“The windows and doors are bulletproof. If an emergency button is engaged during an attack, then cobalt shields drop down to cover windows, walls, doors—everything,” Stan explained. “Oh, and she has a dart gun. One of my deputies got shot when he went inside. He’s sleeping it off in the cruiser.”
I gnawed on my bottom lip. “Good to know.”
Conrad finally joined the group and handed me my phone. “Rianne called. I also tried to get ahold of Webb. But he’s not answering.”
We agreed not to alert Sam. For starters, he would leave the shifter compound and expose himself. It was too dangerous for him. Webb and Tripp held the power to send reinforcements anyway.
I plowed through the crowd, calling Rianne on my phone to let her know I was coming in. I would be lying if I said I wasn’t nervous, because my stomach was in a tight-fisted knot.
“Five minutes,” Conrad reminded me as he walked me to the entrance.
I waved him off. It was showtime.
29
LAYLA
Athick layer of grease burned the hairs in my nostrils when I entered the restaurant. It took my eyes a few seconds to adjust from the sunlight to the dimly lit space. Before I could track movement, a blinding light was shining in my face.
Squinting, I raised one hand to shield my eyes and the other to grab the dagger on my leg. Since I couldn’t see, I sharpened my other senses, and a laugh broke out in my head.
You’re not a vampire. You don’t have acute hearing.
Maybe not, but adrenaline was a beautiful thing in times of flight or fight, and I still had my banshee scream. I hadn’t yet gotten around to testing to see if I could still control someone with my mind or had any other new magical abilities, like Sam and I had talked about.
“Bob, cut the lights,” Rianne ordered the cameraman, her haughty voice grating on my nerves as if someone was clawing at me with sharp nails. “You’ll have a chance to film the Aberdeen sisters.”
I held steady, the leather handle of my family heirloom feeling like it had belonged in my hand for eons, and I primed myself to launch it at a moment’s notice.
I quickly assessed the room. To my right was Bob, husky and broad, alongside a familiar-looking reporter dressed to accept the Pulitzer in a black tailored pinstripe suit. To my left was a family—father, mother, and young son, who had fear written over their pale faces. Directly ahead of me, Rebekah, Trina, and the cook were out cold and laid out flat on their stomachs in the aisle that separated the counter and stools from the main dining room. Then, in the middle of the restaurant, Jordyn was tied to a chair at a table, blazing mad. As my attention finally landed on Rianne, who was standing on top of the table next to our sister, I choked out a laugh. I shouldn’t find any of this funny, but I couldn’t help myself.
Rianne was holding a dart gun, head shaved—as in stubs of hair poking straight up—dressed in black from head to toe and wearing a bulletproof vest with wires sticking out of a pocket.
Before my pulse went haywire, I studied the vest for C-4, but I didn’t see a bomb.
“Are you taking a play out of Roman’s bag of tricks?” I asked, my feet glued to the wood floor by the door.
The blood cartel lord, though he might not be running the blood trade anymore, had commanded his troops from the top of an SUV during my first battle encounter with him.
She sneered, aiming her weapon at me. “Roman is a fucking putz.”
One eyebrow went up and the other down as I cocked my neck. “Trouble in paradise, sis?” I didn’t need a response. It was clear she hated Roman. “What’s with the wires on your vest? You plan on becoming a martyr?”
Rianne smirked proudly. “I have a camera, so I can tape your reactions of our meeting.”
“She’s sick in the head, Layla,” Jordyn grunted, and then she growled, struggling against her restraints in the chair.
Rianne kicked Jordyn in the jaw. “Shut the fuck up.”
Anger, blazing hot, burned through my veins, causing me to grab the dagger on my back. “Come on, Rianne. Lose the dart gun and face me like a warrior. Stop screwing around.” I had children who needed their momma, and I didn’t have time for much more childish antics.
Jordyn shrieked, turning red. “If it’s the last thing I do, I will rip your guts out.” She spat at Rianne.
“You couldn’t scare a bear, sister,” Rianne said to Jordyn. “You know I’m the better fighter.”
“Then do as Layla says. Shuck the gun,” Jordyn urged. “I’ll fight you.”
Jordyn could hold her own, but out of the three of us, Jordyn came in third with her fighting skills. But that was up until we arrived in Maine, after which Jordyn had been a machine, running six miles without breaking a sweat. Every muscle on her was toned, her attitude and mood were better than I’d ever seen, and she was anxious to learn Krav Maga.
