Play Dirty (Wages of Sin #2) - Neve Wilder Page 0,54

in those shops, unlike the interior of their car which was icy with silence despite the heat that blasted from the vents.

“It doesn’t…not matter,” Madi said after a long pause.

Az swallowed, risking a glance. Madi stared straight ahead, eyes glued to the road, hands gripping the wheel, like they were driving on the Autobahn and not a side street in a crowded city. Az wasn’t lying; he’d missed Madi more than he could say, more than he would ever admit out loud. When he’d seen him that day on the street, it was like somebody had turned the lights on after spending years in the dark, and it had only pissed Az off, hardening his resolve to go through with his plan.

Madi could probably feel him stare, but Az didn’t care. Madi looked like some kind of mythological warrior in the way the light played along the angles of his profile. Somebody like Madi was made to be dirty. Az was sure, had Madi been an accountant or tax attorney, he probably would have looked handsome in his collared shirts and khakis, with boys and girls alike trying to see what might lay underneath.

But now, scarred and bloody, covered in algae and muck, knowing Madi was a monster like him, all Az wanted to do was tear his clothes off and mount him in the back seat. Or let him mount Az. It didn’t matter. He wouldn’t feel like this was behind them until Madi was inside him again.

“You’re staring,” Madi barked.

Az shrugged. “You’re stunning.”

Madi opened his mouth and closed it again, and the knot in Az’s stomach loosened.

They ditched the car a few blocks from the safe house, going the rest of the way by foot. Once there, they used the back entrance of the building as instructed. Az pushed the button for the top-floor apartment, and the entrance buzzed, the lock giving with a sharp click, allowing them to enter. They took the elevator to the third floor where a tall man with dark hair and a deep tan stood watching them from a crack in the open doorway.

“One of you Madigan?” the man asked, half his body hidden by the heavy door.

Az had no doubt there was a gun in the man’s unseen hand.

Madigan nodded. “I’m Madigan. That’s Az. You?”

“Ronin. Red said the place is yours for a few days.” He stood back to let them inside, tucking his gun back into his jacket pocket. He looked the two of them up and down. “You know there’s only one bed in this place, right? There’s a pretty comfy couch, though.”

“Is there a shower?” Madi asked. “Because I’ll sleep on a bed of nails as long as I can get clean first.”

“Yeah, around the corner past the bed. There are clothes in the dresser, too. Red said you’d need them. Clearly, he was right.”

Madi grunted in Ronin’s direction then flashed a quick glance at Az. “You good?”

Az looked between Ronin and then Madi. “Yeah, we’re good. You go first.”

Madi gave another lingering look at Az before disappearing into the bathroom. Had Madi hoped Az would join him? Az had definitely wanted to. His bones were still stiff from the cold, and his clothes felt as if they could stand on their own. Still, Az didn’t know this Ronin person, and it was hardly smart to get naked together with a stranger—presumably a killer, like them—wandering around the apartment.

Ronin gestured and led Az deeper into the apartment, pointing out the kitchen. “I left some food in there from the other night and there are some staples—soups, beans—in the cabinets that should still be good. If you order in, put it under the name Pendergast and pay in cash or use the credit card number taped to the underside of the junk drawer. It keeps people from asking too many questions.”

Az nodded, taking in the brick walls and floor-to-ceiling curved windows spaced every four feet or so around the room. Somebody had lovingly restored the place. The wood beams on the ceiling and the brick walls were likely original to the building, as were the hardwood floors, but everything else was brand new, gleaming and modern, the furnishings plush and expensive.

In the heart of the city, this place was likely worth millions. He always wondered about the people who owned safe houses. Who were they? What did they do? Why did they care about keeping people like Az and Madi alive?

“Your friend doesn’t seem to trust me,” Ronin said, sliding