“You don’t know the half of it.” Jules says, using his phone to send a text message. “He used to go to boarding school with my fiancée. He caused my family so much fucking trouble last year.”
Ares glares at the door Mason just left through. “That tracks. Do you pay his family any protection money?”
“I’m not sure. I used to work for my mom, but now I just help when she’s on vacation or understaffed.”
My brother sighs. “I know his uncle traffics drugs and prostitution. It wouldn’t surprise me if he also collected protection money from businesses in town.”
“You should ask your boss,” Jules says. “On paper, Enzo Morelli is just a wealthy tycoon with interests in many ventures. And the sheriff probably knows. But he either can’t prove most of the stuff that’s behind Morelli’s legitimate empire, or he knows that the police and the feds might not be in the position to stop him.”
“Sounds about right.” Ares sighs. “Jules, thank you for helping us come in here. If we hadn’t been able to open that door, I can’t even think what could’ve happened.”
He then comes to where I’m still holding Zara next to the wall.
“Princess, are you ok?”
Zara nods, but when she talks, her voice sounds hoarse and scratchy. “I’m fine now that you guys are here.”
“You don’t look fine. Your neck is starting to bruise. What did that motherfucker do to you?”
She brings her fingers to her throat and flinches, obviously in pain. “He was choking me. I couldn’t breathe. Then he started undoing his pants, and I felt so nauseous.”
“That’s it.” Ares’s murderous expression matches my own. “I don’t care what that bastard says he’s gonna do to us. I’m gonna fucking kill him, and I’m going to the sheriff about the races. We’ll worry about his family later.”
For once in my life, I don’t disagree with my brother.
Zara, however, doesn’t feel the same way. “Ares, wait.”
She tells us about Morelli’s threats.
“I’d rather race than the alternative.”
That doesn’t go down well with Ares. “I’d rather you not have anything to do with that fucking scum bag and his family in any capacity. Trust me, princess, I’ll keep you safe from Mason Morelli.”
Zara’s body tenses against me. “No, Ares. You can’t protect me twenty-four seven. And I refuse to live with a constant police escort on my heels.”
“I can’t let you race after what happened last night.” Ares argues. “That bike hit you, Zara. Like… it was like being back in Bridgeport. I can’t?—”
She leaves my arms to fly into his. “It isn’t going to be the same, Ares. Two years ago and last night we were caught by surprise. Now we can be prepared. I’ll be on the lookout for any bike that doesn’t belong in the race. And to hit me, that motherfucker will have to catch me first.”
“I don’t like it.” Ares bites out.
“I don’t like it either.” Zara agrees. “But Morelli has a whole criminal organization at his disposal, and we just have a small sheriff department by our side. That’s if the sheriff agrees not to prosecute us for infringement of the motorcycle ban. Mason didn’t threaten just me. He threatened all of us. Even if the sheriff wanted to help us, he doesn’t have enough manpower to protect us all.”
He insists. “Morelli’s criminal enterprise’s scope goes beyond California. We can get help at the federal level.”
“How long will it take for the FBI to send someone? We might be all dead before they even get here. And you can’t guarantee that they’ll send enough agents to protect us all. We need to either find something Mason wants more than us racingfor him or to think about another way to bring down the entire thing without risking the lives of everyone we love.”
Before Ares can argue anymore, Zara’s voice cracks, and she begins coughing.
Tears are streaming down her face as her hand goes up to her throat.
“Fuck.” Ares pulls our stepsister against his chest, rubbing her back with a gentle, soothing motion. “You need to rest, princess. Try not to use your voice too much for a day or two.” He pulls her back just enough so that he can look at her neck. “You’re gonna get some nasty bruises there. Maybe we should get you seen by a doctor to make sure that Morelli didn’t cause any permanent damage.”
Zara shakes her head. “No doctors. How are we going to explain this?” she points out her neck. “I’m exhausted. I just want to go home.”
“You got it.” He says, his tone more gentle than I’ve ever heard from him before. “I’m going back to work on the night shift tonight. I can drive you.”
“Are you going to work? Didn’t you have a week off for your birthday?” she asks.
