Dirty Money by Ashley Bartlett

back too,” he’d said, but I didn’t get the meaning at the time.
    Her response was even worse. “I’m never going back.”
    I couldn’t really swallow and my vision wavered. With a trembling hand, I raised my drink to my lips. The burn of the alcohol didn’t help.
    “What the hell are you talking about? What couldn’t Reese handle?” I asked though I didn’t want to hear it.
    “Working for us. You know she got sick of it after only a few months.” Another wave of the hand. “If we had you on our side, though, she would be able to see. Come back to the family.”
    The family.
    “Reese never worked for you,” I managed to choke out.
    Vito stopped, turned, stared at me. “Of course she did.” He was playing this up. “You mean she never told you?” His eyes were too wide, his tone too incredulous.
    “Don’t give me that shit.”
    “I was afraid this might happen.” Somberly, he pulled an envelope from inside his jacket. “See for yourself.”
    I didn’t want to look in the envelope. Not after today. Reese and I were good. I really didn’t want any more surprises. I really didn’t want to know that she was still lying to me.
    “Come on, kid.” Vito glanced at his watch. It had enough ice on it to freeze over Mexico. “You only gave me five minutes. Don’t waste them.”
    So I looked in the envelope. It was filled with photos. Nothing too incriminating really. Reese in a fancy dress surrounded by guys in tuxedos. Reese at a table in a café with a bunch of greasy looking guys. Reese standing on a bridge in a heavy coat talking with a different slimy dude.
    Except for one thing. Vito was in every photo.
    There he was at her shoulder wearing a tuxedo and pretending to smile. Sitting next to her in a café conducting business. Hand in his pocket on a bridge. The last one really got me. The edge of his shoulder holster was visible and his meaty hand was on Reese’s arm. The look on her face was one I knew well. Detached. I fucking hated detached.
    “What the fuck is this?”
    “Training, kid.”
    “You normally take photos of your trainees?” I sneered.
    “Reese was skittish. I thought mementos of our time together might prove helpful.”
    “Photoshop.” It was my last-ditch, please don’t make me believe this, attempt.
    “Cooper,” he crooned. From the stack he extracted one of the bridge photos. “She’s looking directly at me in this one.” He was right.
    Again, I checked the time on my cell phone. Five minutes was up.
    “Thanks, Vito.” I shook his hand, tossed some cash on the bar for the drinks, and headed for the door. What was I supposed to do? Let him know he’d hit his mark? Fuck no.
    “That’s it?” he called from behind me.
    “That’s it,” I said.
    Fuck Reese. She could handle him by herself.
     
    *
     
    It took half an hour to walk to the next bar. Mostly because I kept ducking through side streets, into restaurants and out the back door, and once over a fence. Nobody was going to tail me. Not this time.
    The fact that I was bordering on, but not quite drunk didn’t help either.
    Finally, I went into a bar, commandeered the darkest table in the darkest corner, and ordered a bottle of tequila. From where I was sitting, I could watch the front door, the back, the bathroom, everything. For the next five hours, I did just that. Watched, drank, watched, drank. Anything but think. Thinking hurt.
    It was inevitable though.
    That final blow, dealt with such efficiency from Vito, was going to kill me. I just had to wait for it. Wait as the pain seeped through my veins into every limb, organ, and cell so that breathing hurt, thinking hurt, watching hurt, drinking hurt. She was so ingrained that everything meant Reese. Bars, tequila, dark, light, men, women, all reminded me of her.
    I had nothing. Nothing that mattered. I knew I couldn’t trust Ryan anymore, because I couldn’t trust Reese anymore, and who the fuck would pick someone else over his sister? No one. So my best