She could have asked for anything, and she wants my bloody phone.
“Go for it, Etheridge.” Her eyes grow wide as I enter the passcode and place my phone in her cold hand. “I’ve got nothing to hide.”
Keys in the ignition, I slide up the window and turn up the heating, then leave with a last warning look toward her.
The front door creaks open to reveal a suspiciously soundless lounge. My eyes sweep across the eerie, shadowed corners. This lodge has always had a gothic vibe. Like most places Rob owned before Kane took over. I walk into the silent room, where the fire is almost burned out. Beer bottles and empty glasses lie on the tables, but not a soul is in sight.
“Where is he?” I shout. “Berkeley?”
“In here.” James’s deep voice echoes from the kitchen.
I head toward the dim room, the single ceiling shade throwing a harsh pool of light over the island. James, Berkeley, and Luka stand with their backs to me. It reeks of beer, smoke, and bleach. A man’s tied up on the floor—Owen. One of the troublemaker rebels. He’s too ancient for any influence, in my opinion, but Kane thinks otherwise.
And in matters like this, I like to leave the thinking to him.It’s a skill for men with endless patience. I would rather bash their heads until they tell me what I need to know. Efficient and effective. I don’t take pleasure in hearing bones crack. But none of these fuckers are saints, so I have zero guilt about taking them down a few pegs.
Kane stands in the corner, leaning like a priest waiting for the confessions to begin. He turns to me, James and Luka parting, as I walk in.
“Where’s Pike?” Kane looks behind me, expecting Hugo to follow.
“Fixing his face.” I crack my knuckles.
Kane lets out a long exhale, but doesn’t press.
“And what do we have here?” My head tilts to stare at our broken-nosed guest.
“The fucker won’t talk,” James mutters impatiently. He is our fixer. If anything needs taking care of quietly, he does it. No questions asked.
“Is that so, Owen?” I raise my eyebrows. “What happened, mate? Cat got your tongue?”
“Have your fun all you want,” Owen grumbles. “We both know you’re not going to kill me.”
“Do we?” I hold my hand out. Luka hands me the bat from the dining table. “Or are you mistaking me for my father?”
His eyes twitch, teeth clacking. Faint signs, but enough.
I warm my shoulders and take a couple of practiced swings, the bat cutting through the air with a clean whoosh.
“Let’s see if I can find his tongue, shall we?” I aim a gust of wind that lashes Owen’s face. “What’s he supposed to tell us again?” I ask Kane.
Kane glowers at me, hating the theatrics, and shoves a tablet across the island. My fingers tighten on the bat as the screen lights up. Whatever shifts in my face makes Kane’s eyes narrow.
Photo after photo fills the display.
Eva. Her guard. Her friends. Faces snapped from across streets, through café windows, on pavements. Everywhere.
My head snaps to Owen. One full swing drives the bat into the side of his face. Blood spurts out of his nose, coughs spraying claret on the pristine white walls, before he drops to his side.
Kane slams his beer down, staring at me in disbelief.
“You forgot to ask the question, dick.” James snorts.
“He knows the fucking question,” I snarl, my voice menacing enough to make James and Luka twitch back. “And he knows how to stop me.”
I press my boot on the fucker’s knee until it breaks. He cries like it’s his last day on earth. Well, it just might be. Unless he tells me exactly what he’s doing, trailingmy fucking girl. Then I might kill him another day.
“I don’t—” he starts.
A solid thud to his ribs cuts him off, choking him on his lies as he coughs up more blood. James glances at Kane, who remains still. He won’t stop me. Not in front of Owen.
