Maxen stared at him, unimpressed.
Both men turned as Drake approached on the back of a horse, dismounted, and walked over, a grim set to his jaw.
“What’s wrong?” Maxen asked.
“I just received word one of the warehouses in Shoreham’s been torched.” Drake got to the point.
Maxen stiffened. “Shoreham?”
Drake nodded, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yes. The western outskirts. One of our oldest storage houses. Took out half the stock before the locals could put out the blaze. I’ve ordered my men to move what survived.”
Reaper cursed. “Anyone hurt?”
“No bodies that I know of.”
Maxen’s mind raced. Calculating. Weighing. Could this be related to the shipment debacle? Or Rollings? Peregrine? Damn it. Both ofwhom, it couldn’t be overlooked, shared a connection with Calliope Turner.
“Any witnesses?” There better be bloody witnesses.
Drake shook his head. “This was clean. Fast. No accident.”
Christ. “A message for us, then?” What else could it bloody be?
“Exactly what I was thinking,” Drake muttered.
Reaper crossed his arms again. “You think this has ties to your little mouse?”
“No way to know, but the timing’s too damned convenient.” They had been out searching for Calliope last night. Distracted. Even so, Shoreham was miles away, and their mystery enemy could not have known how the night would play out.
Unless the blackguard was watching.
Drake glanced up at the inn’s second-story window. “If someone’s setting fires, they’re not going to stop at one warehouse.”
Maxen nodded. “Let Knight have his men double the guard at the warehouses in Lewes and Eastbourne. No one moves without us knowing it.”
Drake gave a curt nod. “Already got a runner on that. We should have a final report on the final damage in a day or so.”
“Good.”
“You’ve got that look again,” Reaper said, a coin appearing between his knuckles. “The one that means somebody’s about to wake up without fingers.”
Maxen didn’t bother denying it.
“Ah, well,” Reaper added with a thin smile. “Been too quiet lately. This will liven things up.”
“Has Serpent reported yet?”
Silence.
So, no.
Maxen’s teeth ground together. Whoever thought to touch what was his—his brothers, his business, or Calliope Turner—they’d justmade the gravest mistake of their life. He’d carve a path straight to his enemy if that’s what it took, dig the rat out by its tail and hang it for every soul in Brighton to see. There’d be no mistaking the lesson. Brighton belonged to the Furys. Every warehouse, every street, every property in their name and beyond. And Calliope... God help the blackguard who thought to use her against him.
Chapter Sixteen
Calliope never thoughtshe’d set foot in the tavern again, yet here she was, still a bit dazed. How could she not be?
You are who I protect.
