I reach for it, but he’s already popped the latches.
He strides toward the edge of the sidewalk and with a flick of his arm, he flings the violin into the traffic.
Time slows.
I scream.
The instrument arcs through the air, and then a truck’s front tire crushes it mid-turn. The splintering sound rips through my ribs.
My body lurches like it’s my bones breaking out there in the road.
“You fucking bastard!” I scream, trying to claw at him, but he catches my wrists and my phone drops to my feet.
His face dips low to mine, breath hot and venomous. “Continue to fight me and I’ll start breaking things that bleed.”
28
KINGSTON
The Blood Vault files glare at me from Bronx’s computer screen. Names, dates, kill orders—all the dirty secrets the Red Tribunal thought they'd buried under lock and key.
Luckily, Bronx’s hacker picked the lock and freed the bloodstained legacy they’ve created.
It’s a good thing, all the leverage I need to take them down and save us all.
But I can barely focus on the intel that should and could change everything.
My phone buzzes against the table, but I ignore it. Mind spinning and heart clenching, I try hard to focus on what’s staring me in the face.
"This is it," Bronx says, tapping a part of the screen with his finger. "Proof that they ordered the hit on you. And look at this." He clicks the mouse and brings up another file. "They've been planning a complete takeover of our family and the O’Callaghans. Your father-in-law was just a pawn."
Reign leans back in his chair, arms crossed. When thingsblew up with Livvie, I knew I needed to bring my other brother into the mission, especially since my time could be limited.
Who the fuck knows if there’s another hit out on me? I’m sure the Tribunal already knows Livvie and I are done, and they’ll act fast to accomplish their goals which likely means they’ll kill her, too.
"So what's the play?” he says. “We hit them first, yeah?"
I should be strategizing. Should be planning their destruction down to the last detail. Instead, my mind keeps circling back to the look on Livvie's face when I walked out on her.
My phone vibrates again, skittering across the desk.
"You gonna answer that?" Bronx asks, lighting another cigarette.
He takes a deep drag and blows it out, raking a hand through his messy hair.
"It's not important."
I don’t bother looking at the screen to see who’s calling.
But something in my gut says something is off. And that something has been clawing at me since I left her standing in that conservatory like a broken doll.
The phone stops buzzing, then immediately starts again.
"Christ," I mutter, grabbing the phone.
But it's not a call. It's a voicemail notification.
From Livvie’s number.
