“Arthur said it was the both of us.”
Lance shakes his head again, “You don’t need me for this, Gareth. You’ll be okay.”
* * *
It’s been about twenty minutes since I watched Lance walk away. It’s been about thirty since Tristan left, and four hours that I last saw Bentlee.
And of all the people that I’ve dealt with in the last twenty four hours, the only person I find myself concerned for is me.
I have no direction, no name, no one to stand by me when I need the help to come back down from the high that hits me after I take down a mark and I don’t know what to do right now.
It’s not unusual to get minimal information when it comes to my turn to enter the rodeo because I’m considered one of the most kind and trustworthy, the element of surprise is almost always used to shock me into action.
As I hoist the backpack strap over my shoulder, I let out another sigh as I start to walk down the street.
I don’t know where I’m going or where this road will lead.
I just know that it needs to end in death and that’s something I’m damn good at.
Chapter 5
"Thanks,” I tell the young waitress inside of The Savant. Working on an empty stomach makes me unreasonably cruel, and I like to avoid that when it’s time to slip the ol' gloves on and get a little dirty.
She smiles brightly before inquiring if I need anything else at the moment, then turning and walking away, switching her hips like a pro.
I chuckle as I watch her ass for moment, raising the cup of coffee to my lips, then shake my head.
Bentlee may be my favorite girl, but she’s not entirely mine since we never made anything official, yet somehow I always manage to feel a twinge of guilt when I find myself appreciating someone that isn’t her.
I glance out the window as I place my cup down and begin to absentmindedly drum my fingers along the tabletop.
I have the phone that Arthur ga
ve us sitting on the table next to my personal one and neither have rung. Not a text from Bentlee, not a call from even Lance or any of my other brothers, and I’m starting to wonder what the game is.
Sometimes I find myself wondering if he sends us on wild goose chases just to see if we’re always ready to bend to his will. He’s not as much of a bastard as we make him out to be, though he does like to get his rocks off by seeing how high we’re willing to jump when he tells us to.
Fucking waste of time, I think irritably as I run a hand over my face. I don’t like being made to sit around and wonder about shit. It usually ends up fucking me mentally in the end.
And just like that, the burner begins to ring. It’s almost as if he knows that I’m about to bail on this game of chasing my own tail.
“Yeah?” I ask into the receiver.
“Where are you?”
It’s Arthur.
“At The Savant,” I reply sitting back and glancing up at the ceiling. I wouldn’t be surprised if he had cameras installed in every fucking building across the United States to keep tabs on us.
“Have you figured out what I need you to do yet, Gareth?”
His voice is tired, annoyed, and a little giddy, which is odd for Arthur.
“If I did, I wouldn’t be sitting around waiting for clues to drop out of the sky,” I reply as calmly as I can.
I’ve lost my temper with him on countless occasions, and it hasn’t won me any favors yet.
“Did anyone find the priest?” he asks suddenly, changing the conversation.