Romeo waited until I was almost out of earshot, then called me back.

“Take the fucking test. I was only trying to give you an easy way out. Just remember, when you change your mind, it’ll take more than twiddling your knob to get a pass-card from me.” He threw a scrap of paper on the floor. “An address. You’re looking for a conch shell there. A tourist knickknack with Welcome to Miami and a girl in a bikini painted on it. Get it, bring it back, you get your pass.”

I looked at the address. “Is this a house or a-”

“Could be a house. Could be a warehouse. Could be a fucking cemetery with the shell buried in one of the graves. Have fun, princess.”

I kept my expression neutral and turned to leave.

“Oh, and did I mention it’s a race?”

I stopped. “A race?”

“You think you’re the only piece of pussy fancies herself a gangster? There’s another girl out there with that same address, and there’s only one spot to fill.” He glanced down at his fake Rolex. “She left about an hour ago.”

I FUMED THROUGH the entire cab ride. Was I surprised? I’d foiled that goblin’s little game and I should have expected to pay for that. But how badly was he going to screw me over? Was there a competitor? Or was he just saying that, hoping I’d rush and make a mistake?

Even if Benicio found me another way into the gang, the failure would sting. Yes, Mr. Cortez, I know you tried to make it easy, but it wasn’t my fault.

Whining. Complaining. Blaming someone else. I hate those traits in others, and I loathe seeing them in myself. Fate makes you a half-demon? Gives you visions of death and destruction? Makes you crave them like candy and cigarettes? Too bad. Suck it up and move on.