“There cannot be a passion much greater than this—
it wells up in me, makes my heart ache ...
until my eyes brim with water, until my lashes grow dark.”
—Segovia Amil
“And so,” Raife’s voice gnaws at my eardrums, “the spawn of the bitchbecomesthe bitc—”
I don’t know I’m moving until my fist connects with his ribcage. He keels over, sucking in a breath, then he locks his arm around my back. Wrapping my hand around his neck, I throttle him and shove him backward when Griff’s form appears and a punch lands on my right side. Pain shoots through me, but I don’t loosen my hold.
Griff goes for my neck, but Raife sputters, “No. Let him,” and Griff halts mid-swing.
I narrow my eyes, relaxing my grip. What the fuck is he really up to with all this shit?
Raife’s lips quirk, and he darts a sideways glance toward the column beside us. “You didn’t even try to see who it is.”
Gritting my teeth, I flick my gaze toward the unconscious man. I take in his sharp suit, the gelled hair parted to one side.
Murphy.
A satisfied exhale blows past my lips. Releasing Raife, I stalk toward the man and lift his chin. Energy zips through my fingers at the mere touch. Fuck, it’s electrifying, having him this close to me after all these goddamn years. The man who was always a mystery. The ghost hiding behind his wealth and conducting everything Katerina did from a safe distance.
He thinks himself a god, the egomaniac, which is what the name Misha initially represented. He might have played one for a little while, but his body is as frail as any of ours, and his soul is blacker than the deepest pits of Hell. He deserves to rot in all the ways Katerina escaped.
For a moment, I allow myself to close my eyes and inhale his scent.
“That’s right,” Raife purrs, his voice growing closer. “You can finish himright now.”
My eyes snap open. When I pull back, distancing myself from Murphy, a painful sting reminds me I’m going against my instincts.
“What happened to your elaborate plan?” I flick my gaze around the space, taking in the lack of screens. “Felix hasn’t released anything to the media yet. And not so long ago you risked everything to kill Murphy yourself.” Stepping aside, I gesture toward the limp body. “Now’syourfucking chance.”
We both want our revenge; the chance we missed with Katerina. Why isn’t he taking his?
Raife glances at the crates then back at me. “Plans change. This morning has been ... illuminating for me. As you know, I’m not always a selfish man, Lucas. I’ve brought you a gift. Two, really. The chance to end MishaandKaterina’s bloodline—personally.” He steps toward me, his chin dipped. “So you see, I’m choosing our brotherhood over my own desires. Will you do the same?”
I stare at Murphy, compelled. My fingers twitch with the impulse to grab my knife. Murphy is mine. But so is Emmy. And the weird stabbing sensation in my chest when I see her in that crate is fucking painful.
“Give me the key.”
“Key? What key?”
“The fucking key, Raife. Give it to me before I cut your damn throat.”
A smirk lifts his lips. “There is no key. Don’t you remember how efficient I am at hiding them?”
I prowl toward him, braced to knock him on his ass, when my fucking phone dings. I’m tempted to ignore it, but Felix wouldn’t text unless it was urgent. With a frustrated breath, I click open the message.
Felix: Watching the cameras and something’s not right. Two shady SUVs are coming straight for us. Fast.
With my grip tightening around the phone, I slowly bring my gaze back to Raife’s. “You didn’t cover your tracks?”
He doesn’t answer. Instead, he tips his chin toward Griff. Griff bumps my shoulder and walks around us.
“Brother.” Raife clasps his hands in front of him. “It’s time for this thing between us to come to a head. You and I have had our differences long enough, and frankly, I fucking miss the old you who wasn’t so”—his face twists—“uptight. The one I set loose when we first got out. But the fact is: we’re down to the last few people on this list of ours. We all need to move on, one way or another.”
I shift when something drips behind me. Frankie’s sobs get louder, and rage boils beneath my skin, making my muscles spasm. Griff is holding a container, encircling both crates in one thin stream of gasoline and, in the process, drenching the air with its stench.
