“Fuckers,” I mutter loudly enough that they can hear me. It’s not their fault, and they’re certainly not paid enough to deal with me, but I’m a grumpy asshole at the best of times.
Take away the one thing I’ve been merrily dreaming about all day? It makes my usual assholery seem downright pleasant.
A tinny voice comes through the speaker. “Sir, please watch your language.”
“Can’t help it, I’m hungry. I want to make a complaint.”
The man sighs. “You’ll have to come inside to do that. Please pull forward.”
Go inside? Fuck that. I don’t have time. I have an appointment in twenty minutes. Plus, getting out of my car defeats the point of going to a drive-through.
I’ll just have to commit murder while hungry. My stomach grumbles unhappily, but I don’t have any more time to waste. I’m on a deadline. I have to get home to watch the next episode ofMove Masters. Have to learn some new techniques for the dance routine I’m working on.
For what, I don’t know. But I do know one thing—dance is the only thing keeping me sane recently. With all my brothers falling in love, like fucking Cupid himself is hanging out on the estate, my whole world has been turned upside down. It’s no longer just the six of us. We now have Wyatt. Ansel. Neo. Jules. Sure, the last one’s been around for a while, but there’s no missing how Harley’s been looking at him.
How they’ve been looking at each other.
The less said about Dalton and Jackson, the better. No fucking clue what’s going on with them, but it won’t ever come to anything. Doesn’t matter how much the kid moons over my brother, there’s no way Dalton will ever go for him. He’s too young, and not at all his type.
Regardless, everything is fucking topsy-turvy now. Can’t go anywhere without tripping over someone making out with or dry humping one of my brothers. It’s gross. Got me feeling all tense and weird. It’s just such fucking odd behavior.
No one will ever catch me doing that shit.
Anyway, dance is what’s keeping me sane. Well, mostly. I’ll never be the best dancer.
I frown when I think of what’s keeping me from sitting in front of my TV right now.
Rowan Mitchell.
The request to The Firm was simple—Rowan Mitchell murdered Adam Willis.I want him dead in the most painful way possible.
Matthias’s research uncovered the notes from the murder investigation.Normally, Wylder would be the one to do this part, but he’s getting better at letting us help.
Matthias is just as capable. He found it all: The autopsy report. Crime scene photos. Details from the first on the scene. The forensic report.
All that was missing was the murderer.
Like whoever made the request, the police suspected Rowan Mitchell too. He was best friends with the victim. The last to be seen with him. Caught on CCTV leaving Adam’s apartment around the time of his murder.
The police might not have enough to prosecute, but that’s where we come in.
The Firm delivers its own brand of justice.
It’ll be a pleasure to kill him, mostly because he deserves it, but also because I’m hungry as fuck and there are no fucking carne asada tacos to be found.
Rowan Mitchell will be an excellent outlet for my anger.
Following the GPS to my location, I find a parking spot on the street. Staring out of the window, I frown at the name on the outside of the building before double-checking the address Matthias gave me.
Nope, this is right.
It’s a dance studio.
What the fuck? Is this some kind of sick joke from Wylder? He’s been making fun of me dancing with my axes and swords since catching me practicing with them several months ago.
Neo apparently has video of it.
If I didn’t like them both so much, I’d kill them too.
