I push back my chair hard enough to make it screech. “She’s not a snitch.”
“Then she better convince the God of War she’s not a threat,” Shane says. “Because he’s not coming to negotiate. He’s coming to decide.”
The weight of that lands heavily in my chest. “Decide what?”
Shane meets my eyes. “Whether she lives under our protection…or theirs.”
My blood runs cold.
“Then I’ll damn well be there when he questions her,” Isay and walk out before anyone tells me I can’t.
I leave my brother to settle down our cousin. Every muscle buzzes, fearing the energy Quinlan Empire can unleash now that they know I’m deeply invested in a witness.
Chapter 21
Rhys
Afew days later, I wait for Ares. And I’m already crawling out of my skin. Trace keeps texting for updates, but I don’t respond. There are too many questions I don’t want to answer.
I left Fallon making adjustments to her holiday plans, since now she’s included me in them. If possible, her whiteboard looks even more chaotic with notes about me, what I need to wear, how long to hold her hand, and something about a haircut.
I wait outside my building, my coat open despite the wind, and the temperature drops when a black Bentley slides to the curb.
Ares Zervas steps out in a tailored gray suit and severe dark shades even though the sun’s hiding behind the November clouds. The man looks like a god carved from marble who shits money.
This all seems surreal when he struts my way, leaving the car door open for someone else to shut it.
I walk toward him before he can get closer to the building. “If I’d had my way, I never would have agreed to this.”
“That is why I called Shane,” he admits to his deceptive tactics.
“I understand why you need to know if she’ll be loyal.” I get up in his face. “But you came to me for the hit because you trusted me. So why aren’t you trusting me to question her and give you the assurances you need?”
“Not after the way I saw you look at her.” He removes his sunglasses. Blue eyes that match his suit lock on me, calm and lethal. “You’re compromised.”
“And you’re not?” My voice pitches. “You made me kill the man married to your assistant.”
His jaw ticks, like he didn’t expect we’d figure that out. “Check yourself, Quinlan. You have no right to question my motives. You are an executioner. And executioners wear black hoods and cut off heads without a second thought because they don’t care. I guess I was wrong about you. You’ve gone soft.”
“I’ve killed men for less of an insult.”
“Consider it a warning. A friendly one. If you want to make it in this life, you need to stay tough.”
I fold my arms. “And by tough, you mean, not touched by love or emotion? Is that how you’ve made it all forty-something years of your life?”
He steps back and tugs on his suit jacket. “Quinlan, I’m here to question a witness. And I’m waiting for you to escort me into your apartment as a courtesy. In two minutes, three guards will leave that black SUV behind my Bentley, incapacitate you, and I willtakeyour woman.”
My fists clench. “I have it handled with her. She saw me commit the murder. It’s up to me to keep her quiet.”
“She was at the scene of a murder tied to my house. That body, if found, will be dissected. I don’t want to insult your cleaners, but the tiniest spec of blood can be found and tested. Surely you will be implicated, our ties assessed. A good prosecutor will not expectyouto be a snitch, but when they discover her DNA, they will findher.”
There’s no use in stalling. All those ugly truths burn my stomach. “Just say what you came to say. And then leave. The minute you get rough or inappropriate with her?—”
“I don’t need much time to make sure she’s not a problem,” he replies evenly. “If I decide she’s loyal, I’ll walk away.”
“And if she’s not?”
His lips curve into something that could almost pass for regret. “Then I’ll handle it.”
