Bite: A Shifters of Theria Novel (26 page)

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

AN EYE FOR AN EYE

Mel is still at the bar, and for once, I’m actually happy to see him. He’s my ticket out, my sacrificial lamb—and what better lamb to sacrifice than the one that stole my money, kidnapped me, imprisoned me, and then sold me to a gang of ruthless criminals?

I take a seat in a dark corner of the bar, shawl still over my head, and gaze locked on Mel. He hasn’t noticed my re-entry; seemingly much more interested in a group of drinkers nestled in one of the bar’s many nooks. I have to fake a bathroom run in order to see the drinkers myself.

Three men, a few beers in, share laughs and innocent, casual conversation. It isn’t until closer inspection that I notice the coat rack next to their booth, draped with black hats and long black coats. They’re Pesconi’s men, off duty. Judging by their nonchalant merriment, they don’t know that their employer murdered four of their friends. Or maybe they’re numb to Carmine’s callousness. Who knows?

By the time the men settle their tab and stand to leave, my eyes are heavy and I’ve lost count of the passing hours. The bar is quiet and empty save for Mel and the off-duty thugs. Mel ducks his chin as the men head for the door. He slips a few territs onto the bar and then stands up to follow.

I make my move, slipping behind Mel as he heads to the door with his chin down and his hands buried in his pockets.

“Stop following them,” I say quietly.

Mel spins around swiftly and his eyes widen as they land on me. He opens his mouth, stutters, but I cut him off.

“Sit down.” I nod my head towards an empty nook.

He hesitates, stuttering again. Judging by his state of confusion, I am the last person he thought he would see in Vianna. He looks around and through his teeth he says, “Get the hell out of here.”

“Sit down,” I repeat.

“No.” He turns to leave.

I say, “It’s a trap,” and he stops, this time not looking back at me. He keeps his gaze fixed on the group of men as they shrink into the distance. I can hear him sighing. “They’re setting you up. Sit down.”

He turns to me, his mouth crooked as he bites down on his tongue. His nostrils flare out with each shallow inhalation. “How do you know?” he says with his teeth still clenched.

I tell him again to sit down, and he does.

“They know you’ve been following them. They have a guy following you, too. He’s outside right now, waiting for you to leave the bar.”

“How do you know?” he asks.

I hold my eye-contact. “Because I heard them taking about it, over at Pesconi’s house—right before they killed your friend, Nicky.” My heart jumps. I faintly heard Mel say the name back at the Holiday Inn before he left—something about filling in until they found Nicky. As far as I know, they could have found Nicky. As far as I know, I’m digging myself into a hole.

Mel stares into my eyes, the same way the police do when they’re trying to get you to talk—when they want you to think they’ve got evidence, when they really have none. “Where’s Nicky?”

“I told you. He’s dead. They killed him.” I keep my gaze locked on his eyes. Everything is riding on whether or not Mel buys my story.

“How do you know?” He leans back in his chair and peeks out the pub’s front window.

“Don’t look out there. If they know you’re talking to me, they’ll kill both of us. You need to go back to the caravan, and you need to leave tonight.”

Mel slams his fist down on the table. His face is almost as red as his hair. “What the hell are you on about? Look—I don’t know how you got here from Ilium, but listen to me carefully. You aren’t getting those territs. They weren’t at that pawn shop. They’re gone—already melted down, god knows where. So you can give it up already.” How I got here from Ilium? I want to scream at the ginger bastard. Why am I here? Because you sold me out, you piece of shit.

“I don’t care about the territs,” I say.

“Then what do you want?” Mid-sentence, Mel drops the volume of his loudening voice. He leans in close. “Why are you here?” he asks, through clenched teeth.

“Your friend Nicky died so I could escape—so I could tell you to go back to your caravan, and warn them not to move forward.”

Mel is silent, brooding, his eyes glazed over.

“The only reason I’m here, risking my life to tell you this, is because your friend died for me. I thought, the least I can do is pass on his message.”

Mel maintains his silence. His foot begins rapidly tapping against the floor, almost matching the rhythm of my heart. He says, “And where are we supposed to go instead?”

“Cidessa. Nicky said they won’t find you in Cidessa.”

“Cidessa?” His tone has relaxed; his volume has lowered. If he doesn’t believe me, he’s damn close.

I tell him that he has to move now, that Pesconi will be en-route in the morning. He takes a minute to process everything. Once he does, he asks about Nicky, asks how he died, and what he told them. I tell him that Nicky said nothing.

Mel takes out his phone, but I stop him. “You’re phone is bugged,” I say. “They’ve been listening to you for two days now.” His pupils are dilated and his shoulders are tense. If it wasn’t for my overhanging shawl, Mel would be able to see that my pupils were dilated and my shoulders were tense, too. “That’s why you need to go to them and tell them in person.”

Mel stands up. He is still for a moment as he digs his hands into his pockets. “Thanks,” he says in a meek tone of voice, as if thanking me is somehow an acknowledgement of defeat. He doesn’t realize that that’s exactly what it is. He turns to the front door.

“Where are you going?” I ask.

He looks back at me with an eyebrow raised questioningly.

“We’ll leave through the back,” I say.

“We?” His mouth hangs open after he says it.

“I helped you. Now you can help me.”

He grimace, but he doesn’t take the time to question me. “C’mon,” he says, motioning me to follow him.

We stick to the alleyways, only crossing the cobblestone bridges when we’re sure no one is watching—when Mel is sure no one is watching. I’m always sure. At the edge of the floating town is a ladder that descends into the lake where a small inflatable boat awaits our arrival.

The boat isn’t meant for two, sinking precariously low into the water once we’re both inside. I’m careful not to make any sudden movements, so the cold lake water doesn’t seep over the boat’s edges. It would be easier if Mel wasn’t rowing so hard, if he wasn’t in such a rush to get back to his caravan. I can see it in his eyes—that urgency, that crippling responsibility. My plan worked; he’s convinced that the lives of his family are now on his shoulders. He’s right, but for all the wrong reasons. He is Death’s unknowing escort, and I’m Death.

We reach the wooded shore and walk for ten minutes through the thick forest before finding Mel’s campsite: a tent, a fire pit, and a horse tied to a nearby tree. Mel is quick to pack up his things. He hasn’t uttered a word since we left the bar.

I appreciate his urgency. I wish someone would have tipped me off before our gang was busted. I wish someone who we were being set up would have had the same urgency Mel has now. Maybe then no one would have died. Maybe the bust wouldn’t have happened at all. I wish Mel wasn’t taking this so seriously. Why couldn’t he just take off, and save himself. I could slip Porsha’s card into the horse’s saddlebag. Then I wouldn’t have to lose any sleep; I wouldn’t have an entire extended family on my conscious.

Mel mounts the horse and looks down at me. “Get on,” he says, reaching his hand out.

I hesitate. I want to tell him the truth, tell him that bringing me with him means his family facing the wrath of Carmine Pesconi: Freddie and Mel’s whole family in exchange for my peace of mind.

I take Mel’s hand.