Target on Our Backs (Monster in His Eyes 3)

"Ha-ha. Funny. I'm just saying..."

"You're saying you think he's in the mob," Naz says. "Look, what's his last name? Maybe this family of his is a family I know."

"I, uh..." Shit. "I don't know."

"You didn't think to ask?"

"No."

"Can't be too worried about it, then."

"I'm not worried," I say, rolling my eyes and elaborating when Naz shoots me a look of disbelief. "I don't think it makes him a threat, or that he really has ulterior motives, or anything. I'm not worried about that part. I'm just a little concerned about Melody. She's been through enough with guys. After what happened with Paul, I don't want her to get hurt anymore."

"I hate to break it to you, sweetheart, but that's not something you can control."

"I know," I say. "I just think she should know what she's getting into, you know? And if he is in the mob..."

"Then, what? You sit her down for a heart-to-heart?"

"I don't know... maybe?" I shrug. I have no idea what I'll do if my suspicions are true. "Maybe you could talk to him, scare the guy straight, so he doesn't hurt my friend?"

Naz's earlier smile erupts again, with it a laugh this time. He shakes his head, toying with my phone, running his fingers along the edges of the pink glittery case, but says nothing.

"Something funny about what I said?"

"There's a lot funny about it."

"Like what?"

"Like the fact that you want me to warn a guy away from Melody. And not just any guy... someone you suspect is connected."

"So?"

"So you say you supported me walking away, but you still think I have the same kind of pull I had when I was in. I hate to break it to you, but it just doesn't work that way. People listened to me because they were afraid of the consequences if they didn't. The downside of that is, in order to get my point across, sometimes those consequences had to happen. I have to be a man of my word. So you want me to scare him? Sure, I will. But if he doesn't listen, I'll have to take him out."

I flinch.

He notices.

A look of disappointment crosses his face.

"Empty threats will only get me killed," he explains. "It's one thing to go radio silent in the business. It's another to make the kind of promises I'm not planning to keep."

I get it.

I do.

I don't like talking about it, but I know it's true.

He's out... as out as someone like him can be. But that doesn't mean he's free of his own consequences. Doesn't mean the rules don't still apply to him.

It's a dangerous game he used to play.

I guess, in a way, he'll always have to play it.

"Yeah, I guess we don't want that," I mumble.

"I'm quite positive we don't," he says. "Besides, Melody's an adult. She doesn't need anyone meddling in her affairs. So unless this guy in any way endangers your life, what he does for a living is none of our business."

I scowl but don't respond to that assertion, even though I whole-heartedly disagree with it. She's my friend. Sure, she has to make her own decisions, but that doesn't mean it's not my business who she's hooking up with.

Friends look out for each other.

I turn my focus back to my paper, scribbling some more about perception, before packing my stuff up and putting it all away. I grab the book off the arm of the couch, the romance story written by Napoleon. "What's this about, anyway?"

"A soldier falls in love with a woman."

"Does it have a happy ending?"

He glances at me. "What do you think?"

I think not, because Naz would enjoy tragedy a hell of a lot more than he'd enjoy a happily ever after. Fictionally, of course.

I flip through the pages before settling in, tucking my feet beneath me as I open it at the beginning. It'll only take me like half an hour to read it, so why not?

"You don't happen to have any Nicholas Sparks on your bookshelf, do you?" I ask curiously.

"Of course not," he says, his voice tinged with disgust. "Although, A Walk to Remember was a decent film, so I might consider reading that book."

"Seriously?"

"Sure."

Shaking my head, I mutter, "I don't even know who you are anymore."

"I'm the same man I always was," he says, standing up. "Just a little less preoccupied with murder."

I scowl.

Again.

Naz starts to walk out but pauses in the doorway of the den. "A word of advice?"

"Uh, sure."

"Judge him by his actions and not your suspicions," he says. "Because if the only measure of a man's worth is what he does to make money, a lot of good men would be judged unfairly."

"Like you?"

"Not like me," he says. "Not sure how many times I have to tell you... I'm not a good man, Karissa, and try as I might, I probably never will be."

The deli is once again open.

In fact, it only really closed for one day.

Repairs are underway, what looks like a decent remodel, but that's as far as it has gotten. The glass has been replaced, new locks and bars installed. There's no florescent neon sign out front, beckoning people in, but lights shine from back in the kitchen, so I know my father's here.

He probably never left, frankly.

Ever since my mother died a few months ago, her heart stopping in her sleep, he's stayed away from the home they shared as much as possible.

I have no idea where the man sleeps, if he even does.

He always said he'd sleep when he was dead.

The way he's going, I can see that happening.

I linger in front of the place for a moment, checking out the repairs, before heading for the alley that leads behind the building.

I shouldn't bother him.

I know I shouldn't.

He doesn't want to see my face anymore.

Can't say I blame him.

But something drew me here, early this morning, the sun barely starting to rise. Maybe it's some form of masochism where I get off on my father berating me on sight. It's probably sick, but I almost find it refreshing these days, someone not afraid to tell me what they truly think about me. Especially when Karissa is always in my ear, trying to convince me I'm a better man than I believe.