Official Playlist + Giveaway || Trust Me, I'm Trouble by Mary Elizabeth Summer

***

Fabulous. One act of brainless idealism, and I am never going to live it down.

***

“One-week trial,” I say, shaking my head at myself. I can’t believe I’m doing this. “If it turns out you’re a spy, I will sic my enforcer on you. And yes, she bites. Give me your phone.”

***

I fork over my fake ID and Firearm Owner’s ID without his asking. Dani, he never ID’s. Possibly her black coat and perpetual glare are ID enough for Steve. They’d be enough for me to make her as a mob enforcer. And no one who wants continual use of his fingers cards a mob enforcer.

***

She’s a stickler for proper procedure. Always point the gun downrange. Always assume the gun is loaded. No coffee on the shooting line. Blah. Too many rules.

***

I’ve seen her laugh maybe three or four times in the eight months I’ve known her. Whatever demons she’s carrying must weigh as much as the cathedrals she has etched into her skin. And I know a thing or two about carrying demons.

***

His gaze falls on us like he’s a smoke alarm and we’re on fire.

***

I open the door leading to the Brockman Room and pass the portraits of dead white men frowning knowingly at me as I climb the stairs. They don’t bother me anymore, though. We have an understanding. I keep playing Robin Hood, and they keep their judgment to a minimum.

***

I sigh. “Okay. No more public transit.”
She scrutinizes me. “Are you crossing your fingers?”
“Jeez, I’m not five years old.” I uncross my fingers.

***

After an exhausting night of not being able to sleep, I have an exhausting day of forcing myself to stay awake. This is not helped by the fact that I’m not allowed at the Ballou. I begged Dani to take me there on the way to school, but she is a soulless herbal-tea drinker and doesn’t understand the imperative of caffeine in the morning.

***

“I’m a grifter,” I say. “I don’t have real feelings.”
“I think you’re confusing grifters with sociopaths.”
“Who says they’re different?”
Bryn rolls her eyes at me. “Whatever.”

***

When I walk through the door to the Ballou, Yaji, my barista buddy, takes one look at me, cuts off his chat with the customer at the register, and heads directly to the espresso bar. Good man.

Two and a half minutes later, I’m sitting in the far corner of the café, huddled over my cup like I’m all the passengers on the Titanic and it’s the only life vest.

***

It's like I have this giant neon sign over my head that says 'Free emotional punching bag--take your best shot.'

***

"'Be prepared.' It's the grifter's motto."
"I thought that was the Girl Scouts' motto."
"It's a popular motto."

***

It's like trying to fit a round peg into a cocktail dress. You could do it, but do you really want to?

***

I pop another couple of corn nuts in my mouth and crush them between my molars. I sometimes pretend they're the bones of my enemies. That's not weird, is it?

***

On the one hand, I feel like someone's been carving a thousand cuts into my heart. On the other, I'm not "just a child," and I'm not proving Dani right by acting like one. I need answers, and if this woman has them, well, I can live with a lot of cuts.

***

Bryn budges in between Murphy and Sam. “Looks a bit like Amalthea from the World of Darkness LARP last month.”
All of us but Murphy turn stunned stares on Bryn.
“What?” Bryn says. “I LARP.”
“You should see her with a plançon,” Murphy says, chest puffed with pride.

***

Murphy snorts. "Get used to it. Working for Julep Dupree is like flinging yourself off a skyscraper without a parachute."
Sam fist-bumps him.
"Hey, I resent that," I say. "I provide parachutes."

***

"We will be talking about that as soon as I put out all these fires. There will probably be torture. You may want to bring Band-Aids."

***

This is why I prefer working alone whenever possible. When minions start thinking independently, it's time to kick them to the curb.

***

Angela pats my head. “It’s adorable how sincerely you believe you don’t need parents,” she says. “But you do, whether you like it or not.”

***

"What's the stony face for? Not enough barbed wire for breakfast this morning?"

***

I can rescue a hundred Ukrainian immigrants, but I can't save this one friend. Of course, I'm still going to try. What fun's a cause if it's not hopeless?