Hooked (Never After, #1)(15)

“Croc?” His hand rubs down his face, his head tilting to the sky. “Ah, shit. You are... I saw you watching us from the hallway earlier tonight. What the hell are you doing all the way out here?”

My stomach tightens, shame coursing through my insides at the realization that I wasn’t as stealthy as I had hoped. He knew I was there all along. Nausea teases my throat when I think of my uncle also being aware. I run a hand through my hair. “It doesn’t matter. It’s stupid.”

I turn to walk away, but a rough grip on my shoulder jostles my frame until I spin back around. “Don’t walk away when someone asks you a question, kid. You’ve already come this far. Keep going, yeah?”

My forehead scrunches as I take in his words. “Going until when?”

He points to the clock tower that sits in the middle of the town square, the moon and stars shimmering in the background. “Straight on ‘til morning.”

My head tilts. “What’s that mean?”

His arm wraps around my shoulders, bringing me in close. “That means you don’t quit until you get what you want. Even if it takes all damn night. Understand?”

I smile at the memory, tossing the present on the desk. “Roofus,” I tsk. “Come now, you really think I wouldn’t remember?”

Ru grunts, waving me off, but I see the weight slipping from his shoulders and the lift of his lips.

As if I’d ever forget the birthday of the man who saved me.





Jason is a two-bit drug dealer that goes by the nickname Nibs. He’s the type that doesn’t wash his undershirts and thinks a gold chain makes him tough, but he’s always done a decent job at pushing our pixie. Lately, however, he’s acquired loose lips, trying to spark an uprising with the other nobody lowlifes who run along my streets, and think that means it’s theirs.

Jason shifts in the booth across from me while I spark up a cigar. The low lighting of the bar casts a shadow across his face, highlighting the beads of sweat forming along his hairline. I’m not entirely sure he knows who I am—low-level pushers don’t normally get the privilege of meeting me.

“Jason, do you know why you’re here?” I ask.

“Because I work for you?”

I twirl the cigar between my lips before placing it down on the ashtray, the table sturdy underneath my elbows. “That’s correct, Jason. You work for me.”

His face tightens.

“Have you forgotten?” My head tilts.

“No,” he mumbles.

I lean forward. “No, sir.”

He glances to the twins on either side of him, his Adam’s apple bobbing with his harsh swallow.

“Don’t look at them,” I say. “The time for you to deal with the twins has long since passed. In fact.” My fingers scratch my chin. “It was you who decided to turn them away in the first place. So now you get to deal with me. Understand?”

He clears his throat. “Uh... ye-yeah, yes sir.”

“Attaboy.” I smirk, relaxing back into the booth. “I’ve just realized you don’t have a drink. You must be thirsty. Would you like one?”

I nod to Moira, who saunters over, hands on her hips. Jason’s eyes bounce between me, the twins, Moira, and then back. He opens his mouth to speak, but movement from the front of the bar distracts me from whatever he says.

Like a beacon of light splitting apart the darkened clouds, Wendy Michaels waltzes into the room—straight into the viper’s den, like she’s waiting to get bit.

Like she belongs.

Sparks tingle the base of my stomach, my gaze soaking her up like water in the sun. She reaches the bar, followed closely by her friends. Immediately, she’s greeted by our bartender Curly, saying something that makes her head toss back in laughter, her hair glinting off the lights as it swishes down her naked back. My shoulders tighten at the restraint it takes to keep from walking over and pulling her away from his attentions.

Tearing my eyes away, I focus again on Jason. I was planning to draw this out, but suddenly I’m desperate to wrap things up. My insides twist with anticipation and I have to force it down, trying to keep my mind on the task at hand.

“Jason, you seem like a man of… many talents.”

His chest puffs out, preening like a peacock.

“I’ve brought you here today because there seems to be a traitor in our midst. And I need your help.” My lips twitch as he nods in agreement, relief visibly coasting across his face. Such a simple, stupid creature. “It’s come to my attention that somebody has been working against us from the inside.”

Jason leans in like he’s expecting me to continue, but I don’t. I sit back in the booth, picking up my cigar, ignoring the way the smoke suffocates as it swirls around my face.

And I wait.

The seconds stretch into agonizing moments, the only sound the backdrop of patrons in the bar, and my inner voice nagging at me to turn my attention back to the pretty girl at the front. But I don’t. I keep my focus on Jason, waiting for him to break.

He fidgets the longer I stare, until finally his shoulders tighten. “No, you don’t think I—”

I lift a hand, cutting him off mid-sentence. “It’s very interesting to me what happens when you allow the space for people to speak.” I chuckle. “You see, silence is often the best way to draw out the rats.”