Sighing, I bend over and scoop her up. “Don’t worry,” I murmur. “I’m sure he’ll cave to your theatrics soon enough.”
Thorn might be a surly bastard, but the careful way he’d handled the kitten betrayed him.
Violet—the litter is named after flowers this time—will be on her way to her permanent home soon enough.
And that home will be with Thorn.
“How long do you give it, huh?” I stroke my hand along her little back. “A week? Nah. I give the man two days before he caves.”
“Meow!”
“I know. But I’ve got you while you wait. You can claw the furniture, run like a maniac through the halls, and fill that little belly with kitty kibble.”
“Meow!”
“And you’ll wear down Grump McGrumperface soon enough. He’ll spoil you rotten.”
“Meow.”
“Yeah, he’s grumpy, but he’s a good guy. He’ll treat you right.”
“Meow.” She stretches, rubbing her face against my chin. “Meow. Meow. Meow.”
“Okay, Ms. Chatterbox,” I murmur, walking her over to her siblings and settling her near one of the fluffy beds that have taken over my living room. She immediately starts batting at a feather-encrusted ball, drawing her two brothers’ and three sisters’ attention. A Kitty Royale for domination of the feather ball ensues and I find myself watching the chaos and smiling.
I should be freaking out.
Should be frantically trying to fix this.
Pascal’s crew had intercepted a letter.
It was a photo of Briar and me leaving the charity function, my fingers wrapped tightly around her arm, our faces angry.
No note with it.
No threat.
Just a clear message that they’re watching.
Who exactly is watching, we don’t know. Though Pascal has tracked down a link confirming that Jace is right. It seems like this shit is all connected.
The Lyon family is the scum of the earth.
(And, joy, my father worked closely with them).
So, it’s not just the personal attacks on me and Jean-Michel and Chrissy, nor even the corporate espionage and underhanded tactics within all our companies.
It’s not what they did to Briar.
It’s all of that…plushuman trafficking and God knows what else.
Attie, the FBI agent in charge of the investigation that brought down part of their human trafficking ring last year, knows there are other arms of the organization she hasn’t uncovered yet, but they seem to be able to slip in and out of the corporate world and the dark underbelly of the crime world with equanimity.
She said they’re like a fucking hydra—cut off one head and another emerges.
Fucking Lyons.
But even though Pascal had imparted that information before heading back out to do security chief things, I feel remarkably…steady?
