80. Mandy
MANDY
The third punch hurts.
I’m officially revising my opinion of this guy. He’s still an asshole, but he’s an asshole with follow-through.
I spit blood onto the concrete. “Feel better?”
“Where’s Turner?”
I sigh. “Still don’t know.”
His hand closes around the back of the chair. “What did he tell you about Clara Whitlock?”
And suddenly I don’t feel my face anymore. I look up at him. “What does Ashford want with Clara?”
His expression doesn’t change.
But his body does—a fractional tightening through his shoulders.
He knows.
Only he says, “He doesn’t.”
“Sure.” Maybe we should reverse this and I should beat some answers out of him.
He cracks his knuckles. “Whatever Turner told you about her doesn’t matter.”
Not what did Turner tell you? Not where is she? Just doesn’t matter. I stiffen. Either Ashford isn’t looking for Clara—he’s trying to contain what people know about her—or else he’s written off her fate as a done deal.
All that comes down to one thing: whatever Turner planned to do with that girl, Ashford knows about it. Maybe he even more than knows about it.
Spitting some more blood, I shake my head like I’m trying to clear it. “Hard to forget someone everybody seems so desperate to make disappear. I just wonder what’ll happen if she doesn’t.”
“Oh, she will.” The asshole smirks.
Not if Gabriel gets to her first.
The asshole gets in my face. Stale cigarette stench wafts at me, so strong I’m afraid I’ll get a nicotine high just by proximity. “Who else knows?”
“I didn’t tell anyone.”
“Bullshit.”
“Fine.” I sigh like he finally got me. “My dentist knows.”
He backhands me.
My head snaps sideways. I breathe through the burst of pain, cupping my face.
That one was unnecessary. I’m going to enjoy breaking his nose.
Eventually.