Turncoat by Megan Derr (the false prince series txt) 📕

drummed his fingers restlessly on the steering wheel. "So where we going next?"

"City square, west side, there's a candy store."

"You got it." He took a left at the next light to swing back in the opposite direction and head downtown. "Am I allowed to know all the interesting stories that allow you two to play this irritating game?"

Greg laughed. "It really says something depressing about our world that I'm so quick to trust a man called Turncoat when I've never trusted anyone except Byron and Minder, but not enough to let them cross paths even if Minder had been okay with it. I can't tell you all of them, since some aren't my story to tell, but the candy store one is just me. Minder wasn't there. I told him the story one night. Some kids were harassing the clerk there, and I mean harassing. I called them out, wound up getting harassed myself, and they went fucking nuts. Started throwing candy, shoving me around. Thankfully the shop clerk called the cops the second their attention shifted so it didn't last long. But trust me, you haven't lived until a bunch of fifteen-year-old assholes beat the shit out of you with jawbreakers and lollipops. I had toffee in my hair for like a damned month."

Dixie frowned, turned to look at him when they came to a red light. "I thought you said you didn't get beat up much when it wasn't related to Byron and Minder."

"There's a couple of exceptions," Greg mumbled. "I can't say it was a surprise, given what I called them and the tone I used. Better me than that poor clerk. He looked like he was about to cry and I would have too in his position. Seriously, they were using candy as their weapons, and I think they were affected by something, though I never found out for sure. The worst I got was a bloody nose and some bruises."

"I can't tell if I want to shake you till your damned teeth fall out or kiss you senseless. Either way, you're a damned idiot, and it's luck alone you're still breathing."

"Pretty sure you've settled on shaking, not kissing," Greg muttered, scowling out the passenger window. When they reached the candy store, he barely waited for the car to come to a stop before climbing out of it.

Dixie heaved a long sigh and beat his forehead against the steering wheel. Damn it all to hell, why was Greg so confounding and why did he give a damn? They had nothing to do with each other outside of getting the Mason Chip. He needed to shut his mouth, focus on the job, and then work on setting up a new life.

But when Greg returned a few minutes later, Dixie leaned over and dropped a quick, hard kiss on that vexing little mouth. When he drew back, Greg's skin was flushed pink. He licked his lips, which did nothing to help put Dixie's mind back on work. "What was that for?"

"I do actually prefer kissing to shaking," Dixie said as he pulled back into traffic. "I don't keep meaning to say the wrong thing. You're good at causing me to make a damned fool of myself."

"Well, you think I'm the biggest idiot on this side of the country, at least, so I'm not even sorry," Greg replied with a grin. His fingers fluttered briefly over Dixie's thigh, and yeah, Dixie was definitely going to need to feel those damned gloves against his skin at some point.

Shit, shit, shit. He didn't do repeats, but something about Greg had him ready to schedule repeats clear into next year. "Stop distracting me, pussycat. Where we headed next?"

"Stop calling me that," Greg said, but Dixie didn't miss the renewed flush to his cheeks. "Whitefield township, know it?"

Dixie snorted. "Whitebread? Yeah, I know it. Smalltime G.O.D. live there."

"Well, we're only going to the park across from it, and we won't have to get out of the car," Greg replied.

Still too close to the Dogs for Dixie's piece of mind, but it wasn't like he hadn't beat the shit out of two of them recently. "Let's just make sure we're quick." He turned right at the end of the street, drove across downtown until he reached the highway, and took it until he reached the fancy little suburb full of rich folk with old money and lots of skeletons in the closet.

At Greg's direction, he pulled up to the curb alongside a fancy little birdbath. Rolling down the window, Greg reached beneath the birdbath and retrieved something, motioned for Dixie to drive on. After a few more seconds he said, "Back downtown, the Robin building. All the way to the roof."

"Subtle, I appreciate the presence of a clean and easy escape route," Dixie replied sourly.

"It'll be fine," Greg said, and he smiled so sweetly, Dixie almost believed him. "Park in the private garage, use this."

He held out a card, and Dixie took it as he pulled off the highway and stopped at a red light. "What is this and do I want to know how you came by it?"

Greg shrugged. "Minder's never said, but I'm pretty sure he works in the Robin building. No clue what his day job is, but it's enough to get me a parking pass and a few other bells and whistles. Did you bring a nanomask?"

Dixie heaved a sigh. "Yeah." Several minutes later they pulled into a massive parking garage, and he was at least grateful to find a spot on the lowest level and close to the exit. Pulling out his mask, he pulled it on and hooked it to his systems, once more using his own face as a base and altering from there.

He followed Greg away from the car and up a couple flights of stairs to the skywalk. Inside the main building, Greg cut down a small side hallway to a door marked MAINTENANCE. Pulling out another keycard, he swiped it and punched in a