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“This alley smells like piss,” Mason says as we stop in between a Chinese restaurant and a shoe store. I met up with him on Prince Street and we walked our way here. Just me and him … and business to take care of.

I take a whiff and immediately regret it. “This is where he’s going though, right?” I ask him.

“Should already be there,” he says and nods.

“That’s what it said on Instagram. ‘Getting ready for the party,’” he says beneath his breath and shoves his hands in his pockets.

It’s bitter cold and the city streets are packed with people shopping and moving about like normal.

“I don’t believe in coincidences,” I tell Mason and bring it up again.

His eyes flicker to me and then back to across the street.

“There’s no way she happens to do speed,” I tell him. I’ve known Samantha for a long damn time. “Her husband dabbles in all sorts of drugs recreationally. But she doesn’t touch it.”

“It’s possible she does it on the down low?” he suggests. “You’d be surprised how many people do coke nowadays.”

I shake my head. “There has to be a connection between her and the dealer.”

“We’re gonna find out, aren’t we?” he asks me although it’s a rhetorical question.

“What’s the plan?”

“All we need is an address.”

“Just follow him?” I ask with disbelief.

“Only for a bit, then we switch off so we aren’t seen.”

“Switch off to who?”

“I got some guys,” Mason says and frustration gets the best of me.

“I want to be the one-” I start to tell him but he cuts me off.

“You want to keep her safe? Getting into this shit isn’t what you need. That’s not what the man who deserves to be at Kat’s side would do.”

That shuts me up, but I fucking hate it.

“So we just wait?” I ask him again.

“Yeah,” he says and his breath turns to fog, “just wait.”

Almost an hour passes before I think about going back to Kat. I pull my phone out and debate on messaging her, but James is still watching and I don’t have a burner yet.

“Fuck me,” I say out loud and run my hands down my face.

“Sorry, you’re not my type,” Mason says so matter-of-factly from his spot next to me. I grunt a short laugh despite myself. “I feel so fucking trapped.”

“I know the feeling,” Mason tells me and I give him a side-eye. His stare only hardens. “I know what it’s like to be in a lose-lose situation where the stakes are high.” He looks forward, staring at the opposite brick wall in the thin alley. “Too high,” he mutters beneath his breath.

“So what do you do?” I ask him and get his attention again. “How do you win?” I ask him with all sincerity, as if he has an answer that will put an end to this hell.

He shakes his head as he looks down at the ground and replies, “Sometimes there’s not a way to win, just a way to survive.”

I have to tear my eyes away from him, knowing he’s right and when I do, my arm reaches out and smacks him in the chest.

“Visual,” I tell him and Mason doesn’t hesitate to take out his phone and call the tail. “He’s here,” he speaks into the phone as both of us watch the perp, talking to someone in an open doorway on 20^th and Broadway. Even from his profile, I know it’s him.

Every muscle in my body coils, ready to fight. It’s been weeks of holding back and not being able to do anything. And just across the street is the last piece to this puzzle of fucking misery.

Dark black hair, slicked back and tanned skin with a tattoo scrolling up his neck. It’s definitely him. We got this prick.

The second he’s walking down the stone steps, we’re out of the alley and following from across the street. I keep my eyes on him, walking through the thick crowd with my jaw clenched.

“Johnny we got him,” Mason talks into his cell phone as we walk. I try not to make it obvious that we’re following the fucker. At the same time, I’m holding back every desire to chase the dealer down and beat the shit out of him to get every last bit of information from him.

“Heading down Twenty-Second,” I hear Mason say and instinctively I glance up and look at the street sign before turning left to follow the asshole.

My blood’s pumping hard and every step it gets harder and harder not to pick up speed.

Right as we get to the end of the block and the crosswalk sign turns to a red hand, the fucker walks out, ignoring the oncoming cars and nearly getting hit, but he keeps going, yelling at the drivers as if it’s their fault. I move to do the same. We can’t risk losing him, but Mason puts his arm out in front of my chest to stop me.

“He’s got him,” he tells me, his eyes on the back of the dealer as he vanishes into the thick crowd. “Johnny’s on him.”

My shoulders rise and fall with my heavy breaths. I’m calm on the outside, but inside I’m pacing. “I need to do something,” I tell him, ignoring how the woman to my right turns back to look at me as if I’ve lost it. Maybe I have.

“Then go home,” Mason tells me and turns halfway around to walk right back up the way we came.

His leather jacket bunches in my fist as I pull him back to me. “I can’t sit around and do nothing,” I tell him, pleading with him to understand.

“The best thing for you to do is go home to your pregnant wife and stay right the fuck there,” Mason tells me.

I swallow thickly, feeling guilt settle in my stomach. “She needs you to be there,” he says and I wonder if he’s just saying that to make me listen to his order, or if he really means it.

I nod my head reluctantly as the crosswalk sign flips back, and the crowd around us crosses the street.

I hesitate, only for a moment, but then I turn my back and follow Mason to the car. That’s when I decide to do what I’ve been wanting to do for a long damn time. I take out my cell phone and text Kat, I’m coming home.