“When do you ship the cargo?” Clyde asks us, lowering his voice. “Now that Rune has what he wants, he’ll push to move your initiation along.”
Breaker sets the plate down, and looks my way, his expression hardening. He doesn’t have to say it. We are both worried about how this next part will go. Meeting with Rune. Reaper was smart enough to know he couldn’t be a part of this. There was no way he could, considering. But moments like this, when the reality that we have to come face to face with Rune hits, it all feels impossible.
We’re never going to pull this off.
“We’ll deal with it when the time comes,” Breaker says, reading my expression. “For now, we have to wait until Striker is here and then get through the initiation, then we can—”
“Fuck,” Clyde curses, forcing both of our attention back to him. He holds his phone up so we can both see the screen.
Breaker snatches the phone, glaring down at the screen. “Fuck me,” he groans.
I smirk, nudging his thigh with my knee. “I’ve been trying, but you won’t bottom.”
Shooting me a glare, he hands the phone back to Clyde. “Zane says he’ll be here within the hour,” he tells me, then shoves me off the stool. “Go wake up your future wife.”
I grab a bagel off Breaker’s plate. “Wife.” I say, winking at Clyde. “I like the sound of that.”
“She won’t,” Clyde says. “She’s not going to marry you.”
I lift my chin toward Breaker. “Then she can marry him. It’s just paperwork.”
“Not gonna happen,” Clyde calls after me. “Besides, there won’t be enough time before we leave for the lodge.”
My stomach drops.
He’s right. We don’t have enough time to do much of anything. Especially entertaining silly dreams. Once Delilah sets things in motion, anything could happen. A stray bullet. Bad timing. The piss-poor luck that has plagued me my entire life. One wrong move and none of us might make it out alive.
Chapter 41
Cora
Mymotheroncetoldme, on one of the rare occasions she took an interest in me, that adversity reveals a man’s strength, but power reveals his true character. At the time, I didn’t understand what she meant. It wasn’t until I was older that I grasped the meaning of the words.
As I sit in the solarium at the long, intricately carved dining table, covered with trays of food waiting for Zane to arrive, I think I finally understand what she truly meant. Power corrupts, and a life without adversity creates entitlement. And men in the business of selling secrets and lies, have more power than life has ever tested them for.
My mother played the game the way men do. She lived her entire life that way. Unapologetic. Cruel. Unforgiving. My mother ate men up, absorbed their power, then tossed out their remains.
She did it with everything she touched. It didn’t matter who you were. Endgame was her pleasure and whatever fed her ego and her greed. Whether it was using my father in her sexgames, fucking Rune’s protégé, or betraying her best friend by ordering a hit, she did what she had to do—what shewanted—to keep her power.
But I guess all those little tests in life that she never got meant she never saw Rune coming. She truly believed she could get away with murdering his wife. With destroying his family.
And it was all over money.
I glance at Viper sitting at the head of the table, now back in his role as Vince, wondering if money drives the men too. Wondering just how much he knows about my mother.
Does he know it was money that drove her to kill her best friend?
Because money drives everything, including Zane, who walks into the large solarium where the four of us wait, that smarmy smile on his plastic face. Breaker stands just enough to shake his hand, greeting him with that mega-watt smile, but Viper remains seated, barely looking his way, much less taking his outstretched hand. Instead, he grabs an olive and pops it in his mouth.
Zane, rarely ever letting a feather fall out of place, takes the hit in stride. He oozes privilege and money, his usual tailored suit replaced with a short-sleeved polo tucked into khakis. But the power? That’s all Viper and Breakers. Zane is too corrupted to be anything but evil dressed up with money to disguise his weakness.
Two of the bodyguards from last night—the one who couldn’t keep his hands to himself, Damon, and the one with the blond hair—come into the room behind him and take up a spot near the door.
“Good afternoon,” Zane says, eyes moving from my red lipstick to the long, hunter-green halter dress the men provided. “You look—”
“You’ll no longer be looking,” Viper says, his tone deadly. The large dark wood armchair upholstered with heavy fabric makes him look like a king on a throne. He snatches up another olive, glaring as he gestures for Zane to sit at the table next to Clyde.
Viper’s dressed similarly to Zane today, khakis and a tight shirt that hugs every single inch of his body, so there is no hiding the power each muscle holds.
