When Hallie King tries to leave the gang life, they're not willing to let her go. As their clutches tighten, her last job goes terribly awry and she's determined to save her mark. However, Ellis Gray seems to be a much higher-level target than she t...
After a few days of rest, we all sit and strategize over the dining room table. Ellis is struggling to keep up, what with being newly introduced to every concept we're talking about, but he's staying afloat and I can't help but be proud of him for that.
"Why are we such a high priority?" I muse, steepled fingers propping up my chin. "It doesn't make sense. I'm just a grunt in the grand scheme of things and Ellis's family was mediocre."
Asher nods. He's slouched back in his chair, feet propped up on a spare one. Even though he exudes leisure, I can tell by the bright silver of his eyes that he's tense. "I think it's about Ellis."
Before either of us have a chance to interject, he holds up a hand. "No offense, Hal, but you're not special enough to warrant everything that's happened. The Den was secure and brought in enough cash to make an attack something they wouldn't risk for a low-level runaway."
"But my parents were average," Ellis says, rubbing a hand over his face. "My dad was an accountant and my mom interned at a hospital. I sure as hell had nothing to do with the gang."
Asher heaves a haggard sigh. "Exactly. And therein lies the problem."
"Unless they were hiding things from me," he says quietly, voicing what I know we're all thinking. The problem with this theory is that there's no easy answer; we can't just ask his parents because they're dead, and we can't just find evidence linking them to criminal activities because I burned their house down.
"We have to visit the house," I announce, standing with the grating sound of my chair sliding along the floor. That's the only starting point we have. "Whatever's left of it. We might just find something."
"I agree. Let's all meet at the car in twenty."
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Ellis and I send each other grotesque faces in the back of Asher's burgundy Toyota Camry. For fear of being recognized, Asher decked us out in baseball caps and sunglasses. I feel particularly ridiculous with chunky aviators and an oversized red Portland Sea Dogs cap that keeps sliding over my eyes.
I push dark strands of hair behind it again, though this is futile because they keep falling out, and stick my tongue out at Ellis. When I uncross my eyes to see what possible face he could make to outdo me, he looks sheepish and jabs a thumb towards the driver's seat.
Asher sulks, his bushy black eyebrows drawn tightly over gunmetal irises. When he catches me looking at him in the rearview mirror, he forcibly calms his expression.
I open my mouth to question him, but he interjects with, "We're here."
Shaking my shoulders out, I exit the car, inadvertently slamming the door. Right. Bigger problems.
As soon as the outside air hits my nostrils, I fight budding nausea. Ash is clearly carried on the spring breeze and a sickly sweet scent only adds to my discomfort. Quickly giving Ellis a sideways glance, I notice that his 'poker face' needs work. I can read every ounce of pain in his eyes.
