Kylan was late to the station, and Skylar was already sitting alone waiting for him. It was Saturday, and that meant the cheer uniform had been left at home. Her stonewash jeans and white tank top with the blue butterfly between her breasts should be an innocent enough outfit, but plastered to Skylar’s supple body, revealing strips of untarnished skin and sunkissed, toned arms, she glowed like certified jailbait.

A man in a suit and camel-colored trench coat traipsed along the platform, going out of his way to deliberately, and not so subtly, snatch a sly eyeful of the pretty, young blonde with her hands between her knees and her overnight bag at her feet. He got away with his leering for a full minute, before the heavy stare of Kylan’s eyes on him sent him to the opposite end of the platform, but not before squeezing in one last greedy look at Skylar.

Kylan was under no illusions Skylar would inappropriately reappear as a mental stimulant later when the suit was balls deep in his sagging, uninterested wife, getting a quick leg over while she pretended to be sleeping. He’d seen his mother do that once, and she’d met his stare from her bedroom doorway, winked at him and closed her eyes again.

“Why were you letting him do that to you?” Kylan’s head popped up to ask his mom the next day at dinner.

“I wasn’t really sleeping, sweetie. I was just pretending.”

“Why?” Kylan sounded as confused as he looked. With his mom, nothing was up or down, black or white. Everything was gray and confusing.

Cassandra Moore put a plate of Kraft macaroni cheese in front of him, setting another down for herself, and one for her youngest son, Theo. “Because I don’t always enjoy it. So rather than lie there and pretend I do, making all the noises and thrusting my hips, I pretend I’m sleeping and let them just take it. It’s easier that way, and there are no hurt feelings or deflated egos.”

“Take what, Mommy?” Theo’s heaped fork hovered underneath his mouth, big green eyes focused on his mother in the seat beside him.

“Nothing,” Kylan snapped.

Cassie patted the top of Theo’s small hand with hers, a tender smile floating onto her mouth. “Tell you when you’re older. This is big people talk. Not for little ears.”

“Why don’t you just stop letting them in your bed if you hate it so much you can’t even open your eyes and act like you’re alive. Must be like fucking a dead body.” Kylan left his fork on the table, the thought of eating the fatty wodge of processed pasta and cheese turning his stomach the wrong way round.

“It’s my job,” Cassie said, her tone firmer. “That’s how I put food on this table. Now eat your dinner and shut your mouth.”

“You take it up the ass every night to put this shit you call food on the table?” Kylan shot out of his chair. He was suffocating in this house. He had to get out and go anywhere else. Theo wouldn’t survive another year if he stayed here. With her. She would ruin him the same as she’d ruined herself. She wouldn’t stop until she burned it all, including herself, to the goddamn ground. She’d take them all fucking with her, kicking and screaming.

“You’re an ungrateful little shit, do you know that?” Cassie yelled over her youngest son sitting crying in his chair, fat tear drops bouncing off his clumpy yellow pasta. “I should put you out of this house. Show you what a hard life really looks like.”

“No fucking need.” Shoving his chair out of the way, Kylan bounced an annoyed look at Theo’s red, tear-stained face, the second thoughts racing through his mind and straight out the door. He didn’t turn back as he stormed through the house and out into the street. He would come back for Theo later and get them both the fuck out of there.

Kylan shook off the ugly memory and announced himself by picking up Skylar’s gym bag by the straps and heaving it over his shoulder.

Startled by the close invasion, Skylar looked up with wide, toffee eyes, the look of horror slipping from her face as she realized it was only Kylan, and she wasn’t being robbed. She pushed back a chunk of her blonde hair with one hand, clutching her ample chest with the other.

“You frightened me,” she said with a shaky smile.

“Yeah? Keep hold of this in future,” Kylan said tightly about her bag. “Anyone could take it.”

Skylar’s expression fell, looking scorned. “Guess I was in my own little world.”

“Then snap out of it.” Kylan studied her a moment, more frustrated with her than he knew he had any right to be. “Let’s go.”

The walk to his apartment was carried out in silence, apart from the constant, reassuring raucous of the city. Once they were inside, Kylan made it known he wasn’t staying long, and like all the times before now, Skylar did a piss-poor job of hiding her disappointment from him. Her doe eyes would be kryptonite if Kylan hadn’t built up an immunity to that shit. He’d seen enough of those meaningless looks from his mom to know it was a mask women wore to get what they wanted, and he stopped himself from getting affected by it.

Snapping on a pair of black gloves in the drab, pulsing glow of the wilting green neons from across the street, Kylan still felt the sting of failure from earlier at Brookwood. In his determination to find what he’d been sure was in there, he’d lost sight of nothing being so easy that it was handed to you on a silver fucking platter. He already had his next move figured out, though, and it started tonight.

The thrill of finally getting somewhere dulled the razor splinters of guilt he felt over leaving Skylar by herself. Ivan would be with him, so she’d be feeding herself tonight. He’d made a quick run to the bodega on the block and stocked the fridge with the bare essentials. Enough that Skylar could pull together a meal. It might not be perfect, or barely fucking edible, but it was food and it was there. If she was hungry enough, she’d eat it. He had no idea what types of food Skylar was used to eating, but he was sure it wasn’t greasy Chinese takeout or cheap pizza. She was probably only treated to those particular delicacies when she came here.

“When will you be back?” she asked him from his living room couch. He’d attempted to tidy up, but he’d barely scratched the surface. The place needed a deep clean, he just didn’t have the time or the will to do it. This apartment wasn't a home, it was where he slept.

“When I’m back,” he said, no clue himself when that would be. He could be gone all night and the next morning. It wasn’t like he worked a nine-to-five with scheduled breaks in between. He did what he was told until it was done. “I bought food. Eat it if you’re hungry.” And then he left.

***

Ivan had made it to the strip club ahead of Kylan, relief washing over his face as he watched Kylan stroll between packed tables. Tonight was slightly more favorable for them both, and Razor was in business mode, his designer suit sharp as he sat behind his desk in his office for once, ready with instructions for Kylan and Ivan.

He pushed two flat, sealed packages across his mahogany desk. “Drop these off on West and 23rd. There’ll be an unmarked, black Sedan waiting. Make sure these get there in one piece, or…” Ray lifted one trimmed, black eyebrow, punctuating his point.

Lifting the two packages from the table, Kylan stuffed them into the pocket inside his jacket. “Wait for me outside,” he said to Ivan.

Only Kylan, Razor, and his two beefy henchmen were left in the room, and Kylan pasted on more confidence than he felt. If he wanted something out of Razor, he better ask for it like he fucking deserved it. Weakness was a quick death around here, and Kylan kept his to himself.

“I need a favor.” Kylan held Razor’s attention with strong eye contact. Razor owed nobody any favors, and Kylan was crossing boundaries by assuming one would be granted for him. He didn’t know who else to ask, though. Not someone with as much power over the city as Ray, and that was what he needed. Power. Connections. Some serious fucking answers.

“And what’s this favor?” There was amusement in Razor’s voice, and he bobbed back in his chair with keen interest.

Kylan squared his shoulders. “An address.”

Traces of suspicion crinkled the corners of Razor’s obsidian eyes, his amusement fading. “You’re asking me to get you an address?”

“I know his name, now I just need to know where he is.”

“What’s the name?” Razor asked, his interest spiking again. He was predictable like that. Ruled by greed to have his fingers in all the pies. Kylan could smell the potency of what he would be asked to do in return for this simple request, but that didn’t put him off. He hadn’t expected he would get something for nothing, and he would worry about the consequences later.

“Mittle Samson. He was the on-site caretaker for the children’s home in Devil’s Creek. It burned down last year, and he took off.” A slick, sourness coated Kylan’s mouth from freely giving away so much information, but if he stood any chance of finding Mittle, then that was a small price to pay. It wasn’t enough to tell Razor any more about Kylan’s life than what he already knew, and Razor was too preoccupied running and building his empire to go digging in places that didn’t concern or directly affect him. Kylan was small fish, but he couldn’t deny Razor had shown strange, particular interest in him, and Kylan didn’t want to do anything to grow that interest. This would be his first and last favor.

After a stare down that lasted long enough for doubt to creep in and make Kylan sweat, Ray exhaled a loud breath and nodded. “I’ll see what I can do.”

It was all the yes Kylan had been looking for.

“You good?” Ivan hovered on the sidewalk in the shadows, blowing heat into his cupped hands. He didn’t ask Kylan what went down. If Kylan had wanted him to know, he wouldn’t have asked him to leave. That was partly why Ivan and Kylan had eased into such an easy and relaxed friendship. Neither of them got in the other’s business or asked unnecessary, personal questions.

“Yeah,” Kylan said.

They walked to the drop-off point, Ivan’s headphones powered off around his neck, so he was alert to anyone creeping up on them. People got mugged in this city for no less than the sneakers on their feet, and Kylan had precious cargo on him.

On the corner, at the signpost for West and 23rd, Kylan spotted the black Sedan parked at the curb with the headlights off. The car blended with the darkness, and he approached to make the drop, stuffing his hand inside his jacket to take out the two packages and slip them through the narrow opening at the top of the driver’s side window. The tinted window slid back up, almost jamming Kylan’s fingertips. Then the engine shuddered to life, rubber squealing over the asphalt as the car pulled away, its taillights glowing as it sped through the right turn at the intersection.

“Dirty fucking pigs,” Ivan muttered, his breath forming a cloud in front of him as he watched the car’s rear disappear. A chorus of raised voices rocked through the night, a couple arguing from one of the apartments above spilling out onto the fire escape.

Both Kylan and Ivan looked up, peering through the steam rising from the drains. The woman slapped the man across his face, and she was rewarded with his hand around her throat as he shoved her back into the apartment. Kylan and Ivan exchanged a look, then Ivan said casually, “Cool if I pick up Sash on the way home?”

Kylan glanced back up to the apartment on the third floor, then back to Ivan. “Sure.”