His tattooed arms are splayed out over his long hair, shirt pulled up to reveal a sliver of vulnerable skin, and he’s not moving. I’m assuming because of the bullet holes through his neck and head.

I’m hit with too many feelings to know what I’m feeling as I stare at the suddenly dead body across from here.

“Huh,” I manage weakly. “Good shot.”

“Thanks. Time to go.” Arlie grabs my arm and drags me away from the building and back over to the fire escape. “Pull your mask up.”

I do what she says on autopilot.

“What the fuck is that?” she demands.

“My mask.”

“Why is it smiling at me?”

“Thought it gave it a little something something.”

I swear she fucking growls. “You don’t want something something. You don’t want spice or pizzazz. You want total anonymity.” Arlie’s eyes go big, and somehow, she mimics the exact same look as Margot. The look of complete disbelief in me. “You can’t do this.”

I quickly grab her arm before she can walk away. “I can. I promise.”

“You’ll get yourself killed, and then that’s on me.”

“Come on, Arlie-even-though-that’s-not-your-real-name.” I press my hands together in front of my chest. “Help me. I’m a pathetic no-hoper. I get it. But without this, I literally have nothing. I need you.”

“You want to kill people that badly, huh?”

My whole face screws up. “I don’t want to kill people at all. I just don’t have a choice.”

She sighs, tugging me back toward the fire escape. “We all have a choice. But fine. I’ll text you an address. Meet me there tomorrow, and I’ll teach you how to hold a gun. Then the rest is on you.”

CHAPTER FOUR

ST. CLARE

I shoot up in bed with a gasp, panting through the rapidly disappearing images of my dream. It was something to do with Colin. I don’t remember what or how, but that feeling of fucking dread is deepening in my gut.

Because waking up hasn’t helped anything.

It’s been a whole week since I’ve seen him.

My brother is not the kind of person who disappears.

Being unable to fix a problem is the worst kind of helplessness, and as I turn and kick my legs out of bed, the shadows press in. Deeper. Darker. This screeching urge filling my ears, telling me I need to be out walking the streets or stalking his accounts or … or …

The laugh that falls from my lips is hollow.

I’m not a criminal mastermind. I’m not law enforcement. How the hell am I supposed to find a pinprick of a person in a city this size? A wave of panic passes through me as a question flits through my mind.

Is he in the city at all?