“The Syndicate has been informed of the untimely passing of our members. They have extended condolences, and the bordering clubs have offered to put extra patrols on connecting roads to thwart anyone from entering or exiting Obsidian Angels’ territory. They also raised some concerns that this might be a targeted attack, since it seems the inner circle is being threatened. Furthermore, they would like to know how you plan to address this issue.”
“Let the Syndicate know I appreciate their condolences. You can also tell them I plan on killing every motherfucker who had anything to do with this, and I won’t rest until it’s done.”
“Would you like me to paraphrase?” Deekhil looks up from the pad he’s holding.
“No.”
He nods and jots down another note. “I’ve sent the communications you asked me to put out to all club members and the bordering communities. What else would you like me to do?” He has his pen poised over his pad, waiting.
There’s a knock on the door, but I answer Deekhil first. “That’s it for now.”
Egan beats the djinn to the door and opens it, allowing me to see Sabastian looming near the opening. His eyes are glazed as he flicks them in my direction. He better not be drinking again. “The routes are set. I’m joining the patrols.” His voice is flat, and I realize he’s cracking under the circumstances. I’m going to need to replace him after all. I just don’t have any confidence in his abilities.
“Make sure someone here knows your plans and the routes,” I tell him, and his eyes flash up to mine again. He’s perceptive, so he probably sees the writing on the wall.
“Anyone in particular?” There’s a tiny bit of emotion in his tone now, but it’s too late.
“Do you mind?” I tug on Modeus’ hand.
“You should know not to ask.” He clasps my fingers tightly before heading toward the door. Sabastian retreats quickly from my view without another word.
Once the door shuts, I drop my head into my hands. Cyrus wraps his hand around the back of my neck, rubbing lightly. I lean into his touch. It doesn’t change anything I have to deal with, but the subtle reminder that I don’t have to deal with it alone is welcome. “What can we do?” he asks.
“Help me figure out what’s going on, because I have no fucking clue.”
“Once they get Brass stabilized, he might be able to provide some more answers, but at least we have confirmation that the witches are involved,” Cyrus reminds me, but there are still so many questions. I stand up, dislodging his hand. I swear some of the calm I was beginning to feel slips away with his touch.
“The only thing Emmy Lou provided was confirmation of Adder’s existence and that Harlow offered to raise him when he was a kid, but the witch wanted a seat in the inner circle in exchange for the boy. She wanted to be the VP,” I share, telling them the little I learned before finding Reaper.
“That tells us about her priorities, if she was willing to give up her son in exchange for a powerful position, but I doubt she would have been happy with just being the VP,” Cyrus muses, and I don’t disagree, but that almost feels unimportant at this point. Add in another dead body, and I’m about ready to raze everything to the ground until I can get some real answers.
I round the desk, unable to stand still for a second longer. “We need to figure out if what happened today is connected to Harlow’s death. My gut says yes, but I don’t want to rule anything out.”
“If they are connected by what? Why kill Reaper and Brass?” Cyrus asks.
“Triedto kill Brass,” I remind him. The old bastard isn’t dead yet. “I don’t know, maybe they knew something. Maybe they are eliminating everything in their path. Cyrus, you thought Adder might challenge my leadership with his blood,” I offer, voicing the only explanation that ever made a lick of sense to me.
“With them out of the picture, he might come for you next.” Cyrus glances over at Egan, even though he’s speaking about me. I’ve always known being the president painted a bullseye on your back, so it’s not surprising that someone might want me dead. I just never expected that person might also carry the blood of my father and have a claim to the presidency.
“Killing Harlow outright would have been enough to take the seat in the club—blood in, blood out. So why kill him in this elaborate fashion and try to make it look like a suicide? What was the plan after?” I’m trying to understand how this made sense to anyone.
“Because they knew they couldn’t kill him alone,” Cyrus replies, speaking the truth I’ve always known.
“You’re right—they couldn’t.” The fucking cowards couldn’t touch him without the stupid witch’s trap. “But did Sal get in the way somehow, or did they always plan to kill him and Brass was collateral damage?”
“It could be either,” my gargoyle reasons.
Could be anything.I hear the words in my head, but my eyes go to Egan, as if he’s the one who said them. He opens his hands, confirming what I was just thinking. I don’t have enough information to make assumptions, and at this point, it could be dangerous to jump to any conclusion, even knowing the witches were involved.
“Let’s say Brass was out cold, and that’s why he didn’t fight, but what about Reaper? Do you see him standing still while someone takes his head off?” Cyrus may not have known Reaper, but his instincts answered that for him, and he’s trying to understand it just like the rest of us.
Modeus enters the office without knocking in the middle of Cyrus’ question. “No. Without the backing of Harlow, there are others who could kill Reaper, but not without a fight.”
“So how did it happen?” Cyrus muses.
“A spell, obviously,” I snap.
“They wouldn’t have been able to set up a binding circle in Reaper’s house like they did on the property. There’s no way to hide it. You think he’d let a witch waltz in?” Modeus retorts.
