Kit was light in his arms. Not melting back like usual. That was fair. They usually didn’t cuddle with hostages in the room.
As the silence stretched, Melissa shifted in her seat. All James could see was her brown hair, tangled from the hood. James inhaled, trying to use Kit’s scent to focus. His thoughts were too scattered.
He didn’t want to kill Melissa. Sure, Bishop didn’t trust him with the interrogation. But James was fixated, not out ofcontrol. Melissa Vespers was involved far more deeply in the Rat King’s operation than James’s previous victim had known. She organized weapons transportation, with a side of getting the wrong people across the wrong borders.
She could get James closer to his family’s killers.
“What tipped you off to the Viper’s return?” Bishop finally asked. Damn, he was good at that casual voice. Creepy as fuck with that gray mask.
James would have to ask where Bishop got it. Creepy as fuck could be useful.
“There’s been activity at one of his old warehouses,” Melissa said, her voice steadier now. “17th and Heron.”
Meeting Bishop’s eyes across the half-lit room, James slumped. So did Kit, twisting around in James’s arms with a perfect are-you-fucking-kidding-me glare.
That warehouse wasn’t the Viper anymore. That was James. He’d bought it from a shell company’s shell company, and that was where they’d trapped the man who wanted pictures of Kit’s dead body.
Disappointing not to have something new. But it was for the best that the Viper vanished and stayed vanished.
“You have good eyes,” Bishop said without missing a beat. His thumb tapped at his phone screen.
“Who else is here?” Melissa asked, without turning her head.
James admired Bishop’s infuriating silence as his phone screen lit up. Kit tried to hand it over, but James liked the sight of his phone massive in Kit’s pretty little hands.
So, James kissed the top of Kit’s head as he grasped the phone. Not taking it away—both his hands curved around Kit’s, palm to knuckles. Kit’s hands were small enough that James could easily reply around him.
Bishop:thoughts?
James:Play along
Melissa was more than a pawn, and she might lead them to the king. James was willing to make a deal, but he wasn’t an idiot. He reserved the right to renege on any bargain if Melissa traded with false goods.
Bishop set his phone aside. “South America or Europe?”
Melissa’s shoulders softened. “Portugal’s nice this time of year.”
“Give me the name—the correct name—and you’ll reach Portugal alive, unharmed, and undetected,” Bishop said. “We’ll leave you alone, but your safety afterwards will be your responsibility.”
“That sounds very reasonable,” Melissa said, close to Bishop’s casual tone. “How can I trust you after I give you the name?”
Silence fell again. James occupied it by toying with Kit’s hands. Interlacing their fingers. Counting the sharp knuckles. Kit’s every breath hooked into James’s own lungs, untangling the tension between his ribs.
James was fine. Really.
Because Kit was here.
Melissa broke the silence to answer her own question. “The Rat King is two people. Used to be three, but they ate one of their own, and there’s two left.” Her voice strengthened. “I’ll give you one name now, and the second when I’m safe in Portugal.”
Two people. That was new.
Bishop reached for his phone, but James replied before Bishop could finish the question.
James:Works for me
“One name now, one name in Portugal,” Bishop said out loud, setting his phone decisively aside. “We have a deal.”
Melissa exhaled. “Nazario Bradach is the businessman. He runs the manufacturing and trafficking. All the profit operations.”
