Trenton doesn’t look away from the pack of cards he’s shuffling. “Why would we damage the very thing keeping our brother loyal?”
“Put her on the phone, Trent,” I grit out.
“Messiah,” he corrects me.
I remember laughing during our naming ceremony. I thought Trenton had tossed the codename out as a joke.
The hush that had fallen over the room had sobered me up real fast. Especially when Dominic strode toward me, tipped my thirteen-year-old head on one finger, and slapped me—in front of everyone.
“We don’t mock each other in this organization,” Trenton’s father had said.
I never laughed again. I also never used Trenton’s codename, and I wasn’t going to start now.
“Proof of life,” I repeat without separating my teeth.
“Fine.” Trenton sighs as though this were a great concession on his part. “Call Handyman.”
Hudson speed-dials Sullivan Hayes’s new number—his old line’s been disconnected. I’ve asked for it, but of course, they’ve kept it from me. Not because I have a chance in hell of tracking it, but because they know I’ll call too often. And they’re right. I hate not being able to reach Quinn whenever I want.
Sullivan’s nasal voice crackles through Hudson’s speakerphone, stroking my hate.
“Put my sister-in-law on.” Hudson smacks his gum. “Cook here wants to hear her breathe.”
She’d better do more than breathe over the receiver.
“Cook?” Quinn’s familiar voice makes everything in my chest coil tight.
Fuck… It’s really her.
“Are you all right? No one tells me anything and— Wait. Dad. Wait.” There’s the sound of a scuffle and then a door shutting.
I hear banging and Sullivan yelling for her to open the door.
“Daddy’s going to be mad…” Hudson singsongs.
Quinn’s voice cracks. “I’m so sorry, Cook.”
Her apology jams my eyebrows low. My brothers better not have told her about our deal. They swore they wouldn’t…
“I’m sorry I dragged you back to this world,” she whispers, while Sullivan goes to town on her door.
“You didn’t. I chose to come back.”
If only I hadn’t lingered in Boston after she regained consciousness. If only fury and the need to make Trenton pay for his crime hadn’t overridden my reason.
I rub a knot that’s formed in my shoulder. “Did Hud give you the art supplies I got you last month?”
“Art supplies?” Trenton mouths at the same time as Hudson hisses, “Don’t use my fucking name, Cook.”
When Quinn breathes out, “Yes,” Trenton’s mouth purses.
“Run out yet?” I catch Trenton glaring at his brother like he’s some sort of traitor for forwarding a gift to keep Quinn from going stir-crazy.
“Not yet. What’s going on?”
“I’m going to get you out,” I promise, wishing I could track the call to find her location. Or ask her where she’s being held.
Wood splinters, and then Sullivan must grab the phone from her hands because his voice comes through loud and clear. “Sorry ’bout that, Atheist. Can you pass me Messiah?”
