One thing I know for sure—everything is about to change.
eleven
The night air tastes like spilled beer and diesel as I stand under the awning of McDonough’s, the neon sign buzzing a lazy green above the door. My palms are still damp from the beer I keep twisting between my fingers like a lifeline. The bar smells of fried potatoes and old wood and something sweet that makes my stomach flip.
Inside, Liam has already cornered off the back room away from the nightly patrons. Mark is hunched over his laptop at the bar like a kid hiding his homework, dragging his fingers across the keys as if every line of code can unmake what’s been done. He arrived an hour ago, tech in tow, a grim look on his face.
Matthias knows what he did, yet here he is, sitting with us now, forgiven. I’m not the onlytraitor, as Matthias puts it. I’m just the only one he doesn’t have a use for. Mark’s technological prowess is something Matthias needs. He doesn’t need me now that Elias is dead and he can’t lord me over him any longer.
Sighing, I step back into the bar and make my way toward the booth we have set aside for the meeting. I take a seat across from Liam, tapping my nails against the glass anxiously.
I despite waiting. My phone sits on the table silently. Every time the door to the back opens, I flinch. None of the people who come through are Matthias, just a few of Liam’s men.
“It will be fine,” Liam tells me, his eyes soft. “He’ll show up. Mark did and I doubt he would have sent him here if he wasn’t going to also come.”
I give a disgruntled grunt. He also could have sent Mark as a way to give me hope and then piss me off when he chooses to not show. If only this plan didn’t hinge on his cooperation.
The bell over the door jangles, and I will myself not to look.
Not that it matters, because that is the exact thing I end up doing.
He strides in with an air of confidence that doesn’t surprise me. This may be Kavanaugh territory, but Matthias knows his influence and power in the city. The hushed voices around me quiet until all I see and hear is the subtle shift of his feet on the hardwood floor and the hush of his breath as he whispers to Vas and Nikolai who are standing on his right side.
My throat tightens as the three of them fan out like wolves, checking the room with slow, clinical movements. He is just as terrifying and handsome as I remember. And just as stubbornly infuriating as well.
Jackass.
His glacier eyes spot me, his stoic face hard as granite as he glides toward the table like someone who is used to people giving him what he intends to take.
“Matthias.” I’m proud when my voice doesn’t crack. I stand to greet him, trying to ease the tension in the air to make it feel less like a hostage negotiation and more of a conversation between adults.
He nods once, barely acknowledging me before turning to Liam.
“Kavanaugh,” he greets him before he takes a seat at the table on Mark’s left side without waiting to be invited. Of course he doesn’t wait. The king of Seattle doesn’t wait for anyone. Vas takes the far end beside him, shooting me a wink as he sits, while Nikolai posts at the corner of the room. His gaze sweeps the room, eyeing the door that separates us from the patrons in the main bar room.
Matthias doesn’t so much as glance at me. My jaw ticks. Great start.
Liam clears his throat. “Thanks for coming.”
Matthias relaxes in his chair. “You said it was important.” His eyes move to the folder on the table, myfolder withmyresearch andmyintel, before skipping right over me like I’m some leftover crumb the Grinch left behind after stealing Christmas.
Not today.
“We appreciate you meeting on neutral ground,” Liam adds, the diplomatic tone he’s perfected smoothing the edges.
“It’s not neutral,” Matthias points out, gaze narrowing. “It’s your bar.”
“Still standing, isn’t it?” Liam deadpans.
Matthias doesn’t smile. He flicks a glance at Mark, who is sitting awkwardly between the pair holding out a flash drive like it’s a peace offering.
“You’re lucky you’re still breathing.” Matthias takes the drive and pockets it.
Mark mutters, “Love you too, big guy,” but the humor is thin and doesn’t reach his eyes.
“And you,” Matthias says, turning his head toward me at last. “You hung up on me.”
His tone is soft. Dangerous. The kind of soft that hides razors.
