I dig my phone out of my pocket, dreading whatever the text says.

Doc: We need to talk ASAP.

Me: Okay, you want me to meet you at the bar?

Doc: No, I’m coming to your place. I don’t want this going down at the bar.

I swallow hard and my hands begin to shake. What’s going on?

Me: Do you need the address?

Doc: Ryler, I’ve known where you live since the day you moved in.

Me: Oh, okay. I’ll be here, then.

Doc: Don’t worry. I just need to talk to you about something personal. I’ll see you in about ten minutes

Ten fucking minutes.

I try to remember anything I could have possibly done to give myself away. The only thing I can think of is when I got into Stale’s car today.

“Shit.” I leap from the chair, dash back to my bedroom, and yank open the drawer. I rummage through the clothes until I find my gun then tuck it into the back of my pants before sending Stale a text.

Me: I think my cover might be blown.

Stale: Why? What happened?

Me: Doc sent a text saying he was heading over here in ten minutes. He already knew where I lived. He could have seen me get into the car with you if he’s been watching me.

Stale: Ryler, you have to stay calm. This could easily be just to talk. It actually might be a good thing. Might mean you’re moving up.

I pace my room, restless.

Me: Or it could be an execution... he said it was personal.

Stale: It’s highly unlikely that he’d text you first. This could easily be a new job position. Or it could be to discuss last night, to make sure you’re going to keep quiet.

Me: And what if it isn’t?

Stale: I’ll send a few guys to keep an eye on the apartment. If you need backup, all you have to do is text, and they’ll be there. But Ryler, you need to be calm. If Doc notices you’re nervous, he’ll pick up on it.

He’s right. I could easily be overreacting. But I could easily not be overreacting. After some of the stuff I’ve seen...

I put the phone away and guzzle a few shots of tequila. The scorching liquid swims through my veins and calms my nerves a smidgeon. Then I step outside to have a smoke and watch the rain slam against the ground and the lightning blaze through the sky.

I feel like I should be making an escape plan, but in Elderman’s world, anything could happen. If I run, he more than likely will have his men chase. If I hide, they would easily find me. I know because I’ve aided in tracking people down. Besides, where the hell am I going to go in ten minutes? No, this was all planned perfectly, as if Doc knew I was going to run.

My thoughts wander to Brooks’s brother. I wonder if that’s where my future is heading, that if I keep doing this, I’ll wind up dead, too.

I finish my last drag right as Doc’s Barracuda turns into the parking lot. It’s a rare enough car that I know it’s him. He parks next to my Challenger, and the air silences as he shuts off his engine. When he climbs out, he carefully scans the area before shutting the car door. He continues to look around as he makes his way across the front lawn and toward the stairway, as if he suspects someone is out there, watching him. Rain soaks his fedora and trench coat, but he keeps an even pace, every one of his moves calculated, up the stairs, inching closer until he’s right in front of me.

I flick the cigarette to the ground and put it out with my boot.

“Ryler,” he says with a formal nod. “Thank you for meeting me so quickly.”

Like I had a choice.

“No problem,” I sign. “I wasn’t doing anything really. Just thinking about taking a nap.”

A nervous smile touches his lips as he glances over his shoulder. I track his gaze, anticipating seeing one of his men’s cars out there in the parking lot, but he appears to be looking at the rain.

“Mind if we go inside?” he asks, tucking his hands into the pockets of his jacket. “There’s something I’d like to discuss with you.”

A gradual breath eases from my lips as I nod. Here we go. “Can I ask what it’s about?”

Another glance over his shoulder then at the upper floor. He leans in, dropping his voice so low the rain almost swallows it up. “It’s about my daughter.”

“Is everything okay with her?” I ask, then twist the doorknob to step inside.

Once he enters my apartment, I shut the door and shuck off my jacket.

Doc glances around the small, minimally furnished living room. “So, this is where you live?”

I toss my jacket on the sofa. “Yeah. It’s small, but it works. I like to keep things simple.”

“I can see that.” He removes his fedora and wipes off the rain from his forehead. “So, you asked me if my daughter was all right.” He smoothes his fingers across the brim of his hat. “Which, oddly enough, is part of the reason I came here—to ask you the same question.”

“I’m sorry, but I don’t get it.” I sit down on the corner of the coffee table. “How would I know if she was?”

“Because I think you already know her.” Looking torn, he sits down on the sofa and places his hat on his lap. “Her name is Emery Iveryson. She lives upstairs on the third floor.” He watches my reaction to confirm my knowledge of who Emery is.

Jesus, this can’t be happening. I don’t even know how to process the information I’ve been given. I’ve made out with Doc’s daughter. Doc, the person I watched shoot a man point-blank.

“Aw, I am right,” he says, reading my expression. “You do know her.”