Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 98121 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 491(@200wpm)___ 392(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98121 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 491(@200wpm)___ 392(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
“Humor me.” We walk out of the suite and down the hall to the elevator.
“I just thought it was the one you wouldn’t care about,” she says as we head to the lobby. “I didn’t mean to cause trouble.”
“I’m learning trouble is part of the package with you. I’ll handle it. Don’t worry. But if there’s anything else I should know, now’s the time.”
She studies me like something clicked into place. “Does it have to do with the insignia on the back? It’s on your arm, isn’t it? Broken though.” When I don’t answer, she continues. “What does it mean?”
“Nothing to you. It will never mean anything to you,” I tell her and take her hand, vowing to protect her from The Society and all its bullshit, as I walk her out into the infernal rain of Edinburgh.
17
AMAL
Jet places his gun in the glove box and programs the location of the shop into the GPS on his phone rather than using the car’s navigation system. It makes me think about his line of work. Makes me remember how Malek was. Always suspicious of everyone. Almost paranoid about being watched or listened to.
“I don’t know that he’ll be open,” I say. It’s after nine o’clock.
“Is there a particular reason you chose this shop rather than pawning it in the states or anywhere else?”
“I had enough saved up from Cassian’s allowance money for a ticket,” I say, hating how it sounds. “He wouldn’t let me work,” I add to justify.
“For your own safety and look where that got you. Continue.”
“I Googled to see where I’d get the most for it and also be able to buy it back. I understand if you don’t believe me, but I did plan on returning it.”
Jet’s eyes are on the road his brow is furrowed like he’s going through a million scenarios.
“What’s going on, Jet?” He doesn’t answer. “You’re making me nervous,” I say, having a sinking feeling as he veers off onto the quieter, darker streets outside of the touristy area of the city.
“Look right?” Jet asks.
I nod.
The shop is located on an ancient street of antique booksellers and furniture shops. It’s definitely for a certain socioeconomic demographic.
“That one,” I say, pointing to the shop which, like the others, has an old-fashioned sign on the door stating that it’s closed. The apartment above it, however, is lit up, flashes of light telling me someone is watching TV. “I’m pretty sure the owner lives up there.” When I was negotiating the price of the watch, his wife had come downstairs to bring him his lunch.
Jet nods but drives past the shop.
“You missed it.”
“I want to get my bearings first.”
We drive around the block and the next one, Jet peering into the parked vehicles and the few pedestrians on foot before finally parking in a spot at the far end of the street.
“There was a spot right out front,” I tell him.
“I know.” He kills the engine and reaches over to take his Glock out of the glovebox.
“Jet, what the hell?”
“Stay here. Keep the doors locked. Honk the horn if you get nervous.”
“Wait,” I say, grabbing his arm as he tucks the gun into his holster. “What are you going to do? He’s just an old man.”
“Stay here. It’s safer for you.” Jet opens the driver’s side door. “Keep the doors locked. Understand?”
“You can’t hurt him.”
He opens his mouth, closes it again. “I’ll be back as quick as I can.” He steps out onto the street and reaches for the umbrella Joe had helpfully tucked into the back seat. “Stay. I mean it.”
“Okay, just don’t hurt him.” My heart pounds. Guilt gnaws at me.
“Lock the doors,” he tells me before shutting his, opening the umbrella and walking toward the shop.
I lock the doors and watch him go, looking around the dark, deserted street. When Jet reaches the shop, I make a decision. I pull the keys out of the ignition and jump out of the SUV. The rain has picked up. It masks the sound of the car door closing. I pull my hood up and hurry toward the shop via the street rather than the sidewalk. By the time Jet spots me, I hear the shop seller’s voice through the doorbell’s speaker.
“We open in the morning at nine.”
“Fuck’s sake, Amal,” Jet says, taking my arm and tugging me to his side. He looks like he might march me right back to the SUV. “Do you ever fucking do what you’re told?”
“I don’t want you to hurt him!” I whisper-shout
“You and your girlfriend come back in the morning,” the man says and I hear the eye of the camera moving above us.
I keep my head down so he can’t see my face for the hood.
“I’ve got something you’ll want to see. It can’t wait for morning,” Jet says into the intercom.