He adjusts his flat cap. “A couple superficial wounds. Nothing major. We’re good.”
I exhale, a weight lifts. This pressure, this obligation to The Quinn’s, it’s different. I’m being trusted to lead them, I’m responsible for not fucking it up.
Usually, the consequence of a bad decision is just my own life, something I can deal with.
Rowan returns and hands each of us a machete.
I pull mine free and step over the first body, and in one clean motion, I send his head rolling across the floor. The men flinch, half-horrified, half-impressed. “Don’t be babies. You want the Preacher to know who he’s fucking with or not? This is how we do it. Let him see exactly what will happen to him next.”
I pull out Madame Eve’s finger from my pocket with a wicked grin. “We don’t know where to send this message, but I say we leave it right on the door. The heads will lead the Preacher right to it.” I suggest holding up the severed digit.
We were already planning to take down the Preacher. But now, we’re getting closer to really fucking ending this.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Lily
Groaning, I pick up my phone again when another notification pops up. It’s just another picture that’s been tagged. I’m already sick of seeing my own face.
Claude’s showing was incredible. A complete sellout. And my phone hasn’t stopped buzzing since.
I open the notification and tap the photo. A slow smile spreads across my face. I look hot. You’d never guess I was five minutes away from a full panic attack right before the shutter clicked.
Pulling up my emails next, I let out a sigh. There are so many unopened, there is no way I can deal with all of this today. So, I call Roxy, even though it’s her day off. I’m sure she will get through these before they pile up. She is always happy for some extra cash.
“Oh my god, Lily. Our emails are going crazy with artists wanting to show at your gallery!”
Pride swells in my chest. I’ve poured everything into this business. It’s kept me sane and given me a purpose again when my world crumbled around me. I suppose that’s something I can thank my dad for. I found a life outside of ballet that is still rewarding. And seeing as I can’t even put on my pointe shoes anymore without crying, this is the best it’s going to get for me.
“That’s brilliant. I’m hoping we can open another gallery overseas, so I guess that’s one step closer, right?” I picture it instantly. Living by the sea. The sun warming my skin. A cocktail in my hand. No fear. No past clawing at my ribs.
“I’d say so. Seeing as Marco Steele wants you to go to Monaco!”
“What!” I sprint to my home office and flip open my laptop, fingers moving faster than my thoughts. Tears sting my eyes as the email loads.
Marco Steele is one of the top names in the art world right now. He’s in magazines and is probably one of the hardest men to get a showing with. Because he doesn’t need them. His name sells his art alone.
“It’s not a scam?” I ask.
I lean closer, squinting. His logo at the top is in a deep red. It looks real. Not just real. Ridiculously real. It makes my heart race.
“No fucking way,” I whisper, my fingers trembling over the keys.
“No. It’s real! His assistant texted me too!” Roxy rushes out.
“Send me his number. I’ll call him.”
I’m practically bouncing in my chair while I wait for her message. “Texting you right now.”
“Got it,” I say. “I’ll call you back.”
I hit dial and lean back, twisting my thumb rings around my fingers.
Then the call connects. “Hello. Ralph speaking, how can I help?”
I clear my throat. “My name is Lily?—”
“Ah. Yes. I know exactly who you are. And we’ve seen what a beautiful showing you put on for Claude recently. In fact, we sent one of our assistants there. He loved it. Said the gothic vibe really fit well with Marco’s next collection.”
