“I told you not to get in my fucking way,” I hiss, forcing him into the drywall.
“It’s a trap,” he says, cooly. “Trust me.”
My nostrils flare. Kane didn’t so much as flinch when he saw the video, which can only mean one thing: he’s already seen it. He knows I’ll put him in the ground if he crosses me on this, yet he is willing to risk it.
“Mason.” Hugo cocks his head toward the door.
“Fuck this up and you’re done,” I spit at Kane, then storm out with Hugo on my heels.
My head is shades of black and red as we retrace our steps to the cars. Someone ran her down like roadkill and almost took her from me before I even laid eyes on her. And that someone could have been one of my men? My chest feels molten hot—rage without an outlet, violence without a target.
“Fucking fuck. Tom is going to have my fucking head,” Hugo grunts.
“Tom won’t get to you if this is your fault, prick.”
We come to a halt on the narrow bridge that arches over the Tube, rumbling beneath in a blur of light and sound.
“Well, I didn’t fucking do it.” Hugo shrugs. “Guys take out the trucks all the time. It couldn’t have been one of them either. Even the fucking gardener knows to take the fucking plates off.”
He’s not wrong. It’s rule 101. But then what did I just see? I let Hugo mull in his cursing spree and wait for Kane to return.
A few minutes later, he walks up the bridge in his long black coat, collar swaying with the wind.
“Start talking,” I bark.
“We have a leak at Fort, and Filey’s compromised.”
“The fuck I care about that slimy twat,” I roar. “Why did youlet him keep that video? If Daniel Etheridge gets his hands on it?—”
“The accident happened in Northumberland,” Kane cuts me off. “It has nothing to do with the Met. It’s not a coincidence it landed on Filey’s desk tonight. Who do you think sent it to him? Let me give you a hint. You’re fucking his sister.”
“The fuck are you talking about?”
“It’s a warning, prat. Since the last one didn’t quite break through your head.”
“Bollocks! If he thought we killed his parents, he wouldn’t be sending warnings; he would be sending coppers and snipers after us.”
Kane’s face grows stern, lips in a thin line.
“You took care of it already?” Hugo asks, already knowing the answer. “Tell me you did.”
“Of course I did.” He lifts a shoulder. “The plate was sold to the garage, backdated six months before the accident.”
“Thank fuck.” Hugo looks to the skies with open arms. “Wait, if you took care of it, why the fuck does Etheridge still think it’s us?”
Kane’s eyes slowly rise to me.
“It’s complicated,” he mutters.
“Don’t fuck with me, Berkeley.” I walk up to Kane face-to-face, chest-to-chest. “Daniel Etheridge called you by a different name tonight. Eva recognized your father at your lodge. And mine is bending over backward to make a truce with them. Give it to me straight.”
“Sure, you can handle it?” He cocks an eyebrow. “She won’t look the same after, you know.”
“Spit it out.”
With a long exhale, Kane starts talking. The Tube roars through the tunnel underneath, drowning every word in steel and thunder. The truth detonates as sparks dance off the rails.Questions I wish I’d never asked, answers I didn’t want to hear, all of it finally in front of me, a bed of thorns—carnage.
The silence that follows is deafening.
