Monroe rubs his forehead. “I don’t know how …”
And I fucking lose it.
“I’m so fucking sick of hearing that you don’t know shit! There is a connection here. I want to know what it fucking is.”
My blood is boiling. I’m so goddamn frustrated. In an effort to release some of it, I kick a chair at one of the abandoned tables, the place settings filled with half-eaten meals crashing to the floor with it. A melody of clatters from the broken china and shattered glass blares through the space. I grip my hairand scratch my head with the end of the pistol, aware that I’m dangerously close to killing them all.
“He’s about to blow.” Maddox states that so matter-of-factly, not a fucking care in the world, as he twirls the blade that could shred them all in seconds. It certainly ups the insanity vibe. “You’d better give him something if you want to leave alive.”
They all gape, dumbfounded.
Finally, one of the guys—Roger, I think—speaks. “It does seem like there’s a connection. But if there were, we probably wouldn’t be able to make it. That’s not how The Order works. We get assignments, but we aren’t permitted to disclose them to anyone. We also aren’t able to decline involvement if another member needs our services, which means we often don’t know what we’re involved in. We’re just a cog in the wheel.”
I guess I get that. The leaders of The Order aren’t much different than we are. They’re puppeteers. Having people, who are otherwise pillars of their communities, carry out dirty work that has nothing to do with them and no motive associated with them throws investigators off the scent. It’s the way they thrive. Much like how we form unlikely alliances for our advantage.
Axel is connected to the leader of The Order through KORT, but having him dig into this will only put Mercy on their radar beyond being part of Axel’s executive staff. I don’t like that idea. It looks to be a dead end anyway.
Basically, it boils down to me needing a simpler way to figure all this shit out.
Trafton.
Fuck. Why didn’t I stop for two minutes to see what he needed to tell me?
That was the best night of my life. I’ll forever cherish every minute with Mercy before, during, and after the Prohibition Ball—till the damn old folks’ home. But I may have fuckedeverything up by not simply slowing down and doing my damn job.
“Fine.” I move back toward them, attempting to tamp down some of my frenetic energy. “Trafton is my answer. Tell me what you know.”
“He was among the best of us. Loyal,” Monroe supplies. “He wouldn’t have been involved in causing harm to any woman.”
That much I knew. Despite his underhanded dealings, he had a lot of integrity. It’s why he was one of our most esteemed members and why he was present at the ball.
One of the guys, who has been mute for our entire conversation, looks to be in his late sixties. He wipes his mouth. “We don’t likely have what you’re looking for. But Trafton had a group he confided in. There were eight of them. If he was struggling with something, conflicted about whether to clue you in, he either took it to the grave or told them.”
“Get me their names.”
RYKER
“I’m leaning toward not letting you go to court tomorrow.”
Mercy has her bench trial for Everett Floros in the morning. And the last place I want her to be is anywhere outside of La Lune Noire.
Axel and I have been reviewing the seven men who were in a confidante group with Theo Trafton. There are a couple of routes we could take with it. One that seems to be promising. But Axel and I share opposing ideas on how to approach it.
We’ll figure that out, but I can’t put off this conversation any longer.
Mercy stands near the threshold of my office, arms crossed over her chest beneath her gorgeous, albeit scowling, face. After a long day of preparing for her case and handling some issues for Axel, she’s in relaxed attire—tiny terry-cloth shorts, showing off her shimmery legs, and a loose sweatshirt, hanging off one shoulder. Utterly radiant.
At her silence, I toss my dice onto my desk, irritated when a four and two pop up as I broaden my explanation. “I’ve filled you in, shown that I trust you with handling all of this. So, we needto be diligent. I’ll address it with the judge, and Everett will be taken care of. But with Trafton dead and the fraudulent email about you and Remy, it’s not safe for you to be away from the resort.”
A saccharine smile coasts up her cheeks. “Respectfully, fuck that.” She throws her arm back to our room—ours because she’s been in my bed for a week now—and the site of the champagne baptism. “We left it all behind, right? And I signed a damn contract. Regardless of how you’ll take care of it, abandoning a client the night before his bench trial will be career suicide for me—outside of what I’m assigned here. And I get it. I’m a lifer. Noire lawyering is what I do now and forever. But I have to feel like I’m earning my reputation. I have to be challenged. No, I made a commitment, and if I start hiding again … I can’t.”
Axel chuckles. He’s lounging in one of my leather armchairs, and he told me she’d say that. I knew she would too. I’m just conflicted. Primarily because she’s been fighting.
I’ve seen how, every day, she has to make a conscious choice to be here, to want more, to let the past go. To lean into us and the joy she feels. This week, we’ve felt like a family—her, Remy, and me. And my brothers for that matter.
We’ve watched movies, played games, shared meals, and as I mentioned, she’s been in my bed. There are no words to describe how life-altering it is to wake up beside her, especially on the mornings Remy is our alarm. For a few minutes, with them in my arms, all is right in the world. It’s been amazing, a dream come true for me. I know she feels that, too, but it’s a battle for her not to let her dark past pull her back under.
The only way she gets off that battlefield is to conquer her demons one day at a time. I don’t want to stifle that. But the methods to shield her physically and those to protect her emotionally are at war with one another.
