That’s true, but as far as I know, we weren’t planning to turn the Noire information over yet. I wasn’t there for that part of the meeting, but Ivy and Wells both mentioned that Axel was against it, that he didn’t want that intel to see the light of day. None of that even fucking matters.
“It’s not about KORT,” I grit out. “A takedown of this magnitude will look intentional. He’ll narrow it down to a few possibilities. If he figures out that you and I have been out this way—any fucking mention from anyone—we’re screwed.”
Blood.
“Even if he does, he can’t fucking touch us,” he argues. “He won’t risk retaliating on KORT members for below-board shit. That would backfire.”
“That’s valid,” I concede, pacing among the bodies. My cool and calculated demeanor has morphed to a panicky, cold sweat. “But … I need to fucking think. He’ll dig around. Enzo and Sebastian were probably already reported missing, so he’ll look into that. And because he fucking owns this town, he’ll get his answers.” My head snaps up with the revelation that wallops me like a brick to my skull. “And he’ll be led to the club, to her. He’ll go after Rena. There’s no reason he can’t.”
One wrong choice.
“Yeah.” He blows an exaggerated sigh. “He sure as fuck will. We should just go kill him.”
It’s not shocking that Gage would leap to that. Enforcing is his domain, so any threat to us gets buried immediately when he’s involved. But no matter how unhinged I feel in this situation or how much I loathe Balzano and want to burn him alive for whathe stole from my girl by robbing her of her mother, I have to maintain a level head, or we’ll be the ones who end up in the ground.
“That’s fucking war. We can’t kill a KORT chair. We’ll all be dead by next week.”
“I’ve got something that might hold.” He wags his finger in the air, tapping his light-bulb idea. “I got three guys in the truck bed.”
“What?” I gasp—because …what? And also, of course he has three guys in his truck bed.
He arches his eyebrows in pride, which wrinkles his bronze forehead. “I got three fucking dead Morellis in my truck.”
“Morellis?” I parrot.
That does astound me. Morelli is the Mafia family Gage grew up with. Once upon a time, he was a high-rising foot soldier with aspirations of becoming more. Until they used him and killed everything he was, including every hope and dream he’d ever held.
He scrubs a hand over his mouth, but then starts for the door, urging me to follow. “I was out in Oregon to encourage the governor to get in line with KORT.”
“Indiana Jones,” I murmur, to which he chuckles.
“Yeah. Stupid hat. He’s a slippery sucker. Ended up tracking him down in Napa Valley, California. After all the footwork, that guy was a sniveling sissy who caved within two minutes of meeting me. No fucking fun. Anyway, Glines called me and was all cryptic about some development that he needed to pick my brain about. But didn’t want to say anything over the phone.”
Glines is an FBI agent we deal with. He straddles fences with the best of them. Dirty and underhanded when it serves him, but does a damn good job of sniffing out the guys who are a detriment on all accounts. We’ve worked with him a few times, and he deals a lot with KORT and The Order.
As we trek through a covered path that leads to where we’re parked, I spit out my first of many questions. “What did he want?”
“No fucking clue. Wells had told him I was in Oregon, so hewas willing to meet me there. But when he mentioned he was in California, I told him I wasn’t far, and I’d come to him. We settled on a little pizza place in Grass Valley—eclectic fucking town—and I waited three goddamn hours. He never showed.”
“Weird,” I mutter as we hike up the last leg of our journey.
“So fucking weird,” he volleys.
“So, how did that lead you to the Morellis?”
“Well, I was out there, and that town is only about an hour from Lake Tahoe. I’d been there when I was a kid, so I thought, why the hell not? I drove on over, and when I walked into this little tavern, I immediately spotted these three motherfuckers.” He pauses there, right as we toe up to the bumper, and he pops the bed cover open to a forty-five-degree angle to show me the dead and desecrated corpses swaddled in plastic wrap, but then slams it shut again. “We’d better just drive over.”
That’s a much preferable idea over carrying those dead guys back. Physical exertion isn’t going to trump my anxiety this time. And there’s no risk of the truck being traced back to us if anyone should report that they noticed it. He either rented from a service that specializes in anonymity or paid cash. We never use names for anything.
I plop into the front seat as he drops in on the driver’s side. “Sounds like it was your lucky day. Until I called and dragged you into this god-awful mess.”
“I’m telling you, it is my lucky day. And yours too.” He glances in the rearview mirror before he accelerates, his face conveying emotion contrary to mine—where my expression is no doubt panic-stricken, his is elated. “This is kismet. I’ve been so wrapped up in Ivy, Felicity, and Celeste that I haven’t given revenge much thought anymore. Wells always promised we’d get to it after we were part of KORT and unstoppable. And you know, it’s best served cold and all that shit, so I was fine with waiting. I’d dreamed of all the ways I could destroy her and her fucking family, but thenthe girls …” He throws a hand toward me. “Well, you know. But when I saw those motherfuckers, it all came rushing back.”
I’d feel the same if Steve hadn’t robbed me of my right to slaughter him. No amount of time would have kept me from gutting him.
“I bet,” I agree, “especially being so far from the girls.”
They soften us.
