cars.”
And very suddenly, I realize Agent Marlow is right: I don’t have any idea who Connor is.
“This is just his day-to-day shit, by the way. This folder is a snapshot. I got a whole fucking drawer on the guy back at the office. Trust me, it gets worse.”
I shake my head, looking away and trying to swallow back the nausea. “Why are you showing me this?”
“To show you what you’re dealing with. You think the Dark Saints are this fun little gang of rascals? Some punk kids who like to get in bar fights and spray paint walls?” Marlow sneers. “This ain’t a game, kid. These guys aren’t hosting illegal poker tournaments and betting on fucking horses, this is some real shit. The Saints are in it all - corruption, guns, murder, drugs, all of it.”
He slams the folder shut and steps towards me, making me shiver as I back into the side of the Charger.
“I’m showing you this because I’d like your help.”
I shake my head. “No, I don’t want any part of-”
“I don’t actually care what you want, Ms. Hammond.”
“Excuse me?”
“Arson is a serious fucking charge. Arson means no more graduate program, no law program, none of it.” He smiles wickedly. “Plus, a family like yours? With the prestige they hold over there in Shelter Harbor?” He shakes his head, making tsking noises. “Your dad’s a reverend, right?”
“What do you want,” I hiss through clenched teeth.
“Information.”
His hand goes to the pocket of his drab trench coat and comes back out. He places the flip-phone on the hood of Connor’s car.
“I want to know what’s going on up in that little bachelor pad of his. I want to know when he leaves, or when you do, or when you both decide you’re done playing house and decide to move locations.”
“I’m not going to spy-”
“You are, actually,” he hisses. “You’re painted into a corner, missy. Play nice, and you get to walk away from this. I don’t give a shit about your little lover’s quarrel and some shitty death trap of a practice space burning down. No one got hurt, and I fuckin’ hate modern rock music. What I do care about is nailing Roarke, because he’s the key to the rest of the Saints. Understand?”
Marlow’s jaw clenches as he stares me down, his hand still on the burner phone.
“You help out, I forget about your little stunt. Do we understand each other?”
I swallow. Slowly, I nod.
Marlow smiles thinly. “Have a good night with your friend, Ms. Hammond. Think about what I’m saying to you. Listen to what I’m saying to you. Whatever you think this is? Playing house with the mobster? Whatever little phase you think you’re going through?”
I can feel my teeth clench, something that feels like anger rising up inside.
Marlow laughs. “You think you’re the first girl who thinks he’s hot shit?” He grins. “Ask him about Sheila.”
There’s ice in my veins - a cold chill that sinks into me.
Agent Marlow smiles grimly. “Go ask him about the last girl who fell for his whole bad boy shtick, and we’ll see if you aren’t calling me the second you can ready to spill everything.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Connor
She’s quiet when she comes back up, only giving me the most vague and cursory of answers when I ask how it went. I could press, but I don’t.
Her family shit is her own thing, and that’s not what this is. What happened tonight was just…shit, I don’t even know.